Читать книгу Healing The Sheikh's Heart - Annie O'Neil - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

“LET ME START AGAIN.”

Idris’s growing impatience won out over the desire to return Robyn’s infectious smile. “I wasn’t under the impression we had started anything, much less the interview I was expecting to conduct.”

He knew he was being contrary but this woman unnerved him. Her watchful tigress eyes flicked around the room on a fruitless quest to come up with reasons for his terse response. She wouldn’t find what she sought there. In the immaculate soft furnishings and discreet trappings of the überwealthy. The answer to his coldness stood guard at the surrounds of his heart. Unreachable.

And she would have to do a bit more than smile and catch him off guard to be the one he chose to operate on his daughter.

He was the wall people had to break through to get to Amira. He’d lost one love of his life to the medical “profession.” He’d be damned if he lost another.

He shifted in his chair, well aware Robyn was already unwittingly chinking away at some of his usually impenetrable defenses. This woman—ray of light, more like—was a near antithesis to everything his life had been these last seven years. Where he was wary and overprotective, she was virtually bursting with life, enthusiasm and kindness.

He didn’t think any of the other surgeons had so much as spoken to Kaisha other than to say “tea” or “coffee.” Perhaps a nod of dismissive thanks, but in his book, consideration was everything. Particularly in his role as leader of Da’har. Every decision he made about the small desert kingdom would, ultimately, affect each citizen. As such, he took no decision lightly, altered no laws of the land to benefit one group of people and not another. Life on this small planet was already unjust enough on its own. He’d learned that the hard way. And regrouped out of necessity.

The last thing the people of Da’har needed was a leader drowning in grief at the loss of his wife. Seven years ago his newborn daughter had needed a father with purpose. Direction. So he’d shut the doors on the past and sharply fine-tuned himself to focus on Amira and the role she would one day take on as Sheikha of Da’har and all her people. People whose voices she now longed to hear.

“Where are all the toys?” Robyn asked pointedly.

“I’m sorry?” Idris swung his attention back toward her, not realizing his thoughts had wandered so far away.

“Toys? You did bring your daughter with you, right? And she’s seven so...” He watched her brightly lit eyes scan the immaculate sitting room. “Where does she play?”

“She’s at the zoo with Thana.”

Kaisha’s eyes widened at his words. He knew as well as she, he would normally never tell a virtual stranger his daughter’s whereabouts. Or to call him Idris for that matter. He’d offered no such “common” courtesy to the surgeons he’d met before Robyn. Something about her elicited a sense of...comfort. Ease. She exuded warmth. Albeit, a higgledy-piggledy variety of warmth—but she seemed trustworthy, nonetheless. Which was interesting. Trust wasn’t something he extended to others when it came to his daughter.

“And Thana is her...?” He bristled at Robyn’s open-ended question. He never had to face this sort of questioning in Da’har. Or, generally, anywhere else. His wife’s death during childbirth had been international news. Where their wedding had lit up television broadcasts, her funeral had darkened screens around the globe. It was near impossible to explain how leaden his feet had felt as he’d followed her casket, Amira’s tiny form tightly swaddled in his arms, the pair of them making their way toward the newly dug grave site. He swallowed the sour sensation that never failed to twist through his gut at the memory.

“Her nanny.”

Robyn winced. He could see she remembered now. The myriad expressions her face flashed through and finally landed on was something he recognized too well.

The widowed Sheikh and his deaf daughter...all alone in their grief at the loss of the Sheikha.

So.

He quirked an appraising eyebrow.

She had done her research, after all. Just wasn’t going to any pains to prove it.

“Right!” Robyn pulled open the flap to her satchel and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, which she knocked into an exacting rectangle on the glass coffee table. “I generally prefer to do this sort of initial ‘meet’ with the child. Amira,” she corrected. “While I am relatively certain the type of surgery and treatment I am proposing will suit her case, I also like to make sure it suits her.”

“What do you mean?” None of the other surgeons seemed to care a jot about Amira’s thoughts on the matter. They just wanted to showboat their latest clinical trials...for a price, of course. A large one.

“When someone who is profoundly deaf has hearing restored, it can be quite shocking. Not all deaf people, you may be surprised to learn, want to hear.”

“That is not the case with Amira.”

Robyn gave him a gentle but firm smile before continuing. “It would be preferable to hear that from Amira. Sometimes what a parent desires for their child is different from what the child themselves wants. Tell me, how does she communicate?”

“She mostly reads lips, although—” he raised a hand as Robyn’s own lips parted to interject “—we have our own sign language of sorts. As I’m sure you are aware, there is not yet a regionally recognized sign language between the Arab nations as there is in America or here in the United Kingdom.”

Robyn was nodding along, the tiniest flicker of “been there, done that” betraying the fact he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know already.

“And is her lipreading in Arabic, French and English?”

Hackles rising, Idris checked the volume of his response. “Da’har’s local dialect is what interests her most as the people of my kingdom are the ones she will one day be Sheikha to. Though she speaks a smattering of the others as we travel together regularly. Do bear in mind, Doctor, she is only seven.”

“I have met some very savvy seven-year-olds in my day.” Her chin jutted forward decisively.

Was she mocking him? Amira was the most precious thing in his life. He was hardly going to overwhelm his already serious little girl with an endless stream of tutors and languages when life was innately challenging for her.

When his eyes met hers, he was heartened to see Robyn’s countenance matched her words. She seemed to have...respect...for her patients. He notched up a point for her. A small one. But a point, nonetheless.

“Shame.” Robyn was shaking her head, fanning out some of the papers she’d brought. “It’s much easier to learn multiple languages as a child. The younger, the better, some say. Particularly if it’s not in a scholastic setting.” Her eyes made a derisive skid across the decidedly “grown-up” hotel suite.

“Actually...” Kaisha interjected shyly. “Amira’s English is pretty good and we have been practicing some British Sign Language. She seems to enjoy it.”

“You’ve not told me this!” Idris knew it wasn’t something to be angry about—but why would they keep this from him? A small twinge of concern that his own serious demeanor might be the reason teased at his conscience. Then he dismissed it. He was who he was. A father who put his daughter above everything.

“It was a surprise. For Dr. Kelly.” Kaisha jumbled the words together, then launched herself into some fastidious note-taking to avoid any reaction Idris might have.

“That’s excellent!” Robyn gave a fingertip pitter-patter clap.

“British Sign Language is closer to French—so if she takes that up as well, it sounds as though she’s got some solid grounding in the wonderful world of the polyglot!”

Kaisha beamed with pride.

“Hold on!” Idris unsuccessfully tried to rein in the women’s enthusiasm. “What has all of this got to do with the operation to restore her hearing?”

“Everything,” Robyn replied solidly.

“And why is that?” Idris asked, now feeling sorely tested.

“Because there is always the chance it might not work.”

A thick silence settled between them as he took on board what none of the other surgeons dared suggest. Failure. It was a courageous thing to admit.

“I thought you were one of the best.”

“I am,” Robyn replied without so much as a blink of an eye. “But Amira’s case is a tricky one and the treatment I’m proposing has never been done in exactly this way. Not to mention, I’ve never done it in tandem with gene therapy.”

“Gene therapy?” Idris’s hackles went straight up. It sounded invasive. Dangerously so.

“Don’t worry...don’t worry.” Robyn waved away his concerns as if they were minor. “This is really exciting stuff. During my time in Boston Pediatrics—”

“I thought you were based at Paddington’s.”

Was nothing as it seemed with this woman?

“I am,” she confirmed patiently, then gave a self-effacing laugh. “Unlike most of the human race I like to take my ‘holidays’ at other hospitals. See what my fellow comrades in the Ear, Nose and Throat world are up to.”

“So...you work on holiday.” It came out as a statement.

“I never feel like I’m at work,” she replied, looking shocked he could think otherwise. “I love what I do. So, really, I’m living the dream!”

Idris saw something just then—the tiniest of winces as she spoke of her “perfect life.”

That she was passionate about medicine he had no doubt. But there was something missing, something personal. Which was what she seemed to be making this whole affair by the constant reminders that Amira wasn’t available for “inspection.”

He gave a dissatisfied grunt at the thought, smoothing away an invisible crease on his trousers.

Work and play might be one and the same for Robyn, but he had yet to get a handle on what it was she was actually going to do for his daughter apart from test her emotional elasticity. What was she expecting? A picket fence lifestyle for a girl who had lost her mother at birth and would one day rule a nation, all the while coping with profound deafness?

If she could handle that with the grace and charm she exhibited on a daily basis, Amira would certainly be able to handle...

Ah...

Idris put two and two together, suddenly seeing the sense behind everything Robyn—Dr. Kelly—was saying. One devastating loss was big enough. Something she would have to live with forever. The second? Her dream of being able to hear the voices of the people she would one day serve as leader?

He glanced at his watch, wondering how long it would take to bring Amira back from the zoo. Then again, he still hadn’t heard Robyn’s surgical plans. He was hardly going to give her hope before he’d heard Dr. Sunshine’s proposal.

“Okay, Idris—Your Highness. This is the part for focusing.” Robyn’s entire body looked as though it were ready to spring from the sofa as she spoke. “I am particularly excited about the different components of this surgery. I think Amira—when I eventually meet her—will be pretty interested to learn she’ll be one of the first children to receive a 3-D printout of not one but two inner ear bones. The stapes or stirrup, and the incus—or anvil as it is commonly known. I’m guessing you’re relatively au fait with this terminology, right?” She didn’t pause for an answer, just a quick glance in his direction as she pushed a couple of maps of an ear in his direction highlighting the work she proposed to do. Then, from her seemingly bottomless pit of a satchel, she pulled out a large model of an ear.

“This was more for Amira’s sake, but as she’s not here, you’ll do.”

“How very kind,” Idris answered dryly. Whether or not Robyn took any notice of his tone was beyond him as she was utterly engrossed in taking apart the pieces of the gigantic model to reveal a beautiful side view of the intricately constructed organ.

“As she was born prematurely, it looks as though a couple of Amira’s middle ear bones had some trouble developing completely, leading to the conductive hearing loss and—for whatever reason, it could be her diet, could be all the other factors a preemie has to go through—her body hasn’t quite caught up with the development she should have gone through by this point. It’s also apparent that the sensory hairs in her ear were damaged at some point. It could have been in the gestational period, but I think it is more likely it was during the labor. Sometimes the use of medicines that are beneficial to the mother can affect the baby—”

“Stop there. I’ve heard enough.”

Idris clenched his teeth, feeling the telltale twitch in his jaw as he did. No one had so much as dared to suggest Amira’s hearing loss had been caused by the medical treatment his wife had received. He’d never hold his wife’s fight for survival accountable for his daughter’s condition. At first he’d thought it had been punishment for being too happy. A beautiful wife, a nation who adored the pair of them, a child on the way... The lightning strikes of how cruel life could actually be had been blunt and unforgiving.

Robyn leaned forward and reached out a hand, taking one of Idris’s in her own. His instinct was to yank his hand away. It had been years since he’d known the comforting touch of a woman. Years since he’d thought such a thing would ever be possible after he’d lost his beloved wife. If Robyn noticed, nothing in her expression betrayed the fact.

“This is a big step,” she began, the warmth of her fingers beginning to mesh with his own. “For you and your daughter. I would rather call the entire thing off if you feel it’s too iffy. There is always the option of cochlear implants or bone conducting hearing aids. They do offer excellent opportunities for many hearing-impaired children, but given the damage to Amira’s sensory hairs, I believe they’ll offer minimal aid in your daughter’s case. If you like I can show you the details for the other surgeries.”

“No need.” Idris extracted his hand from hers and stood, suddenly impatient to get things under way. His own fears, his need to control the situation, would have to be controlled. For Amira’s sake. Putting all of his faith in a surgeon for his daughter’s well-being terrified him, but something about Robyn told him she would do everything in her power to do what she could for Amira.

“We will do the surgery, as you prescribed, but on one condition.”

“Oh! I...uh...” She threw a look over each shoulder as if expecting the condition to appear from behind the sofa.

Idris bit back a smile. She was clearly a doctor, through and through. A negotiator? Not so much. Children seemed to be the medium through which she communicated with the rest of the world. Adults, less comfortable terrain. Or was it just him that made her squirm? A flash of sexual prowess shot through him. Fleeting—powerful enough to leave aftershocks.

“What exactly is this condition?” Robyn shot him a wary look when a giraffe didn’t pop up behind her. “I don’t dance, sing or play poker if any of those are your poison.”

“You will come to Da’har.”

Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth popped into a pretty O as she took on board his proposal. She wanted him out of his comfort zone...and it looked as though his request meant she would have to leave hers.

“Why?”

“To spend time with Amira, of course. As you requested,” he couldn’t resist adding.

Robyn jumped to her feet, raising her hands in protest.

“There’s no need for me to leave the hallowed shores of Blighty to do my best in surgery.” Her eyes zigzagged between him and Kaisha as if trying to divine a hidden meaning in the request. Demand? Even he wasn’t sure. What he did know was if he was going to acquiesce to her demands she’d better be prepared to meet him halfway. Putting his daughter’s future in the hands of virtual stranger? Not an option.

“When we’re in Da’har—”

“Oh, my goodness me! Let’s not count our camels before they hatch!” Robyn laughed nervously, faltered, regrouped, then put on what he suspected was a self-taught stern expression as she wagged a finger at him. “I don’t exactly remember saying I would come along. I am the head of surgery at a very busy hospital that—”

“Is under threat of closure and relocation outside of London? Riverside, I believe the new site is called?” he finished coolly.

He was no game player, but if Paddington Children’s Hospital was on the brink of an unwanted closure, he had the means to change that. His pockets were deep. Very deep. But his daughter’s welfare came first. The thought of losing Amira under any circumstances chilled him to his very marrow. Something just as deep-seated told him Robyn was the woman to perform Amira’s surgery, but only after a few more boxes had been ticked. “You will come to Da’har to allay my concerns—”

“Concerns?”

A piercing shot of anger coursed through Idris that she could even dare to suggest he would feel otherwise.

“Yes. Concerns. Shall I spell it out for you? A father’s concerns. Surely, Dr. Kelly, you are not unfamiliar with the love a parent has for a child?”

Robyn went deathly still. She blinked, hiding behind her eyelids a look of pure, unadulterated grief. When she opened them again, her eyes bore little of the light they’d shone with earlier and Idris knew he was at fault for unearthing a deep sorrow. A hollow victory if ever there was one.

“I will have to talk to the board,” she said. “Ensure appropriate replacements can be made...”

“Good.” He gave a curt nod, his tone back to its usual brusque efficiency. It wasn’t as if he could comfort her. Pull her into his arms and tell her whatever it was that had thrown a shadow over her sunlit eyes would one day be better. He was proof that time was not a healer of all wounds.

“Right. Very well, then. When shall we book your flight? Or, if you care to join us, we will be taking the jet back. Is it tomorrow afternoon, Kaisha? Amira’s booked in to see a premiere of some sort tonight—a musical—otherwise we’d be off today.”

* * *

“You’re going to see Princesses and Frogs?” Robyn shoved her dark thoughts away, grateful for the distraction. The highly anticipated musical had been sold out for months and months. She’d been hoping to bring some of her friends from the hospital...well, patients, but they always ended up finding a way into her heart no matter how “doctory” she tried to be.

“Yes. Very nice seats, I’m led to believe. Would you care to join us?”

Robyn barked out an ungainly laugh. “I doubt you’d be able to get extra tickets at this point.”

“It won’t be a problem. We always book out the Royal Dress Circle.”

She cringed as Idris caught her raised eyebrows, even more embarrassed at her reaction to the show of wealth when he finished, “In case Amira would like to bring along a friend or two. As you speak British Sign Language, you could be useful if she needs some additional interpreting along the way. Is there anyone else you’d like to invite along?” She felt his eyes traveling down to her bare ring finger and protectively covered her left hand with her right.

She fidgeted for a minute under his cool gaze, then crossed her arms, in a B-grade show of giving his question a few moments’ consideration. Idris didn’t need to know she was a dedicated singleton. One whose daily torture and pleasure it was to enter Paddington’s and spend day after day surrounded by children knowing she would never have one of her own. Lacerating her heart by getting close to yet another young patient was always a risk. One she’d have to take if it meant saving the hospital that had saved her in her darkest days. Her hands, as they always did, crept down to protect the area where she would have carried a child if things had gone differently. If life had been kind. She blinked. Kind. Idris hadn’t known much kindness at the hands of Mother Nature, either.

“It would be great if I could come along...to meet Amira.” Her brow crinkled as she continued. “In the light of which, I really don’t think it’s necessary to take up your time and resources to go to Da’har.”

“Nonsense. Expense is the least of my problems.” Idris tutted, crossing to the sofa where Robyn was sitting. She watched, wordlessly, as he picked up the crumpled ball that was her raincoat and shook it out. The scarf one of “her” kids had given her fell to the ground. When she bent to pick it up, she conked heads, rather impressively, with Idris.

They rose simultaneously, hands clamped on foreheads. As comedy moments went...this was up there. Except neither of them were laughing.

His eyes...those beautiful near black eyes of his held on to hers as if they were speaking to each other. A silent conversation winging its way, effortlessly, to her very core where she was feeling rather heated and a little bit...giddy.

Da’har was meant to be nice this time of year.

Idris regrouped more quickly than Robyn and all she could do was watch his lips as he spoke.

“If you need a few days to rearrange your schedule...” She watched as his Adam’s apple dipped and resurfaced. Was he feeling it, too? “I’m quite sure the hospital administration will be...flexible...about your hospital duties when they understand the complexities surrounding your upcoming surgery.”

“It’s not the surgery I’m worried about.” Her fingers flew to cover her lips. Gulp. She was really going to have to curtail her out-loud voice.

“Dr. Kelly, I’m not certain how much your administrative team has told you about me, but in order for this surgery to go ahead I’m afraid there are a few hurdles to leap. My daughter is my utmost priority and as much as you want to understand Amira, I need to understand you.”

“Oh, no, no. I don’t go under the microscope.” Not a chance. No one—no matter how sexy, powerful and unnervingly sensual they were—no one opened up her private life for inspection. Case. Closed. She dug her trainers into the thick carpet and gave a shake of the head, wishing she’d commandeered her wild spray of curls into some sort of obedience. “Nonnegotiable.”

“My daughter, my rule book.”

“Ha! Wow.” Despite her best efforts to stem her response, she snorted. “Someone’s a little used to getting what he wants.”

He quirked an eyebrow in response; a ribbon of heat flickered through her belly as she watched his lips part to respond to her, a full octave lower than usual.

“And someone’s going to have to learn to be a bit more flexible to get what she wants.”

Robyn could’ve sworn she saw the hint of a smile on his lips before he continued briskly. “You will, of course, need to meet the team you will work with for the surgery in Da’har before I allow it—”

“Allow it?” Sorry, pal. Sheikh or no sheikh, she and she alone decided whether or not the surgery was green-lit.

“Yes. Allow it,” Idris replied, entirely unaffected by her interior monologue. “I make decisions about Amira and no one else. It’s the job of a parent to protect, is it not?”

Robyn bit down hard enough on the inside of her cheek to draw blood as he continued. She’d never be a parent and, as such, was denied any right of reply. This time her silence drew venom.

* * *

“How else do you recommend I look after my daughter’s welfare?” Idris snapped. He would move heaven and earth for Amira. Retaining control of her medical treatment was paramount. If he had control, he could ensure nothing would happen to her. Loss—the aching, hollowed-out-heart kind of grief he had felt when his wife had died—was not something he would ever go through again. He pressed his lips tightly together as Robyn began, again, to fight her corner.

“By trusting me and the other physicians at Paddington’s to do our very best—as we always do,” she replied, only just managing to keep the bite out of her own voice. Kaisha, Idris noticed, was inching her way out of the room.

“Then you will do your very best in Da’har.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Robyn’s index finger went into overdrive. “Not for the surgery. That will happen here.” She pointed in the general direction of Paddington’s, wagging her finger as if that were the decision maker. “It’s Paddington’s world-class facilities...or nowhere.”

The air crackled between them and for just a moment Idris saw a strength in her he doubted few people were privy to. A confidence in her abilities—under her terms—to which he was going to have to acquiesce.

Interesting.

What was it that made Robyn tick? Gave her the strength to disagree with him when everyone else was busy falling over themselves to appease. What would it be like to share the responsibility of Amira’s care with someone he trusted? The thought instantly brought him back to his senses. He had no one. Amira’s care was his and his alone.

“I can get you anything or anyone you like to work with in Da’har. What does it matter where the surgery takes place?”

“Everything!”

They both froze. Idris felt his features recompose themselves into the unreadable mask he’d worn for so long while the tiniest of twitches on Robyn’s face betrayed a fight against the unwelcome sting of tears. His chest tightened. Yes, he wanted control—but not on these terms.

“Isn’t a surgical theater the same anywhere?”

Robyn shook her head, clearly not yet trusting herself to speak.

“My daughter’s welfare is paramount. She is happiest in Da’har.”

“My patient’s welfare is paramount and, as such, I am happiest operating at Paddington’s.”

“Tell me, what’s so special about it?”

* * *

His softer tone suggested a change of tack. One Robyn felt herself drawn to. Even so, she didn’t share. Not even her colleagues knew about the ectopic pregnancy that had ended her dreams of having a family of her own. All they knew was that Robyn poured her heart and soul into Paddington’s and was as much a part of the place as the very bricks and mortar.

“Spend time in Da’har with us.” A smile—one he should use more frequently—accompanied Idris’s words. “If you meet my terms, I will meet yours.”

“You mean the operation will be at Paddington’s?”

“So long as you join us in Da’har. The sooner, the better.”

A trip to Da’har.

Her lungs strained against the thought. Even so...something told her this was a throw-caution-to-the-winds moment. It was not like she was facing a life or death decision. What harm could seeing a children’s musical and a couple of days in Da’har do in the greater scheme of things apart from scare her witless by yanking her straight out of her comfort zone?

So she’d have a handful of days not knowing if she was coming or going. Days that could change the face of things at Paddington’s, making every moment of scrutinizing looks from the desert kingdom’s leader worth it.

Idris’s eyes bore down on her as he waited for an answer, a shift of his jawline betraying his impatience.

Her tummy flipped.

And...breathe.

See? Survived the first step.

Robyn gave a quick nod and stuck out her hand in as businesslike a fashion as she could muster. “I trust there will be chocolate-covered ginger biscuits where we’re going?”

Maybe not quite as grown-up as she’d been aiming for.

“More than enough.” Idris’s voice deepened as he mirrored her nod, engulfing her hand in both of his as he did. Why hadn’t she noticed how large his hands were before? And how strong. And gentle enough in their strength to make her feel...delicate.

Crikey. If only she could take a pile of those ginger biscuits back with her and curl up in a corner until every last crumb of them had disappeared. A sugar high might be the only way she’d have the strength to go through with this harebrained scheme.

“Kaisha,” Idris called over his shoulder, hands still encasing hers as if they were precious jewels, “can we get the rest of Dr. Kelly’s biscuits put in a basket or something so that she can bring them back to the hospital. To share.” He arched an eyebrow at her, all but proving he’d read her mind.

* * *

A few moments later, a flame-faced Robyn was jabbing at the lift buttons, a wicker basket swinging from her arm laden with enough ginger biscuits to feed an army.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Where was the elite and exclusive service when you needed it? She could feel the Sheikh’s bodyguards train their eyes on her, hoping they read nothing into the jiggling she could feel beginning as a hit of nerves overtook her entire upper body.

He’d seen into her soul.

How was that even possible? Less than an hour with Idris—Sheikh Idris Al Khalil. Her polar opposite if ever there was one, and yet...

She shot a glance over her shoulder again and grimaced. If the muscle men evaporated she could start banging her head against the controls hoping to knock some sense into herself at the same time. What on earth was she doing? Agreeing to up stakes and hang out in a desert kingdom with the cool-as-a-cucumber mind reader? Her private life was exactly that and she didn’t know how many more X-ray vision looks she could deflect.

A low groan filled the space around her. A droning moan of despair. Oh, wait. She was making that sound. Oops.

She turned around and flashed the bodyguards a quick smile, which grew brighter when she heard the lift ping and the doors click-clack open.

The sooner she could get back into the comforting surrounds of Paddington’s, the better.