Читать книгу Falling For Dr Dimitriou - Anne Fraser, Anne Fraser - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHE NEXT MORNING, having decided to work inside and out of sight, Katherine only managed to resist for a couple of hours before finding herself drawn like a magnet to the balcony.
Gazing down at the beach, she saw that Alexander, stripped to the waist, his golden skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration, was back working on his boat again. Dragging her gaze away from him, she closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the sound of the waves licking the shore. The sweet smell of oranges from a nearby orchard wafted on the breeze. Being here in Greece was like a balm for her soul.
A sharp curse brought her attention back to the bay.
Alexander had dropped his paint-scraper. He studied his hand for a moment and shook his head. He looked around as if searching for a bandage, but apparently finding only his T-shirt, bent to pick it up, and wound it around his palm.
She could hardly leave him bleeding—especially when, prepared as always, she’d brought a small first-aid kit with her and it was unlikely there would be a doctor available on a Sunday in such a small village.
The blood had pretty much soaked through his temporary bandage by the time she reached him but, undaunted, he had carried on working, keeping his left hand—the damaged one—elevated in some kind of optimistic hope of stemming the bleeding.
‘Kalíméra!’ Katherine called out, not wanting to surprise him. When he looked up, she pointed to his hand and lifted the first-aid kit she carried. ‘Can I help?’
‘It’s okay, I’ll manage,’ he replied. When he smiled, her heart gave a queer little flutter. ‘But thank you.’
‘At least let me look at it. Judging by the amount of blood, you’ve cut it pretty badly.’
His smile grew wider. ‘If you insist,’ he said, holding out his injured hand.
She drew closer to him and began unwrapping his makeshift bandage. As she gently tugged the remaining bit of cloth aside and her fingers encountered the warmth of his work-roughened palm, she felt the same frisson of electricity course through her body as she had the day before. Bloody typical; the first time she could remember meeting someone whom she found instantly attractive he had to be married—and a father to boot.
‘It’s deep,’ she said, examining the wound, ‘and needs stitches. Is there a surgery open today?’
‘Most of them are open for emergencies only on a Sunday. I’m not sure this constitutes one.’
‘I think it does.’ Katherine said, aware that her tone sounded schoolmistress prim. ‘I’m a doctor, so I do know what I’m talking about.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Are you really? The villagers had you down as a writer. A GP, I take it?’
Katherine shook her head. ‘No. Epidemiology. Research. I’m in public health.’
‘But not on holiday? You seemed pretty immersed in paperwork yesterday.’
‘My thesis. For my PhD.’
‘Brains too.’ He grinned. ‘So can’t you stitch my hand?’
‘Unfortunately, no. I could if I had a suturing kit with me but I don’t. Anyway, you’ll likely need a tetanus shot unless you’ve had one recently. Have you?’
‘No.’
For some reason, the way he was looking at her made her think that he was laughing at her. ‘Then one of the emergency surgeries it will have to be,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll clean and bandage the cut in the meantime. Is there someone who can give you a lift?’
‘No need—it’s within walking distance. Anyway, this little scratch is not going to kill me.’
‘Possibly not but it could make you very sick indeed.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I strongly advise you to find out whether the doctor is willing to see you. I’ll phone him if you like. As one doctor to another, he might be persuaded to see you.’
He was no longer disguising his amusement. ‘Actually, that would be a bit embarrassing seeing as I’m the doctor and it’s my practice—one of them anyway.’
‘You’re a doctor?’ She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. She felt more than slightly foolish, standing before him with her little plastic medical kit. If he was a GP he was probably more qualified than she to assess the damage to his hand. Now she knew the reason for his secret amusement. ‘You might have mentioned this before,’ she continued through gritted teeth.
Alexander shrugged. ‘I was going to, I promise. Eventually.’ That smile again. ‘I suppose I was enjoying the personal attention—it’s nice to be on the receiving end for a change.’
‘You really should have said straight away,’ she reiterated, struggling to control the annoyance that was rapidly replacing her embarrassment. ‘However, you can hardly suture your hand yourself.’ Although right this minute she was half-minded to let him try.
‘I could give it a go,’ he replied, ‘but you’re right, it would be easier and neater if you did it. The practice I have here is really little more than a consulting room I use when the older villagers need to see a doctor and aren’t unwell enough to warrant a trip to my practice. But it’s reasonably well equipped. You could stitch it there.’
‘In that case, lead the way.’
* * *
His consulting room had obviously once been a fisherman’s cottage, with the front door leading directly onto the village square. There were only two rooms leading off the small hall and he opened the door to the one on the left. It was furnished with an examination couch, a stainless-steel trolley, a sink and most of what she’d expect to find in a small rural surgery. The one surprise was a deep armchair covered with a throw. He followed her gaze and grimaced. ‘I know that doesn’t really belong, but my older patients like to feel more at home when they come to see me here.’
Not really the most sanitary of arrangements, but she kept her own counsel. It wasn’t up to her to tell him how to run his practice.
He opened a cupboard and placed some local anaesthetic and a syringe on the desk, along with a disposable suture tray. He perched on the couch and rested his hand, palm up, on his leg.
He definitely has the physique of a gladiator, she thought, her gaze lingering on his chest for a moment too long. She shifted her gaze and found him looking at her, one eyebrow raised and a small smile playing on his lips. As heat rushed to her cheeks she turned away, wishing she’d left him to deal with his hand himself.
She washed her hands and slipped on a pair of disposable gloves, acutely conscious of his teasing appraisal as she filled the syringe with the local anaesthetic. Studiously avoiding looking at his naked chest, she gently lifted up his hand and, after swabbing the skin, injected into the wound. He didn’t even flinch as she did so. ‘I’ll wait a few minutes for it to take effect.’
‘So what brings you here?’ he asked. ‘It isn’t one of the usual tourists spots.’
‘I was kindly offered the use of the Dukases’ villa through a colleague who is a friend of their daughter in exchange for taking care of Hercules and the garden. My mother was from Greece and I’ve always wanted to see the country where she was born.’
‘She was from here?’
‘From Ītylo. This was the closest I could get to there.’
‘It’s your first time in the Peloponnese?’
‘My first time in Greece,’ Katherine admitted.
‘And your mother didn’t come with you?’
‘No. She passed away recently.’ To her dismay, her voice hitched. She swallowed the lump in her throat before continuing. ‘She always wanted the two of us to visit Greece together, but her health prevented her from travelling. She had multiple sclerosis.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Two simple words, but the way he said it, she knew he really meant it.
She lightly prodded his palm with her fingertips. ‘How does that feel?’
‘Numb. Go ahead.’
Opening up the suture pack, she picked up the needle. Why did he have to be nice as well as gorgeous?
‘I hope you’re planning to see some of the Peloponnese while you’re here. Olympia? Delphi? Athens and the Acropolis for sure. The city of Mycenae, perhaps?’
Katherine laughed. ‘They’re all on my list. But I want to finish my thesis first.’
He raised his head and frowned slightly. ‘So no holiday for a while, then? That’s not good. Everyone needs to take time out to relax.’
‘I do relax. Often.’ Not that often—but as often as she wanted to. ‘Anyway I find work relaxing.’
‘Mmm,’ he said, as if he didn’t believe her. Or approve. ‘Work can be a way to avoid dealing with the unbearable. Not good for the psyche if it goes on too long. You need to take time to grieve,’ he suggested gently.
She stiffened. Who was he to tell her what was good for her and what she needed? How he chose to live his life was up to him, just as it was up to her how she lived.
‘I must apologise again for yesterday,’ he continued, when she didn’t reply, ‘You were obviously working so I hope we didn’t set you back too much. My daughter’s been dying to meet you since you arrived. I’m afraid her curiosity about you got the better of her.’
Katherine inserted a stitch and tied it off. ‘Your daughter is charming and very pretty.’
‘Yes, she is. She takes after her mother.’
‘I take it the beautiful woman on the beach yesterday is your wife?’ she said, inserting another l stitch.
When she heard his sharp intake of breath she stopped. ‘I’m sorry. Did that hurt? Didn’t I use enough local?’
His expression was taut, but he shook his head. ‘I can’t feel a thing. The woman you saw is Helen, my cousin. My wife died.’
Katherine was appalled. ‘I’m so sorry. How awful for you and your daughter. To lose her mother when so young.’ She winced inwardly at her choice of words.
‘Yes,’ he said abruptly. ‘It was.’
So he knew loss too. She bent her head again and didn’t raise it until she’d added the final stitch and the wound was closed. When had his wife died? Crystal had to be, what? Four? Five? Therefore it had to be within that time frame. Judging by the bleakness in his eyes, the loss was still raw. In which case he might as well be married. And why the hell were her thoughts continuing along this route?
She gave herself a mental shake and placed a small square dressing on top and finished with a bandage, pleased that her work was still as neat as it had been when she’d sutured on a regular basis.
‘What about tetanus?’ she asked. ‘I’m assuming you have some in stock here?’
‘Suppose I’d better let you give me that too. It’s been over five years since I last had one.’ He went to the small drugs fridge and looked inside. ‘Hell,’ he said after examining the contents. ‘I’m out. Never mind, I’ll get it when I go back to my other surgery tomorrow.’
‘It could be too late by then—as I’m sure you know. No, since it seems that you are my patient, at least for the moment, I’m going to have to insist you get one today.’
He eyed her. ‘That would mean a trip to Pýrgos—almost an hour from here. Unfortunately, Helen has taken my car to take Crystal to play with a friend and won’t be back until tonight. Tomorrow it will have to be.’
She hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘In that case, I’ll drive you.’
‘Something tells me you’re not going to back down on this.’
She smiled. ‘And you’d be right.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘You might want to fetch a clean shirt. Why don’t you do that while I get my car keys?’
* * *
But it seemed as if she’d offered him a lift without the means to carry it through. Not wanting to drive down from Athens —she’d heard about the Peloponnese roads, especially the one that ran between here and the Greek capital—she’d taken a circuitous route; first an early morning flight, followed by a ferry and then two buses to the rental company In hindsight it would have been quicker and probably far less stressful to have flown into Athens.
And now she had a puncture. Thankfully the car did have a spare wheel. She jacked it up and found the wrench to loosen the bolts but they wouldn’t budge. No doubt they had rusted.
‘Problems?’
She whirled around to find Alexander standing behind her. He had showered and changed into light-coloured cotton trousers and a white short-sleeved shirt.
‘Puncture. I’m just changing the wheel. As soon as I get a chance, I’m going to exchange this heap for something better.’
The car the company had given her had more dents and bashes in it than a rally car after a crash. She would have insisted on a newer, more pristine model, but the company had said it was the only one they had available.
His lips twitched. He walked around the car, shaking his head. ‘They palmed this off on you?’
‘Yes, well, I was tired.’ She resented the fact that he thought she’d let herself be taken advantage of—even if she had.
‘Which company did you rent this from?’
She told him.
‘In that case, they have a branch in Katákolo, which isn’t too far from where we’re going.’
‘Will it be open on a Sunday?’
‘The cruise ships all offer day trips to Olympia from there. Like most places that cater for tourists, everything will be open. Once I’ve been jagged to your satisfaction I’ll make sure they exchange it for something better.’
‘I’m perfectly able to manage to sort it out myself.’ Did all Greek men think women were helpless?
He drew back a little, holding up his hands. ‘Hey. You’re helping me. And it’s not far from where we’re going.’
She was instantly ashamed of herself. He’d done nothing to warrant her snapping at him. It was hardly his fault that he made her feel like a schoolgirl with her first crush.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m a bit hot.’ She sought a better reason to excuse her behaviour, but apart from telling him that he found his company unsettling she couldn’t think of one. ‘In the meantime, I still have to change the wheel.’ She picked up a rock and hit the wrench. Nothing. No movement. Not even a centimetre.
He crouched down next to her, the muscles of his thighs straining against the material of his trousers. ‘Let me do it.’
‘I can manage. At least I would if the things weren’t stuck.’
He took the wrench from her. ‘It just needs a little strength.’
‘You shouldn’t. Not with your hand recently sutured.’
He ignored her and within moments the nuts were off the wheel. He took the flat tyre off and silently she passed him the spare.
‘I probably loosened them.’ He looked up at her and grinned. ‘I’m sure you did.’ He lifted the new wheel into position and replaced the bolts.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I can take it from here.’
He stood back and watched as she lowered the car to the ground.
‘I’ll just tighten the bolts again,’ he said, ‘then we’ll be good to go. Would you like me to drive?’
‘No, thank you.’
* * *
Despite the open windows the car was hot; unsurprisingly, the air-conditioning didn’t work either. Katherine gripped the steering-wheel, trying not to flinch whenever a car overtook her, the vehicle often swerving back in just in time to avoid being smashed into by another coming in the opposite direction. Perhaps she should have taken Alexander up on his offer to drive? But if he drove the same way as his countrymen did, being a passenger would be ten times worse. She preferred being in control.
Eventually the countryside gave way to denser traffic and by the time Alexander directed her to a parking spot in front of the surgery she was a nervous wreck, her hands were damp and she knew her hair was plastered to her scalp. She was beginning to appreciate why the car the company had given her was badly dented.
He looked relieved as he undid his seat belt. ‘This won’t take long but why don’t you go for a walk while you’re waiting?’
‘If you’re going to be quick I might as well come in with you.’ She was curious to see how the medical services in Greece worked.
While Alexander greeted the receptionist, Katherine took a seat in the small waiting room next to an elderly woman with a bandage on her knee and clutching a walking stick. Alexander turned to her and said something in Greek that made her laugh.
‘Mrs Kalfas is waiting for her husband to collect her,’ he explained to Katherine, ‘so I can go straight in. I won’t be long.’
A few moments after Alexander disappeared from sight, a man in his early to mid-twenties, staggered in and, after saying a few words to the receptionist, almost fell into one of the empty chairs. He was good-looking with dark curly hair, a full mouth and olive skin, but his jeans and checked shirt were stained and crumpled as if he’d picked them up off the bedroom floor, too ill to care. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes, when he managed to open them briefly, glittered with fever. Perhaps she should have gone for that walk. All doctors knew that hospitals and GP waiting rooms were bad news for the healthy.
Mrs Kalfas tried to strike up a conversation with him, but he appeared to have little interest in whatever she was saying. Warning bells started to clamour in Katherine’s head as she studied him covertly from under her eyelids. Now she wondered if his eyes were closed because the light was annoying him—and the way he kept pressing his hand to the back of his neck as if it were sore alarmed her too. He really didn’t look well at all. The receptionist should have let the doctors know that he was here.
Katherine was about to suggest it when he gave a loud moan and slid to the floor. Instantly she was on her feet and, crouching by his side, feeling for his pulse. It was there but weak and rapid. She glanced around but annoyingly there was no sign of the receptionist. Mrs Kalfas was staring, horrified.
‘I need some help here,’ Katherine called out. ‘Alexander!’
The door behind which he’d vanished was flung open and Alexander, followed by a short, balding, overweight man with a stethoscope wrapped around his neck, rushed over and knelt by Katherine’s side.
‘What happened?’ Alexander asked.
‘He came in a few minutes ago. I was just about to suggest he be taken through when he collapsed. He’s been rubbing his neck as if it’s painful or stiff. We should consider meningitis.’
Alexander and his colleague exchanged a few words in rapid Greek and the other doctor hurried away.
The man on the floor groaned softly. The receptionist reappeared and came to stand next to Mrs Kalfas, placing a comforting arm around the older woman. Alexander said something to the younger woman and she hurried back to her desk and picked up the phone.
‘It could be a number of things but to be on the safe side Carlos—Dr Stavrou—is going to get a line so we can start him on IV antibiotics,’ Alexander told Katherine. ‘Diane is phoning for an ambulance.’
Carlos returned and ripped open a pack and handed Alexander a venflon. He quickly inserted it into a vein and, taking the bag of saline from his colleague, attached one end of the tube to the needle. When Katherine held out her hand for the bag of saline, Alexander passed it to her and she held it up so that the fluid could flow unimpeded. In the meantime, Alexander had injected antibiotics straight into one of the stricken patient’s veins.
As Katherine placed an oxygen mask over his face, she was vaguely aware that the receptionist had returned and along with Mrs Kalfas was watching intently. Alexander whirled around and spoke rapidly to the receptionist. He translated her reply for Katherine.
‘Diane says the ambulance will be here shortly. She’s agreed to take Mrs Kalfas home instead of making her wait for her husband. Seeing she’s had a bit of a fright, I think it’s better.’
Katherine was impressed with the way he’d considered the old woman, even in the midst of an emergency. Their patient was still unconscious but apart from keeping an eye on his airway there was little more they could do until the ambulance arrived. They couldn’t risk taking him in a car in case he arrested.
‘You have a defib to hand?’ she asked.
‘Naturally.’
She wondered what had caused the man to collapse. A number of possibilities ran through her head, meningitis being one, but without further tests it was impossible to know. All they could do now was stabilise him until they got him to hospital.
Diane picked up her handbag and helped the old lady out. Soon after, the ambulance arrived and the paramedics took over. They spoke to Alexander before quickly loading the patient into the ambulance.
‘Should one of us go with him?’ Katherine asked.
‘No need. Carlos wants to go. He’s his patient.’
The ambulance doors were slammed shut and it drove away, sirens screaming.
‘Are you all right?’ Alexander asked.
‘Perfectly. Could you make sure they test him for meningitis?’
‘Bit of a leap, isn’t it? Carlos said Stefan—the patient—is not only accident prone but there’s a few bugs doing the rounds. Besides, I didn’t see any signs of a rash.’
‘Trust me. Communicable diseases are my area of expertise and that young man has all the signs—sensitivity to light, fever, neck pain. The rash could appear at any time.’ Alexander studied her for a moment. ‘It couldn’t hurt to do a lumbar puncture. I’ll phone the hospital and make sure they do all the tests. At least he’s been started on IV antibiotics. In the meantime, I’m afraid we’re going to have to wait here until Carlos returns. Is that okay?’
‘Sure.’ She smiled at him. ‘You can show me around while we wait.’
The practice was as well equipped as any Katherine had seen. In addition to four consulting rooms, one for each of the doctors, one for the nurses and one for their physio, there was an X-ray room and a sleek, spotlessly clean treatment room. All the equipment was modern and up to date.
‘You appear to be almost as well set up as a small hospital,’ Katherine said, impressed.
‘We never know what we’re going to get, so we like to be prepared for the worst. We have, as you can imagine, a fair share of road traffic accidents on these roads and sometimes people bring the casualties here as it’s closer than the hospital.’ Not quite the small family practice she’d imagined.
‘We don’t do much more than stabilise them and send them on,’ Alexander continued, ‘but it can make the difference between survival and death.’
‘You have advanced life-support training, then?’
‘Yes. We all do. It also helps that I used to be a surgeon.’ He picked up the phone. ‘Would you excuse me while I phone the hospital?’ he said. ‘I need to tell them to watch out for meningitis, as you suggested, and Carlos was telling me earlier that one of my patients was admitted there last night. I’d like to find out how he’s doing.’
‘Be my guest,’ Katherine replied. As she waited for him to finish the call she studied him covertly from under her lashes. The more she learned about him the more he intrigued her. So he used to be a surgeon. What, then, had brought him to what, despite the expensive and up-to-date equipment, was still essentially a rural family practice? Had he come back here because of his wife? And how had she died? Had she been a road traffic victim?
While he’d been talking on the phone, Alexander’s expression had darkened. He ended the phone call and sat lost in thought for a while. It was almost as if he’d forgotten she was there.
‘Something wrong?’ she asked.
‘The patient Carlos was telling me about has been transferred to a hospital in Athens. The hospital doctor who admitted him yesterday sent him there this morning, but he’s left to go fishing and can’t be reached. None of the staff on duty today can tell me anything.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ll speak to him tomorrow and find out why he felt a transfer was necessary.’ He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘But I have spoken to the doctor on call today about Stéfan. She’s promised to do a lumbar puncture on him.’
‘Good,’ Katherine said.
‘So what is your thesis on?’ Alexander asked.
‘As I said, communicable diseases. Mainly African ones.’
‘What stage of your training are you?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Consultant. Have been for four years. I’m thinking of applying for a professor’s post. Hence the doctorate.’
He whistled between his teeth. ‘You’re a consultant! You don’t look old enough.’
‘I’m thirty-four.’
They chatted for a while about her work and different infectious diseases Alexander had come across in Greece. Caught up in discussing her passion, she was surprised when she heard footsteps and Carlos came in. She’d no idea so much time had passed.
‘How is our patient?’ Alexander asked in English, after formally introducing her to his partner.
‘His blood pressure had come up by the time I left him in the care of the emergency team at the hospital. They’ll let me know how he is as soon as they’ve done all the tests.’
‘Will you let me know when they do?’
‘Of course.’
Alexander pushed away from the desk and stood. He smiled at Katherine. ‘In that case, let’s go and swap that car of yours.’
* * *
The car rental company did have another car for her, but it wouldn’t be available until later that afternoon.
Katherine turned to Alexander. ‘I’m sure you want to get home. Isn’t there another rental company in the area?’
‘I suspect you’ll find the same thing there. The cruise ships come in in the morning and a lot of the passengers—those who don’t want to take the bus tour to Olympia—hire a car for the day. They tend to bring them back around four.’
‘Damn. That’s three hours away.’
‘We could have lunch,’ he suggested. ‘Or, if you’re not hungry, we can go to Olympia ourselves. It’s years since I’ve been and it’s less than thirty minutes from here. By the time we get back, Costa here should have a car for you.’ He smiled. ‘You’re in Greece now. You’ll find life a lot easier if you accept that here time works in a different zone.’
She hid a sigh. She should be getting back to her thesis. By taking the morning off she risked falling behind the schedule she’d mapped out for herself.
Whoa—what was she thinking? Had she completely lost it? He was right. What was the hurry anyway? It was Sunday and an interesting, single hunk was wanting to spend time with her.
‘I would love to see Olympia,’ she said. And she would. It was near the top of her list of places to visit. It would also be less intense, less like a date, than having lunch.
‘Good. That’s settled, then.’ He opened the passenger door for Katherine. She looked at him and arched an eyebrow.
‘I think it will be less stressful—and safer for us all—if I drive,’ he said. ‘I know the roads better.’
She hesitated, then broke into a smile. ‘To be honest, if I never have to drive that heap of scrap again it would be too soon. So be my guest. Knock yourself out.’
* * *
It wasn’t long before she was regretting her decision—and her words. As far as she was concerned, Alexander drove just like every other Greek driver.
‘When I said knock yourself out,’ she hissed, ‘I didn’t mean literally.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I promise you driving this way is safer.’
Nevertheless, she was hugely relieved when they arrived still in one piece. Alexander found a space in the crowded car park.
‘There are two parts to the site—the ruins of the ancient city and the museum. I suggest we start off in the museum, which is air-conditioned.’ He glanced at her appraisingly and his lips twitched. She was wearing navy trousers and a white cotton blouse with a Peter Pan collar, which, she had to admit, while neat and professional were almost unbearably hot. ‘It’ll be cooler by the time we’re finished. If I remember correctly, there is very little shade in the ruins.’
She wandered around the exhibits, trying to concentrate but not really able to. She was too acutely aware of the similarity between the physiques of the naked statues and the man close by.
When they’d finished in the museum they walked across to the ruins. Although it was cooler than it had been earlier, it was still hot and almost immediately she felt a trickle of perspiration gather between her breasts. Alexander, on the other hand, looked as fresh and as cool as he’d done since they’d left the village.
As he pointed out the temples of Zeus and Hera, Katherine began to relax. Perhaps it was because, away from the statues, she could concentrate on what Alexander was saying. He knew a great deal about Greek history and was an easy and informative guide and soon she was caught up in his stories about what life must have been like during the Ottoman era.
When they’d finished admiring the bouleuterion, where the statue of Zeus had once stood, he led her across to the track where the athletes had competed. ‘Did you know they competed in the nude?’
Instantly an image of Alexander naked leaped into her head and blood rushed to her cheeks. She hoped he would think it was the heat that was making her flush but when she saw the amusement in his eyes she knew he was perfectly aware what she’d been thinking.
It was nuts. After Ben she’d only ever had one other significant long-term relationship—with Steven, one of her colleagues. When that had ended, after he’d been offered a job in the States, she’d been surprisingly relieved. Since then, although she’d been asked out many times and Sally had tried to fix her up with several of the unattached men she or Tom knew, and she’d gone out with two or three of them, no one had appealed enough to make her want to see them again beyond a couple of dates.
Relationships, she’d decided, were overrated. Many women were single and very happy—as was she. She could eat when she liked, go where she pleased without having to consult anyone, holiday where it suited her and work all weekend and every weekend if she wanted to. Until her mother’s death, she had rarely been lonely—she hadn’t lied to Crystal when she’d told her she preferred being on her own, but that didn’t mean she didn’t miss physical contact. That didn’t mean she didn’t miss sex.
She felt her flush deepen. But sex without strings had never been her cup of tea.
God! She’d thought more about sex over these last two days than she had in months. But it was hard not to think about it around all these nude statues. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea choosing to come here instead of lunch. Lunch might have been the safer option after all.
A replacement car still wasn’t available when they returned to the rental company.
‘Really!’ Katherine muttered. ‘It’s almost six.’ Unlike Alexander, she needed to cool off, preferably with an ice-cold shower. And to do that she needed to get home—and out of Alexander’s company.
‘He promises he’ll have one by seven. If not, he’ll give you his own car.’ Alexander grinned. ‘I did warn you about Greek timing.’
‘But aren’t you in a hurry to get back?’ she asked, dismayed. ‘I mean, you’ve given up the best part of your day to help me out. You must have other stuff you’d rather be doing. And I should get back to my thesis.’
‘Nope. I’m in no rush. As I said, I’m not expecting my cousin and Crystal home until later. And surely you can give yourself a few more hours off?’ The laughter in his eyes dimmed momentarily. ‘Trust me, sometimes work should take a back seat.’
It was all right for him, he clearly found it easy to relax. But to spend more time in his company, blushing and getting tongue-tied, was too embarrassing. Still, she couldn’t very well make him take a taxi all the way back home—even if it was an appealing thought. Maybe she should get a taxi home? Now she was being ridiculous! She was behaving like someone with sunstroke. She almost sighed with relief. Perhaps that was it? She clearly wasn’t herself. She realised he was watching her curiously. What had he been saying? Oh, yes—something about dinner.
‘In that case, dinner would be lovely,’ she replied, pulling herself together. ‘Do you have somewhere in mind?’
‘As a matter of fact I do. It’s down by the shore. They sell the best seafood this side of Greece.’ He tilted his head. ‘You do like seafood, don’t you?’
‘I love it.’
‘Good. We can wave goodbye to the cruise ships and more or less have the place to ourselves. We’ll leave the car here. It’s not far.’
They walked along the deserted main street. Without the hordes of visitors and now that the shopkeepers had brought in their stands that had been filled with tourist souvenirs, maps and guides, the town had a completely different feel to it. It was as if it were a town of two identities—the one belonging to the tourists, and this typically Greek sleepy one.
The restaurant was situated at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac and it didn’t look very prepossessing from the rear, where the entrance was situated. Understated was the word Katherine would use to describe the interior with its striped blue and white table runners and unlit candles rammed into empty wine bottles. But when they were guided to a table on the veranda by the maître d’, the view took Katherine’s breath away. White sands and a blue, blue sea glittered as if some ancient god had scattered diamonds onto its surface. Alexander pulled out a chair for her beneath the shade of a tree and she sank happily into it.
When Alexander chose the lobster, freshly caught that morning, she decided to have it too. And since he was determined to drive they ordered a glass of chilled white wine for her and a fruit juice for himself.
They chatted easily about Greece and the recent blow to its economy and Alexander suggested various other places she might want to visit. Then he asked which medical school she’d studied at and she’d told him Edinburgh. Surprisingly, it turned out that it had been one of his choices but in the end he’d decided on Bart’s.
‘What made you decide to study in England?’ she asked.
‘I was brought up there. My mother was from Kent.’ That explained his excellent English.
‘So you have a Greek father and an English mother. I’m the opposite. How did your parents meet?’
‘My mother met my father when she was working in a taverna while she was backpacking around Greece. It was supposed to be her gap year but in the end she never made it to university. Not long after she and my father started dating, they married. They moved to an apartment in Athens and after a couple of years they had me, then my younger brother. But she always pined for England. My father lectured in archaeology so he applied for a post at the British Museum and when he was accepted, we upped and left. I was five at the time.
‘My father always missed Greece, though, so we came back as a family whenever we could, particularly to see my grandmother—my father’s mother—and all the other family—aunts and uncles and cousins. Greece has always felt like home to me. Dad died when he was in his early forties. My grandfather died shortly after he did and, as my father’s eldest son, I inherited the villa I live in now, as well as the land around it. It’s been in our family for generations. Naturally my grandmother still lives in the family home.’
Katherine wanted to ask about his wife, but judging by his terse response in the village consulting room earlier that was a no-go area. ‘And where’s your mother now?’ she asked instead, leaning back as their waiter placed their drinks in front of them.
‘Still in England,’ Alexander continued, when their waiter had left. ‘She hasn’t been back since my father died. I don’t think she can bear to come anymore. She lives close to my brother in Somerset.’
‘Doesn’t she miss her grandchild?’
‘Of course. However, Mother’s life is in England—it’s where her friends and my brother and his family are. We visit her often and, of course, there’s video chat.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘That’s enough about me. What about you? Is there someone waiting for you in the UK?’
‘No. No one.’
He looked surprised. ‘Divorced, then? I’m assuming no children otherwise they’d be with you.’
She hesitated. ‘Not divorced. Never married.’ She swallowed. ‘And no children.’
‘Brothers and sisters? Your dad?’
‘My dad passed away when I was fifteen. And no brothers or sisters.’
‘So an only child. Being on your own must have made your mother’s death even harder to handle, then,’ he said softly.
The sympathy in his voice brought a lump to her throat. But she didn’t want him to feel sorry for her.
‘As I told Crystal, I like my own company. I have loads of friends in the UK when—if—I feel the need to socialise.’
‘No one who could come with you? We Greeks find it difficult to imagine being on our own. As you’ve probably noticed, we like to surround ourselves with family.’
‘Plenty of people offered to come,’ she said quickly. ‘But this trip was something I needed to do alone.’
He said nothing, just looked at her with his warm, brown eyes.
‘I wish I could have come with Mum before she died, though. She always hoped to return to Greece, with Dad and me, to show me her country, but sadly it never happened,’ she found herself explaining, to fill the silence.
‘Because of her MS?’
‘Yes. Mostly.’
But even before her mother’s diagnosis the trip had been talked about but never actually planned. Her parents’ restaurant had taken all their energy, money and time. At first it had seemed to be going from strength to strength, but then the unimaginable had happened. Dad had died and without him Mum had become a shadow of herself and had talked less and less about returning to Greece.
It had only been later that she’d realised that her father’s death and struggling with a failing business hadn’t been the only reasons Mum had been listless. She’d hidden her symptoms from her daughter until the evening she’d collapsed. And that had been the beginning of a new nightmare.
‘What do you do when you’re not working?’ he asked, when she didn’t expand.
‘I kind of work all the time,’ she admitted ‘It’s honestly my favourite thing to do.’
He frowned as if he didn’t believe her. But it was true. She loved her work and found it totally absorbing. Given the choice of a night out or settling down to some research with a glass of wine in one hand, the research won hands down.
Their food arrived and was set before them. Katherine reached for the bowl of lemon quarters at the same as Alexander. As their fingers touched she felt a frisson of electricity course through her body. She drew back too quickly and flushed.
He lifted up the dish, his expression enigmatic. ‘You first.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So why public health?’ he asked, seeming genuinely interested.
‘I thought I wanted to do general medicine but I spent six months in Infectious Diseases as part of my rotation and loved it—particularly when it came to diagnosing the more obscure infections. It was like solving a cryptic crossword puzzle. You had to work out what it could be by deciphering the clues, and that meant finding out as much as you could about your patient—where they, or their families, had been recently, for example. Sometimes it was obvious if they’d just come from Africa—then you’d start by think of malaria—or typhoid or if they’d been on a walking holiday in a place where there were lots of sheep, making Lyme disease a possibility. It was the patients who made the job so fascinating. When you’d found out as much as you could, you had to decide what tests and investigations to do, ruling diseases out one by one until the only one left was almost certainly the right answer.’
She rested her fork on the side of her plate. ‘Of course, it wasn’t always a good outcome. Sometimes by the time you found out what the patient had it was too late. And what was the point in diagnosing someone with malaria if you couldn’t stop them getting it in the first place? I became really interested in prevention and that’s when I moved into public health.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on. But when I get talking about work...’
‘Hey, I’m a doctor, I like talking shop.’
‘Why did you decide to come back to Greece?’ she asked.
Something she couldn’t read flickered behind his eyes. ‘I wanted to spend more time with my daughter,’ he said shortly. ‘But we were talking about you. How did your parents meet?’ It seemed he was equally determined to turn the conversation back to her.
‘Mum met Dad when he was in the armed forces. He was stationed in Cyprus and she was visiting friends there. They fell in love and he left the army and they moved back to Scotland. He tried one job after another, trying to find something he enjoyed or at least was good at. Eventually he gave up trying to find the ideal job and started working for a building company. We weren’t well off—not poor but not well off. We lived in a small house bordering an estate where there was a lot of crime. When I was eight my father became unwell. He didn’t know what was it was—except that it was affecting his lungs. He was pretty bad before Mum persuaded him to see his GP.’ She paused. ‘That’s when I began to think of becoming a doctor.’
He leaned forward. ‘Go on.’
‘We used to go, as a family, to his doctor’s appointments. We did everything as a family.’ Sadness washed over her. ‘First there were the visits to the GP, but when he couldn’t work out what was going on, he referred Dad to the hospital. I was fascinated. Everything about the hospital intrigued me: the way the doctors used to rush about seeming so important; the way the nurses always seemed to know what they were doing; the smells; the sounds—all the stuff that normally puts people off I found exciting.
‘Of course, I was too young to understand that the reason we were there was because there was something seriously wrong with my father. His physician was a kind woman. I remember her well. She had these horn-rimmed glasses and she used to look at me over the top of them. When she saw how interested I was, she let me listen to my father’s chest with her stethoscope. I remember hearing the dub-dub of his heartbeat and marvelling that this thing, this muscle, no larger than his fist, was what was keeping him—what was keeping me and everyone else—alive.
‘I was always smart at school. It came easy to me to get top marks and when I saw how proud it made my parents, I worked even harder. My school teachers told my parents that they had high hopes for me. When I told Mum and Dad—I was twelve—that I wanted to be a doctor they were thrilled. But they knew that it would be difficult if I went to the high school in our area. It had a reputation for being rough and disruptive. They saved every penny they could so they could send me to private school.
‘My father had received a payment from the building company when he left—by this time he’d been diagnosed with emphysema from years of breathing in building dust—but I knew he’d been planning to use the money for a down payment on a mortgage to buy a little restaurant—Dad would be the manager, Mum the head cook—and I didn’t want them to use their life savings on me, not if they didn’t have to.
‘I persuaded them to let me apply to one of the top private schools. My teacher had told them that the school awarded scholarships to children with potential but not the funds to go to the school. She also warned them that it was very competitive. But I knew I could do it—and I did.’
‘I am beginning to suspect that you’re not in the habit of letting obstacles get in your way.’
Suddenly she was horrified. She wasn’t usually so garrulous and certainly not when it came to talking about herself. Over the years she’d become adept at steering the conversation away from herself and onto the other person. Now she was acutely conscious of having monopolised the conversation, and when she thought about it she realised she’d made herself out to be a paragon of virtue when nothing could be further from the truth. Perhaps it was the wine. Or the way he listened to her as if she were the most fascinating person he’d ever met. Her heart thumped. Perhaps this was the way he was with everyone. She suspected it was. In which case he’d be an excellent family doctor.
‘So how long have you been back in Greece?’ she asked when their waiter left them, after replenishing their water glasses. She really wanted to know more about him.
‘Just over two years.’ His gaze dropped to his glass. He twirled his water, the ice cubes tinkling against the side. ‘Not long after I lost my wife. I worked at St George’s in London—As I mentioned earlier, I trained as surgeon before going into general practice—but my wife, Sophia, wasn’t really a city girl, so we bought a house in a nearby suburb and I commuted from there. And when I was on call, I slept at the hospital.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘In retrospect, that was a mistake,’ he murmured, so softly she couldn’t be sure she’d heard him correctly. ‘Why did you change to general practice?’
