200 Harley Street: The Proud Italian. Alison Roberts

      A glance through the tinted glass of the ambulance windows showed that they were passing Regent’s Park. There were taxis and double-decker buses nose to tail around them. Definitely London. Home. God, it was good to be back. She could even see the big square brick building on the end of Harley Street coming up—a close neighbour of the Hunter Clinic.

      Ethan followed her line of vision.

      ‘Have you missed it?’

      ‘So much.’ But it felt distant. Like part of previous life. How hard was it going to be to find her way back?

      ‘Are you ready to come back to work? We desperately need you as soon as you can manage and I know that they’ve been holding their breath to get you back on board at the Lighthouse.’

      ‘I could start tomorrow.’

      ‘Really? That would be terrific. But won’t you need time to get Ella settled?’

      Abbie’s smile was poignant. ‘The oncology ward at the Lighthouse is more of a home for Ella than anywhere else. She’s spent most of her life in there. And the staff are like a huge collection of aunties and grannies. The sooner we get things back to normal, the better for both of us, I think.’

      For all of us, she amended silently.

      Rafael de Luca stripped off his bloodied gloves and dropped them in the bin. Then he pulled at his mask, breaking the strings and bending the wire that strengthened the top hem as he sent it after the gloves.

      Finally, he could take a deep breath of unfiltered, fresh-feeling air. Not just because the mask was gone but because the gruelling surgery that had kept him on his feet for so many hours he’d lost count was over.

      They’d done well. The team he’d gathered around him to perform this complex operation had been outstanding. In an ideal world they were maybe not exactly who he would have chosen to work so closely with but the choice of his perfect partner had been taken away when Abbie had gone, hadn’t it?

      The ‘dream team,’ they’d been known as at the Hunter Clinic. Such perfect partners in the operating theatre, it had seemed inevitable that they would find they were a perfect match outside work hours as well.

       Ha…

      So much for fate. And so much for a distraction from his modus operandi these days. That momentary flash of recognising what had been missing from his theatre today was as far as he would allow it to go. And that had only happened because he was so incredibly exhausted. His back ached abominably from standing in one position for far too long. His eyes ached from peering through microscopic lenses for the fine work and a generalised ache in his head from such prolonged and fierce concentration was gaining vigour.

      With his gown removed and balled up to join the other disposable items in the bin, Rafael could push open the double doors and exit Theatre. With some time in hand before checking on young Anoosheh in Recovery and no concerned family to go and talk to, he could do what he most wanted and go and stand under a hot shower for a considerable period of time. He needed a shave, too.

      There would be reporters anxious to hear how the surgery had gone but nobody would expect him to front up to a camera until he’d had time to clean up properly. And maybe he wouldn’t have to do it at all. Rafael could see Ethan Hunter waiting outside Theatre. Far better that the media dealt with the man who was not only one of the owners of the Hunter Clinic but in charge of the charity side of the business and directly responsible for Anoosheh being brought to London for her life-changing surgery.

      ‘Rafael… How did it go?’

      ‘Good.’ He nodded his greeting. ‘As good as we could have hoped for. The tumour is gone. She has a titanium plate in her jaw and we’ve reconstructed her nasal passages. There’s more work to be done, of course. When she’s recovered from this.’ The finer work of removing excess scar tissue and repositioning facial features. The kind of work Abbie excelled at.

      Letting his breath out in a weary sigh, Rafael rubbed at his forehead and pinched his temples with a thumb and third finger as he screwed his eyes shut. Dio, but he was tired.

      ‘And the eye?’

      Rafael opened his. ‘They think it may still be viable. Time will tell if she can see out of it now that the obstruction is cleared.’

      ‘Good. That gives me enough to update the media.’

      ‘Grazie.’ Rafael found a smile. ‘I appreciate you doing that. I’m going to hit the shower and then head home.’ He found himself staring at Ethan’s odd expression. ‘What? You want me to face the cameras after all?’

      ‘No, it’s not that. It’s…’

      ‘What?’ Rafael’s smile was fading.

      ‘Abbie,’ Ethan said quietly.

      Rafael’s heart skipped a beat and then thudded painfully. Something had happened. To Ella? Oh, no…not that. Si prega di dio, not that…

      ‘She’s here, Rafael,’ Ethan said into the stillness. ‘They’re both here. Ella’s been transferred to the paediatric oncology ward here to finish her recuperation.’

      Rafael could only keep staring. Why hadn’t he known about this? Why hadn’t Abbie contacted him? Because she couldn’t even bring herself to talk to him any more? Was that how things were going to be now?

      ‘It was a last-minute decision, apparently.’ Ethan wasn’t meeting his gaze any longer. ‘The call came in after you’d started the surgery on Anoosheh. I decided it was better if you weren’t distracted so I took it on myself to go and meet them at the airport. I’m sorry you didn’t get the message when it was intended.’

      Rafael made a noncommittal sound. This wasn’t Ethan’s fault. Surely the decision to transfer Ella would have been made days ago. Abbie could have let him know. Or maybe she had… He’d been so focussed on this major surgery that he hadn’t checked his personal email in a day or two. He hadn’t even checked in with his message service since yesterday.

      And what did any of that matter anyway?

      They were here.

      Just a floor or two and a few long corridors away.

      The two people who meant more to him than anyone else on this earth were in the building so what the hell was he doing, standing here?

      ‘I have to go,’ he snapped. ‘I have to see them.’

      The relief that a long, hot shower could provide was forgotten. Unnecessary. A new surge of energy coursed through Rafael as he took the stairs rather than wait for a lift. Made him pick up his pace until he was almost running through the corridors in his theatre scrubs and plastic boots, earning startled glances from people who clearly thought he was on the way to an emergency.

      It wasn’t until he was close to the open doors leading to the paediatric oncology ward that his pace faltered. Seeing Abbie standing in the corridor outside one of the private rooms felt like he’d just run into an invisible wall.

      Twelve weeks since he’d seen her.

      The woman he’d married. The love of his life. The mother of his child.

      But the last time he’d seen her had been when she’d walked away from him, taking their child with her. When she’d refused to bend to his ultimatum and had chosen to go against his wishes, even if it meant the end of their marriage.

      When his marriage had ended.

      He’d been wrong to issue that ultimatum. Wrong to deny Ella the chance that the treatment had offered. He knew that and the knowledge was a knife that had twisted inside him for weeks now. Ever since the possibility of success had become apparent.

      He also knew that Abbie had been through hell on the other side of the Atlantic and he hadn’t been there to support her. He’d made her do it alone because he couldn’t back down enough to