The Rebel Surgeon's Proposal. Margaret McDonaghЧитать онлайн книгу.
his soulless London flat. It was situated on the second floor of a small, purpose-built block on a noisy street within walking distance of the hospital where he worked…a street jammed with traffic and people and where the buildings crowded together, pressing in on him. It made him feel claustrophobic and long for the wide-open spaces and clean air of his home town of Strathlochan in Scotland.
Even after a decade he hadn’t really settled in London. He’d lived in this flat for four years and still didn’t know his neighbours. And, as much as he enjoyed his work and got along well with his colleagues on a professional level, he had few friends socially. Once a loner, always a loner. Or was the stigma of his name and his background so ingrained in him that he subconsciously put up barriers and kept people at a distance?
Dog tired, he cursed under his breath as the phone continued its insistent ring. He knew he had to answer it. But if it was one of the orthopaedic team calling him back to the hospital, he was not going to be pleased. He’d been up for a stupid number of hours and all he could think about was a hot shower before falling into bed. He was too exhausted to even bother to eat. Shrugging off his well-worn leather jacket and leaving it draped haphazardly over the back of the sofa, he flopped into an armchair, picked up the cordless handset and barked his name.
‘Devlin.’
‘Hello, love. You sound grumpy and worn out. Has it been a tough day?’
‘No more than usual, Ma.’ A smile came unbidden in response to the familiar voice. God, he missed her. The one constant in his life. ‘How are you?’ A too-long pause had his instincts on red alert. ‘Ma? What’s happened?’
The answering chuckle eased some of his tension. ‘I have good news and bad news.’
‘Tell me the bad news first.’ Leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out, he tried to relax muscles that were stiff and aching after long hours standing at the operating table, assisting his boss in complicated spinal surgery.
‘Don’t be cross with me, Luke, I’m absolutely fine,’ his mother began, immediately warning him that she was far from all right. ‘I had a little accident and broke my arm.’
‘Ma!’
She tutted soothingly. ‘Now, then, don’t take on, Luke. The nice doctor at Strathlochan Hospital told me that it’s a clean and simple break and it should heal without problems.’
‘What did you do?’ Shaking his head, he listened to his mother’s confession, knowing there was no point in reprimanding her for acting so foolishly. ‘Are you in pain?’
‘It was very sore but I have some pills and I’m much more comfortable now it’s in plaster,’ she reassured him.
His weary brain rallied, thoughts and questions rushing at him. ‘Which doctor did you see?’ Meticulous at work but not the tidiest of people at home, he had to rummage through the clutter on the table near his chair to find a pad and pen.
He jotted down the name Nathan Shepherd, planning on ringing straight away to get the full information first hand and, if possible, to ask to see a copy of the X-ray. As a specialist orthopaedic registrar, bones were his life, and he wanted to satisfy himself that all was well with his mother’s arm.
‘How are you going to manage at home alone, Ma?’ he asked, voicing his concerns.
Despite a strong effort on his part, she refused to allow him to return to Scotland to collect her. Not that he had anticipated anything else. But a few moments later, and with suspiciously little argument, he did persuade her to come down to London on the train and stay with him for a while. He’d be much happier having her close so he could keep an eye on her progress. Her agreement had been too easy, however, and he was wary. He knew his mother. She was up to something.
‘You said there was good news, as well,’ he reminded her, allowing himself the luxury of relaxing again.
‘I did. And there is! You’ll never guess who took my X-rays.’
Luke rolled his eyes as his mother, ever the one for spinning out a good yarn, paused for effect. ‘I hope this person was kind to you.’
‘Oh, she was wonderful,’ his mother gushed, clearly smitten. Luke hid a groan, hoping this was not part of another unsubtle and completely pointless matchmaking plan. He was grateful, however, to the unknown woman who had apparently shown his mother such care, a fact she now confirmed as she related the tale of being abandoned by the unprofessional nurse and the subsequent rescue by the radiographer. ‘She was very gentle and very kind, and she looked after me so well.’
‘And what is the name of this paragon?’ he asked, knowing his mother would persist until he gave in and deciding to get it over with.
‘Francesca Scott.’
Luke forgot how to breathe. A knot tightened in his chest and it felt as if his heart had stopped beating altogether before it resumed pumping at a rapid rate. Somehow he sucked a ragged breath into parched lungs. Gripping the phone so hard his knuckles were stark white, he sat up straight in the chair, every part of him at full attention.
‘What did you say?’ He demanded clarification, knowing he must have been wrong, must have been hearing things.
‘It’s true, Luke.’ His mother’s voice softened with the confirmation, filling with awareness of the importance of her words. ‘Apparently Francesca has been working at the hospital for nearly three years. I had no idea. After seeing her, I made a few discreet enquiries. I didn’t learn much but there are one or two things you might be interested to hear.’
He was interested, all right, although it took a few moments for the rest of the information to register over the roaring in his ears and the rushing of blood through his veins. One vital fact took precedence. Francesca was back. Scattered images and memories of long ago fired through his brain almost too fast for him to catch hold of them. Francesca as a coltish young girl, courageous and loyal. Friendless, just like him. Alone, just like him. Hurting and trying so desperately not to show it…just like him. So much in common, so much silent, mutual understanding, yet a chasm as wide as an ocean had yawned between their lives and their backgrounds.
His father had not wanted him to continue his education but even then Luke had stood up to him, knowing what he wanted and that his brain was his ticket out, the key to his future. It had paid off. The last violent row had happened the day he had finished his final Advanced Higher exam. He’d been eighteen, forced to leave home, to escape his father—needing, too, to follow his dream to be a doctor and prove himself.
Leaving his mother had been an impossible wrench, with the added worry of what might happen to her when he was not there to protect her, but she had been adamant he go, as selfless as ever. Battered and bruised, he’d slipped away like a thief in the night to lick his wounds. Then he had worked hard to establish a place at medical school in London, doing extra jobs to pay his way and finding somewhere to live so that his mother could come to him—as she had, living in London until his father had died and it had been safe for her to return home.
And then there had been Francesca. He’d felt bad leaving her behind but she had been just sixteen, tied to her home and shackled by her own problems. There had been nothing he could do. Not then. But he had never forgotten. Three years later, unable to get her out of his head, needing to know what had become of her, he had gone back for her, but she and her mother had vanished. After several unsuccessful attempts to find her, he had begun to give up hope of seeing her again.
Until now.
Because Francesca was back. And, as the information his mother imparted sank in, seeds were sown…seeds that immediately took root, germinated and began to grow with a life of their own. He had no idea what Francesca’s life was like now, what she would say when she saw him again—hell, he didn’t even know if she remembered him, if he had been any more than a blip on her consciousness a decade ago. But an inner demon possessed him and he couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let her go. Not without knowing, once and for all.
It