His Honourable Surgeon

‘And you’ll be doing the operation?’

‘With our consultant, Jake Lewis. I’ll introduce you to him before the operation,’ Vicky said. ‘Oh, and in the meantime…’ She pulled a magazine out of her pocket. ‘Just to stop you getting bored.’

Violet took the puzzle book and flicked through it. ‘Oh, yes! It’s got those logic problems in it. I like them.’ She smiled at Violet. ‘Thank you, love. That’s really kind of you.’

‘Pleasure. I had a feeling you’d enjoy it.’ Because Vicky could see herself like Violet, in forty years’ time. Except she wouldn’t have a daughter fussing over her, or teenage grandchildren. She just hoped a stranger would show her that same kindness.

Vicky introduced Jake to Violet, and noted approvingly that Jake treated the elderly woman with respect, rather than talking down to her. He explained exactly what they were going to do and how long she’d need to be in afterwards, and that they were going to do the operation by keyhole surgery.

Though when they were scrubbing up, she noticed the brooding expression in his eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ he said curtly.

Hmm. Maybe it was surgeon’s nerves. Every surgeon she knew was keyed up before an operation—which was a good thing, as it meant they weren’t taking their skills for granted and there was less chance of them being sloppy. Some people talked too much when they were nervous. Jake clearly went the other way and barely spoke at all.

Jake had chosen to operate to Corelli, surprising her. She’d expected him to work to pop music rather than classical. Then she was cross with herself for reacting in the same snobbish way Mara would have done. Sure, Jake had an East-End accent rather than a posh one, but since when did the way you spoke dictate your tastes in music?

He talked her through the two-hour operation, clearing one artery himself and then giving her a chance to work on the other carotid artery. She liked the way he worked: deft, neat, precise. But as soon as the operation was over he seemed to switch back to the brooding, uncommunicative man he’d been while scrubbing up.

Something was wrong. Not the operation—it had been a complete success. She didn’t think it had been anything she’d done either. So had this op brought back bad memories? A patient he hadn’t been able to save?

When Violet was out of the recovery room and had settled back on the ward—with her daughter fussing round her bedside—Vicky quietly slipped out to the canteen on her break. She bought a slice of carrot cake and two coffees—he took his black and sweet, she remembered—then headed for Jake’s office and rapped on the door.

‘Come in.’

He was doing paperwork at his desk, and there was strain in the lines of his face.

‘What’s this?’ he asked when she closed the door behind her and put the coffee and cake on his desk.

‘Carrot cake.’

Cake. The Hon. Victoria Radley had brought him cake. ‘Why?’

She shrugged. ‘The men in my life are cake addicts.’

Jake tried to squash the pinpricks of jealousy. He had no right to be jealous. She was a colleague—a distant colleague at that, barely even an acquaintance. The men in my life… He didn’t think she meant that she had a string of men, but clearly she’d been good at keeping her relationships secret from the hospital grapevine. ‘Oh.’

‘Our cook made the best cake in the world,’ she said, almost as if explaining. ‘Which is why both my brothers are putty in the hands of any woman who gives them cake.’

Jake frowned. Was this her way of saying she wanted him to be putty in her hands? Or was she just explaining about the men in her life—her brothers?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, she said quietly, ‘You looked upset earlier. I wanted to make you feel a bit better. It’s also an apology for running out on you over breakfast this morning.’

He shrugged. ‘No problem. You were paged.’

‘Want to talk about it?’ she asked.

Then he realised what was going on. Vicky had made a fuss over little Declan, who’d been bullied. She’d fussed over Violet, too, but on the old lady’s terms—practical things, like bringing her a puzzle magazine. And now she was quietly adding him to her collection of lame ducks, bringing him cake and offering him a sympathetic ear.

‘I’m fine,’ he said stiffly.

‘No, you’re not. It’s something to do with Violet.’

How did she know?

She must have been able to read his mind, because she said quietly, ‘She got to me, too. I never really knew my grandparents because they died when I was very young. Violet’s the kind I would’ve liked as a gran.’ Her smile was suddenly bleak.

Jake knew exactly where she was coming from. The same place as him. Loss and loneliness. ‘She reminds me of my nan,’ he admitted.

‘You were close to her?’

He nodded. ‘She brought me up. My mum was a singer and Dad was her manager. They were always on the road, and Nan refused to let them drag me along with a home tutor or put me in boarding school. She said kids need a steady place to grow up.’ He looked away. ‘They were in America, flying interstate on my mum’s first US tour, when their plane crashed.’

He was half expecting Vicky to trot out the usual platitudes or try to work out who his mum was, but she surprised him. ‘Hard for you. How old were you?’

‘Twelve.’

‘That’s a really tough age to lose your parents.’

Something in her voice made him look at her. The expression on her face…she knew exactly how it had felt. It had happened to one of her schoolfriends, probably. Another of her lame ducks.

‘Yeah. But at least I had Nan.’ Then, to his horror, the words he’d tried to bury whispered out of him. ‘I just wish she’d seen me qualify.’

‘Missed it by much?’

‘Two terms.’

‘Ouch. But, if it helps, she’d have known from your prelims that you’d qualify.’

At least Vicky hadn’t gushed that his gran would have been proud of him. He appreciated that, because how did you ever know exactly how someone else felt—especially if you’d never met that person? That kind of reaction always drove him crazy.

Vicky Radley, on the other hand, was calm, practical and sensible.

He took a sip of his coffee to buy himself some time, and discovered that Vicky had sweetened it exactly to his taste. Which meant she was observant. He already knew she was clever, so she’d probably guess whatever he didn’t tell her. So he may as well spill the rest of it. ‘Nan died of a stroke. She had a TIA first, except she wouldn’t admit there was anything wrong. It was only when our neighbour found her that she admitted she’d had a “funny turn”. I rang home that night and got Bridget, who told me. I tried to get Nan to see her GP for a check-up at the very least. But she insisted it was nothing and I was making a fuss. Nan was one of the old school.’

‘Stiff upper lip?’

‘Sort of.’ Though not posh, like Vicky’s family. Lily Lewis had had backbone. ‘She grew up in London during the Blitz. She hated being evacuated, so she ran away and made her way back to the East End. The way she saw it, if she managed to get through the war without being hit by a flying V, she wasn’t going to let anything else throw her.’ Including losing her only child. Lily had been the rock Jake had leaned on after the plane crash, and, even though her heart must have been breaking, she’d held it together for his sake. ‘She’d just take the “funny turns” in her stride and pretend they hadn’t happened.’

‘TIAs.’

‘Yeah. She wouldn’t listen to me. And she ended up having a stroke.’

‘So that’s why you specialised in neurology?’ she guessed.

He didn’t want to answer that, though he guessed that the muscle he felt tightening in his jaw would give him away. ‘If you hadn’t persuaded Violet to let us do the endarterectomy, I’d have told her about my nan.’