Читать книгу Secrets In Sydney: Sydney Harbour Hospital: Tom's Redemption - Fiona Lowe, Emily Forbes - Страница 9

‘I’M NOT saying there weren’t moments when I thought that the surgery might result in brain damage. In fact, there were many such moments, but as a surgical team we were committed to trying to offer these little twin boys, conjoined at the head since birth, a better life.’

Hayley listened spellbound as Tom Jordan’s deep and confident voice boomed through the speakers while he presented his most groundbreaking neurological case. Something fell on her feet and with a rush of surprise she realised the printed version of his presentation had slipped off her lap. Initially, she’d done as Tom had asked and had turned each page of the document when he’d pressed his remote control to change the slide on the screen. This meant that she would know exactly what slide he was up to should something go awry with the computer, the data projector or the microphone.

Tom had been brusquely specific about the job he’d imposed on her, making her repeat his instructions back to him as if she was a child and not a nearly qualified surgeon. She’d almost told him to stick his lecture notes where ‘the sun don’t shine’, but the edge of anxiety that had dared to hover around his commanding, broad shoulders had made her stay.

It hadn’t taken long before she’d become so caught up in the story and the technicalities of the surgery that she’d forgotten all about page turning. Instead, she was having a series of mini-moments of hero-worship as the implications of what Tom Jordan and his team had achieved sank in. It had been the ‘moon landing’ of surgeries.

‘This surgery was the culmination of two years of work, and innovation was key.’ Tom stared at the back of the room as he spoke. ‘Not only were we successful, we paved the way for other neurosurgeons, and earlier this year a similar operation took place in the UK.’

She leaned down, picking up the folder, and then glanced up at Tom. The tense, angry and pedantic man who’d greeted her earlier was gone. In his place was a brilliant surgeon, his long, lean and tanned fingers resting purposely on his braille notes. Notes he didn’t need because she knew he could ‘see’ the surgery. At this very moment he was inside those little boys’ brains, and his passion for their well-being and giving them the chance at a normal life filled the auditorium, along with a sense of humility that he and his team had been given such an opportunity.

There was nothing dry and dusty about Tom Jordan and he held the silent audience in the palm of his hand. No one was nodding off to sleep or fiddling with their phone or doodling. Everyone was leaning forward, interested and attentive, and fascinated by the report of brilliant surgery told in an educative yet entertaining style.

All too soon the lecture was over and Hayley felt a zip of disappointment. She could have listened to Tom for a lot longer, but after he’d fielded questions for fifteen minutes he wound it all up. People started to leave and although some lingered for a moment as if they wanted to speak with Tom, most left without talking to him, their faces filled with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment—what did you say to someone who’d lost their career?

Finn Kennedy stopped and gave his usual curt greeting before moving off quickly when Evie stepped up with Theo. Both of them greeted Tom warmly and as they departed, two men passed and started chatting to each other before they were out of earshot. ‘Damn shame. He was the best and now—’

Hayley saw Tom’s shoulders stiffen.

He heard them.

Of course he’d heard—the man had almost bionic hearing. She rushed to speak in the hope of drowning out the thoughtless remarks. In her post-lecture awe, she spoke more loudly than she intended. ‘That was amazing.’

Tom flinched and turned toward her, his face granite. ‘I’m blind, Hayley, not deaf.’

‘I realise that, it’s just that …’ She didn’t think he’d take kindly to her saying she’d had a crazy urge to protect his feelings when he didn’t seem to have any problem with trampling on hers. Stick to the surgery topic. ‘I was in the UK when I heard about that surgery. I didn’t realise it was you who’d led the team.’

‘So now you know.’ He turned away from her and pushed down the lid of his laptop with a sharp snap.

Her mind was flying on the inspirational lecture and the fact she was in the presence of the man the world media had declared ‘a trailblazer’. ‘It must have been the most incredible buzz when you realised you’d pulled it off.’

His generous mouth pulled into a grim smile. ‘It’s something you never forget.’

‘I bet. I would have loved to have been there and seen you operating.’

His hands stilled on the laptop case. ‘That chance is long gone.’

A tingle of embarrassment shot through her. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you that …’ Oh, God, oh, God, shut up! She closed her eyes and stifled a groan. She’d managed to wrong-foot herself twice in two minutes.

‘You didn’t mean to remind me that I can no longer operate? How very thoughtful and considerate of you, Hayley.’

His sarcasm stung like the tail of a whip and this time she was the one to flinch. ‘I think I need to start over. What I was trying to say was that your lecture was the best one I’ve heard. Ever heard.’ She smiled and tried to joke. ‘And, believe me, I’ve heard a lot of boring lectures in the last ten years. You’re a gun lecturer and The Harbour’s fortunate to have you.’

He slung his laptop bag abruptly across his chest. ‘Aw, shucks. Stop now, you’re embarrassing me.’

But his icy tone sounded far from embarrassed and with a wicked flick he extended his cane. She jumped sideways, narrowly avoiding being hit.

‘I’m so glad that you’re honouring me with the title of “gun” lecturer,’ he continued. ‘I mean, after all, that’s what the last twenty years of my life have been about. Forget neurosurgery. Forget saving lives or improving lives and lessening pain. All of that pales into insignificance compared to giving a gun lecture, especially to a group of people who’ll probably never come close to achieving the level of technical expertise I was known for.’ He started walking. ‘But you wouldn’t understand that, Hayley.’

His words fired into her like a shot, and she crossed her arms to stop herself from trembling from his unexpected verbal assault. To stop herself shaking from an incandescent fury that was fuelled by his deliberate misconstruction of her sentiments, and his belief that he alone had suffered in life. She knew far too intimately about loss and how life went on regardless.

He was blind, not dead, and she wasn’t treading carefully around him any more. ‘Were you this rude before you went blind?’

He stopped walking and his roared reply echoed around the now empty auditorium. ‘I was a neurosurgeon.’

She swayed at the blast. ‘I’ll take that as a “yes”, then.’

For a moment he didn’t speak. His sightless emerald eyes continued to stare at her but his previously hard expression had softened a touch. ‘Out of curiosity, Hayley, are you new to The Harbour because you were asked to leave your last post?’

As a woman in the very male-dominated world of surgery, she’d learned early to stand her ground. Something told her this was the only approach with the darkly charismatic Tom Jordan. Her chin shot up. ‘My recommendations from The Royal in London make the paper they’re written on glow in the dark.’

She waited for a sarcastic put-down but a beat went by and then he laughed. A big, bold, deep laugh that made his eyes crinkle up at the edges and sparkle like the sea on a sunny day.

‘Which is why I imagine you got a coveted surgical registrar’s position at The Harbour.’

She dropped her arms by her sides and relaxed slightly, knowing his statement was as close as a man like Tom Jordan would ever come to a compliment. ‘It was the top of my list because of its association with Parkes University.’

‘Mine too.’ His brows drew down for a moment and then he seemed to throw off the frown. ‘You said before you had a hellish day and mine, as you’ve adroitly deduced, wasn’t much better. How about we end it in a more pleasant way and I buy you dinner?’

Shocked surprise sent her blood swooping to her toes and was instantly followed by a flare of heat. Dinner? The idea of dinner with Tom Jordan the surgeon delighted her because she’d love to hear more about his pioneering operations. The idea of dinner with Tom Jordan the man didn’t generate quite the same feelings. An evening of verbal sparring would be exhausting and she was already beyond tired, but there was also a tiny part of her that was intrigued. He was heart-stoppingly handsome, just as the nurses had told her, but his soul had a shadow on it darker than his cocoa-coloured hair. That was enough to warn her that dinner wasn’t a good idea.

That and the fact that she generally didn’t date.

Vacillating, she bit her lip. ‘That’s very kind of you but—’

‘But what?’ The thin veneer of politeness that covered all that raw energy and ‘take no prisoners’ attitude cracked yet again.

She almost snapped at him and said, ‘Because of that’, but as she opened her mouth she saw a different tension in his jaw. He’s expecting you to say no. The thought made her stomach squirm. Did he really think she’d reject his invitation because he was blind?

Rude, yes, blind, no.

She thought of all the people at the lecture who’d known him when he’d been head of neurosurgery and who’d prevaricated and then chosen not to speak to him because they didn’t know what to say to the man who’d once held the pinnacle of all surgery positions. She wouldn’t do that to him even if the thought of dinner came more under the banner of duty than pleasure.

Decision made, she pulled her shoulders back. ‘I was going to say I’m not really dressed for dinner.’

‘Dressed or naked makes no difference to me, but I assume you have clothes on.’

Her breasts tingled at the lazy way his mouth roved over the word ‘naked’ and she was thankful he couldn’t see her pebbled nipples pushing against her T-shirt. As she tried to get her wayward body back under control she managed to splutter out an inane ‘Of course I’ve got clothes on.’

His brows rose and he extended his arm. ‘Then you’re dressed for dinner. Hurry up before I change my mind.’

She rolled her eyes but slid her arm under his. His fingers immediately curved around her elbow, his warmth seeping through her long-sleeved T-shirt. ‘I’m completely bowled over by your charm.’

‘Of course you are.’

He smiled at her and her knees sagged. Dimples carved through evening stubble, changing everything about him. The hard planes of his face yielded to the softer lines of humour, light replaced dark and bitter gave way to sweet. Everything inside her melted. What have I just gone and done?

The sarcastic, bitter man was easy to resist. This more human version of Tom Jordan—not so much.

What the hell possessed you?

Now that Tom was seated opposite Hayley at Warung Bali, a casual restaurant a short walk from the hospital, the reality of inviting her to dinner hit him hard. He’d shocked himself with the unanticipated invitation, which had come out of nowhere. One minute he’d been livid with the injustice of everything that had happened to him and not being able to operate, and the next he’d found himself smiling and the anger had faded slightly.

Still, dinner?

Yes, that had probably been overkill, but after the lecture, part of him had wanted to hold on to something that resembled normality. Before blindness had stolen more than his sight, he’d often dated and more than once he’d taken a nurse or a resident for an impromptu drink at Pete’s. He’d avoided Pete’s tonight because revisiting the social hub of The Harbour on ‘half-price Wednesdays’ would have been more than he could bear.

The reaction of the medical students to his lecture at lunchtime had been in stark contrast to that of his colleagues this evening. It had taken him close to an hour to deal with the number of students who’d wanted to speak to him at the end of the lecture. Only a few of his previous colleagues had made themselves known to him and he understood why. If his career had been chopped off at the knees from one act of fate, then so could theirs be, and it terrified them. So they’d avoided him.

Now he was avoiding them.

He’d brought Hayley to this restaurant because he often ate here and it was a short walk from his apartment. Prior to tonight, he’d only ever eaten here alone so he hadn’t anticipated that Wayan, the owner, would give Hayley such a rapturous welcome and offer champagne.

Tom had quickly gone into damage control. This wasn’t a date. It was just a meal with a fellow doctor and an attempt at reality—nothing more, nothing less. In the past, he’d rarely taken anyone out more than once so the chances of this ever being repeated were exceedingly slim.

‘Hayley is a colleague at the hospital, Wayan.’

‘Hello, Wayan.’ Her smoky voice had been infused with warmth. ‘As much as the idea of champagne is tempting, I’m on call and iced water would be wonderful.’

They’d discussed the menu, ordered their food, which had arrived promptly, and the pungent bouquet of lemon grass, coriander, peanut satay and chilli hadn’t disappointed. The flavours on his tongue matching the promise of the tantalising aroma. Wayan had placed the food on the table and as Tom had instructed him on his very first visit said, ‘On your plate, satay’s at twelve o’clock, rice at three and vegetables at nine.’

Both he and Hayley had eaten in relative silence with only an occasional comment about the food. When he’d finally balled his serviette and dropped it on his plate he heard the clink of ice against glass, but it wasn’t the movement caused by someone taking a sip. It was more continuous and he knew Hayley was stirring with her straw and staring down at her drink, probably wondering why she’d come.

He understood totally.

He swallowed, knowing he needed to break the silence. He’d never seen the point of chitchat with no purpose and he sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about the weather or the lecture he’d just survived. He thought about the first time he’d met her. ‘How long have you been scared of the dark?’

She coughed as if she was choking and he realised he’d missed the moment she’d taken a sip.

‘How long have you been blind?’

Again he found himself smiling. Three times in one day had to be a record. ‘I take it that your fear of the dark is off the conversation list.’

‘Is your blindness?’

He thought about it. ‘Yes and no.’

Her blurry outline leaned forward. ‘Okay, I’ll cut you a deal. If either of us asks a question that goes beyond what we’re comfortable answering, we just say, “Enough.”’

He’d never met anyone quite like her. Women usually wanted to know every little detail and got offended if he didn’t tell all. This suggestion of hers, however, was perfect—conversation with a get-out-now option. ‘You’re on.’

‘Good.’ The table rocked slightly as if she was pressing her hands down on it. ‘I’ve been scared of the dark since I was a child and don’t tell me I should have grown out of it by now.’

The heartfelt punch behind her words hit him in the chest and left behind the trace of a question he could easily ignore. ‘I’ve been living in the dark for two years after an urban four-wheel drive, complete with a dirt-free roo bar, ran me off my bike when I was in Perth for a conference. I slammed into the road headfirst.’

Flashes of memory flitted in colour across his mind. Memories he’d learned to control. ‘Ironically, I’m told that my skin’s healed perfectly and I don’t have a single scar but the impact stole my sight.’ He forced his hands to stay in his lap and not grip the edge of the table as he braced himself for the platitudes he’d grown used to hearing.

‘That sucks.’

He blinked. She’d just done it again—defied convention. ‘It more than sucks, and coming back to Sydney is proving to be—’ Never admit weakness. He cut himself off before he said more than he intended.

‘Challenging. Purposeful. A relief?’ The words hung in the air, devoid of anything other than their natural sound.

‘I’m not sure it’s a relief.’ He ran his fingers along the edge of the spoon Wayan had put on the table as his marker to find his drink which was on a coaster directly above it.

‘Why did you come back?’

He shrugged, not really understanding the decision himself. ‘There’s something about the pull of home.’

‘Family?’ Her usually firm voice suddenly sounded faint.

He shook his head and tried not to think about his mother. ‘No, but I grew up here.’

Understanding wove through her voice. ‘And you worked at The Harbour. That’s got to be a strong pull too.’

It was like a knife to his heart. ‘Don’t tell me that lecturing is as important as surgery because you know it doesn’t even come close.’

He’d expected her to object but instead she gave a heartfelt sigh. He knew exactly what that sound meant. Before he’d thought it through he found himself saying, ‘There’s something about holding the scalpel just before you cut.’

‘I know, right?’ Animation played through her voice. ‘There’s an exhilaration that gives you this amazing feeling, but there’s also some tiny ripples of concern because no matter how routine the operation, there’s always the threat of the unknown.’

Her words painted the perfect picture, describing with pinpoint accuracy that one moment every surgeon experienced. The image floated around him but instead of bringing on a cloud of bitterness, it brought back the buzz. A buzz he hadn’t known in two long years.

Hell, he missed talking with a colleague—with a fellow surgeon. Sure, he’d talked to doctors in the last two years, but he’d been the patient and those conversations had been very, very different. ‘And in neurosurgery even the known can bite you.’

He felt a flutter of air against his face and his nostrils flared at the softest soupçon of magnolia. He realised she’d leaned forward again.

‘Even with an MRI?’

He responded to the interest in her voice. ‘They’re a brilliant roadmap, certainly, but just like a photograph often it’s all about what isn’t in the picture.’

‘The human body being a variation on a theme.’

The enthusiasm in her voice pulled him in. ‘Absolutely. I remember once when I’d—’ The strident notes of techno music split the air.

‘Sorry, that’s my phone.’ The noise was immediately silenced. ‘Hayley Grey.’

Tom had no choice but to sit and overhear one side of a conversation. A conversation so familiar that he’d said similar words in the past at dinners, from his bed, in the car and on his bike.

Hayley sucked in a sharp breath. ‘When …? A and E …? How many …? Five minutes … Okay, two, then. Call David Mendez … Bye.’

His pulse rate had inexplicably picked up. ‘Problem?’

‘Road trauma.’ The scrape of her chair screeched, matching the urgency in her voice. ‘I have to get back.’

He carefully moved his chair back a short distance and rose to his feet, hating it that he didn’t know exactly where she was standing, although he could smell her—smell the exhilarating combination of her perfume mixed in with her heady aroma of excitement. The thrill of the unknown—a surgeon’s addiction.

‘Tom.’ Her hand slipped into his, her skin soft, warm and fragrant.

A wave of heat hit him so hard he had to fist his other hand to stop it from reaching out and pulling her against him. It was like his body had just woken up from a long, deep sleep and was absolutely starving. He craved to trace every curve and swell of her body, and he hungered to learn if her body was as lush and as sexy as her voice promised it would be, as her summer garden scent taunted that it was.

She squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you for the best satay I’ve tasted outside Asia.’

‘No …’ Huskiness clung to the word and he cleared his throat. ‘No problem. I’ll walk you back.’

‘Thank you, but I have to run.’

He’d heard the regret in her voice before she’d even said the word. He couldn’t run.

She quickly withdrew her hand. ‘I won’t ask if you’re all right to get home because you’d probably bite my head off.’

He forced a smile against the cold grimness that was washing through him and leaving behind a film of bleakness on every part of him that it touched. ‘You’re right about that.’

‘I’m right about a lot of things. Goodbye, Tom.’

‘Good night, Hayley.’

He heard her rapid footsteps, the tinkle of the bell as the door opened, the jet of winter night air that raced in around his ankles, and then the thud of the heavy door closing. And she was gone, running down the street with adrenaline pumping through her veins and her mind alert with every diagnostic possibility.

And he couldn’t even freaking escort her back to The Harbour, let alone be involved with the emergency.

His hands fumbled with fury as they sought the back of the chair and with a curse he sat down heavily and felt his hand collide with the plate. Cold rice squelched through his fingers. He swore again and pushed the plate away. A crash followed.

The disappointments of the day and the bitter fury that had been his companion since the accident rolled back in like a king tide. With a gasp he realised their arrival meant they’d been absent. Gone for the hour he’d spent at dinner.

The hour you spent with Hayley.

But now every single feeling was back with a vengeance—stronger and more devastating than before. It swamped him with the reminder that his current life was a very poor relation to the one he’d lived before. It clawed at him, pulling him down and forcing him back toward the pit of despair he’d only half dug himself out of.

Hayley would be operating within the hour. She would be saving lives. And what was he doing? Sticking his hand in cold food and making a damn mess. He fought for his breath against a tight and frozen chest. So what if she smelled like summer sunshine or if the timbre of her voice stroked him like a hot caress, sending his blood direct to his groin? If attempting normality meant being reminded of everything he’d lost, he wasn’t ever doing it again.

‘Wayan!’ He heard himself yell and didn’t care that probably every other patron in the small restaurant was staring at him.

‘Yes, Tom?’

‘Bring me the rest of that bottle of red wine. Now.’

He intended to lose himself in Connawarra’s finest merlot and forget everything about Hayley Grey.