Sheikh Surgeon Claims His Bride

‘Clips or sutures?’ said the voice with a delicious hint of accent even in those few words.

‘I prefer sutures for areas that will be on constant show, even on a scalp where they will hopefully be covered by hair,’ she explained, pausing before she inserted the first one in case he had any objections to her decision.

Although she’d been conscious that those dark eyes were watching her every move, the fact had been reassuring rather than intimidating. It had been an amazing experience to be allowed to do such a sensitive part of the procedure on her very first morning on his team. Mr Breyley had allowed her to do little more than close for weeks before he’d allowed her to lead on more routine procedures, and even then he’d hovered over her, poised to take over at the first sign that things hadn’t been to his liking.

‘I am sure he will thank you if he eventually goes bald,’ her new mentor said dryly, and she concentrated on drawing the edges of the incisions together with as neat a row of sutures as she could manage.

‘Are you happy to supervise his transfer to Intensive Care?’ he asked as she positioned protective dressings over her handiwork while the anaesthetic was reversed.

‘You’re going to have a word with his parents?’ Her quick glance in his direction told her that even sitting down for the last part of the operation hadn’t relieved his pain, if the tension around his eyes was any indication. What on earth had the man done to himself?

‘The waiting is awful, so I’ll just let them know that the operation went well,’ he explained, already on his way to the door, adding over his shoulder, ‘And tell them that they’ll be able to see him in PICU in—what—twenty minutes?’

‘Maybe half an hour, to give us time to get him settled properly?’ Emily glanced up at the experienced nurse who would be accompanying Abir on the short journey from the operating theatre to the nearby unit, and received a confirming nod.

‘That will give us long enough to put some bandages on and clean his little face up a bit,’ the older woman said. ‘Although we’re not going to be able to do anything to disguise his swollen eyes. Poor little mite looks as if he’s not even going to be able to open them when he comes round.’

‘Thank goodness that’s one of the less important side- effects of the procedure…one that will sort itself out,’ Emily murmured, even as she winced at Abir’s appearance. ‘But he does look as if he’s gone several rounds with a prizefighter, and lost.’

After transferring him to Intensive Care she reassured herself that he was receiving the right levels of sedation and pain medication. Then there was the post-operative paperwork to take care of, so it was nearly an hour before she was able to think about the sudden detour her career had taken. And as for finding time to hunt down a cup of coffee and something to put in her rumbling stomach…

‘Forget it,’ she muttered as she hurried towards the outpatients clinic in response to her first bleep.

‘Mr Khalil has been called down to Accident and Emergency, and he is very particular about his clinics starting on time,’ snapped the heavily accented voice of his disapproving secretary. ‘Some of his patients have travelled a very long way to see him.’

Unspoken, but hovering in the air like a bad smell, were the words ‘and they won’t be happy to see someone as insignificant as you when they walk in the room’, but there was nothing Emily could do about that. All she could do was dive in at the deep end and hope that she didn’t drown before he arrived.

Her heart nearly stopped when she stuck her head round the doorway to the waiting area and realised that the majority of the people waiting there were probably going to have as little command of English as the Hananis.

‘Don’t panic,’ said a reassuringly Cornish voice behind her. ‘I’ve put out the call for an interpreter, just in case.’

‘Were my thoughts that obvious?’ Emily asked as she turned to find a pair of dark eyes smiling up at her from a motherly body in a uniform that could have done with being a size larger.

‘Not your thoughts, maid, but the look on your face told me you were about to head for the nearest hideyhole.’ She chuckled richly. ‘So, shall we make a start? I’m Keren Sandercock, by the way.’

‘I’m very pleased to meet you. As you’ve probably gathered, I’m Emily Livingston, the newest member of Mr Khalil’s firm.’ She gulped. ‘I know it will slow everything down, but could you possibly give me a couple of minutes with each file before you show the patient in?’ she suggested.

‘I can do better than that,’ Keren said with a smile. ‘I can introduce you to each of the patients and tell you all about them. Save you all that time trying to decipher the notes.’ She winked slyly. ‘He might be the most wonderful surgeon and the best looking man at St Piran’s but his writing’s atrocious. And anyway, I’ve been part of this unit ever since Mr Khalil set it up so I’ve already met them all.’

‘What do you mean, he set it up?’ Emily hurried in her wake and found herself obeying instantly when Keren pointed briskly at the gel dispenser.

‘You mean you’ve joined the madhouse without knowing anything about what’s going on here? You’m brave, maid.’ She chuckled richly again and hitched one ample hip on the corner of a desk that was already groaning under a mountainous pile of files. ‘Well, here’s the potted version. Mr Khalil was given permission to set up this paediatric orthopaedic unit on the understanding that he is free to treat children from his own country who would otherwise not be able to get any help. Of course, he also treats patients from the area around St Piran’s, but his special interest is the ones who wouldn’t have a hope of getting any surgery if he didn’t bring them over here.’

Emily was speechless, but before she could find the words to ask how she hadn’t heard a word about what was going on here, there was a brisk tap at the door.

‘Why are you not started?’ demanded a heavily accented voice, and Emily didn’t need to turn round to know exactly who had just marched into the room, neither did she need to see the sour expression on Keren’s face to know that the other woman shared her feelings about Zayed Khalil’s secretary.

Start as you mean to go on, she could hear her grandmother’s voice advising her when she began each new project, and she whirled sharply to face the intruder.

‘Out!’ she ordered firmly, flinging one hand out with a finger pointing directly at the door. ‘And you will never come into my room again without waiting to be invited. Is that clear?’

‘It is not your room,’ she sneered. ‘It is Zayed’s room. He is the consultant.’

‘And that is all the more reason why a secretary should never enter without an invitation,’ Emily insisted. ‘What goes on in this room is private and confidential and you will not walk in again like that or I will report your unprofessional conduct to Mr Khalil. So, unless you have brought me some important paperwork pertaining to one of the patients waiting outside, anything you have to say to me can be communicated by telephone. Please, leave. Now.’

‘Good for you, maid,’ Keren murmured as the elegant fashion plate flounced out of the room, shutting the door sharply in her wake as she no doubt muttered imprecations through clenched teeth. ‘She needed telling, but I’m afraid you’ve made yourself an enemy there, especially as she’s angling to marry our gorgeous consultant.’

Emily’s instant pang of dismay was followed by a silent admission that the two of them would look perfect together, tall and dark-haired with the same deep gold skin…

For heaven’s sake! What did it matter what he did in his private life? She had a roomful of patients to see.

‘Well, now that we’ve got rid of her, perhaps we should start on the clinic,’ Keren continued briskly as she picked the top file off the pile. ‘We’re a couple of minutes early, but I can’t see any of them complaining about that. Now, your first customer is Ameera Khan. She’s here for her final check-up before she returns home. Her operation was fairly simple and straightforward—the correction of a break which had gone untreated and had set badly, leaving her with limited movement in her right arm.’

Emily tipped the X-rays out of the accompanying envelope and slid the first set under the clips at the top of the view box. She winced when she saw the way the original break had healed so that virtually no rotational movement had been possible. The second set had obviously been taken shortly after surgery had been completed, with plates and screws much in evidence to hold everything back in the correct position while it healed. The final set had that morning’s date printed at the top and showed good progression in the healing process.

Meanwhile, Keren had flipped open the file and when the first thing Emily saw was a set of photographs of a solemn-eyed child cradling her twisted arm with a hopeless expression on her face, she could understand exactly why her new boss had been determined to help.

‘Can you show Ameera in?’ she asked while she scanned the notes as quickly as she could, looking for any problems that might have been noted at the time of the operation. There was nothing untoward—in fact, this was the sort of simple problem that should never have necessitated a child having to travel to a strange country for treatment…unless her own was so impoverished that even the most basic facilities were unavailable.

The little girl who came bouncing in through the door looked nothing like the sad-eyed waif in the photos, and the young woman who accompanied her was having trouble keeping up with her, especially as she was heavily pregnant.

‘This is Mrs Khan,’ Keren began the introductions. ‘And this is Dr Emily Livingston, who is working with Mr Khalil. She would love to see how strong and straight your arm is, Ameera.’

The interpreter had slipped into the room almost unseen behind the woman and child and, as Keren spoke, translated her words into a mixture of incomprehensible sounds that sounded almost like spoken music.

Without any hesitation, the little girl tugged her sleeve up to reveal a scar so neat that, in time, it would probably become almost unnoticeable.

It didn’t take long for Emily to gain her trust, especially when she discovered that the youngster was ticklish, and it was very satisfying to note that every test she performed confirmed that the prognosis was excellent.

‘It is good, yes?’ her mother asked, clearly worried about her daughter.

‘Yes. It is good,’ Emily confirmed with a broad smile. The flaking skin that was the result of the time spent in a cast would soon disappear, and the way Ameera eagerly completed every task Emily had set her spoke well for her regaining her full range of motion in time, even if structured physiotherapy wouldn’t be available once she returned to her own country. ‘I just wish I could take another photo to put in the file.’

‘But you can!’ Keren exclaimed as she hurried across to a cupboard at the other side of the room. ‘I’m sorry, but I completely forgot to give you the camera.’

‘Ah!’ the little girl exclaimed when she saw what Keren was fetching. She obviously knew what was expected of her and pulled her sleeve up again, this time proudly showing off her straight arm with a broad smile.

‘Thank you so much,’ her mother said, her dark eyes glittering with the threat of happy tears. ‘Everybody. Thank you so much for Ameera arm.’

‘You’d better go away before you make us all cry,’ Keren said, and when the interpreter translated what she’d said, everybody gave a watery laugh.

‘It’s a good job I didn’t have time to put any mascara on after my shower,’ Emily muttered wryly after the door closed behind them. ‘If they’re all going to be like that one, I’d have ended up with a bad case of panda eyes.’

‘Maid, that’s why mine is waterproof,’ Keren confided. ‘If it isn’t the successes like Ameera tugging at your heartstrings when you see them put right, it’s the parents arriving with their kids, terrified that no one’s going to be able to do anything to help.’

Emily suggested that she show the next patient in, suddenly conscious that being close to Beabea wasn’t the only reason why she wanted Zayed Khalil to confirm her position on his team.

In little more than half a day she’d been allowed to assist in an operation that would change a tiny child’s life expectation and had seen a little girl’s hopeless expression change to one filled with the joys of being alive. And neither would have been possible without the unit to which she was now attached, and the man whose determination had driven its inception.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE’D been wrong about the hair on his chest, she thought as she drove towards Penhally that evening, grateful that she hadn’t been asked to be on duty this evening.

She hoped that Mr Breyley had explained the special circumstances that had led him to absolve her from staying within easy reach of the hospital while her grandmother was so ill, but she certainly hadn’t felt up to discussing the matter with her new boss—at least, not until she’d sorted her head out and relegated her crazy awareness of the man to its proper place.

A blush heated her cheeks at the realisation that she’d actually been…what was the current term?…checking her new boss out while he’d been bending over Abir’s head on the operating table.

That was something she’d never done before, never been interested in doing, if the truth be told, but when Zayed Khalil had leant forward over Abir and the V of his top had gaped forward…

‘Well, I could hardly help seeing, unless I closed my eyes,’ she muttered defensively, and even that wouldn’t have erased the image once it had been imprinted on her retinas.

She’d wondered about his chest when she’d seen the hint of dark hair at the opening of his shirt, and had speculated about the amount of body hair he would display if she were ever to see him naked.

‘Well, it certainly isn’t a mean scattering of wiry hairs,’ she said with a strange sense of satisfaction, even as her body sizzled with heat at the idea of seeing the man totally naked. Mean was the last word she would use to describe the thick, dark pelt that had covered him as far as she could see down the front of his scrub top. As for whether it was wiry… She snorted aloud at the thought that she might ever have the opportunity to find out.

‘As if!’ she scoffed at the idea of ever becoming familiar enough with the man to run her fingers over the dark swells of his pectorals, trailing them through the thick silky-looking strands until she found the flat coppery discs of his male nipples and—

‘Enough!’ she snapped into the privacy of her little car, and leant forward to flick the radio on, loudly. ‘The last thing I need is to arrive at the home looking all hot and bothered.’ Her grandmother may be just weeks away from the end of her life but she certainly hadn’t lost her keen eyesight or her unfailing instinct for when there was something on Emily’s mind.

‘So, how’s the job going?’ Beabea asked, almost before Emily had settled into the chair beside her bed. ‘Are you still enjoying it as much as you thought you would?’

Emily smiled wryly at the fact that her grandmother had picked the one topic that she would rather not have talked about, at least until she’d banished those strange new feelings of awareness that were plaguing her.

‘By the time I got to work this morning, Mr Breyley was on his way to New Zealand,’ she announced, hoping that the ramifications of her side-tracked job would fill the time until Beabea’s next round of medication made her too drowsy to pick up anything untoward.

The story of the consultant’s concerned dash to the other side of the world so that he and his wife could be there for their daughter and new grandchild was like meat and drink to a woman who knew almost everything that happened within a fifty-mile radius of Penhally. It was testimony to the fogging effect of the analgesics that it was some time later before she suddenly realised what a disastrous effect it might have on her granddaughter’s employment.

‘But your job!’ she exclaimed breathlessly. ‘If he’s gone away, does this mean that you’re going to have to move away? Oh, Emily! And you’ve only just moved back, and I was so enjoying being able to see you each day…’

‘Hush, Beabea, it’s not a problem,’ she soothed, squeezing her grandmother’s hand gently, almost afraid that she might shatter the delicate bones. ‘Before he left, Mr Breyley organised another job for me in the interim, until he comes back.’

‘What sort of job? There can’t be two posts for the same work, surely?’ She was still fretting.

‘Not exactly the same, no,’ Emily conceded. ‘But I’ve certainly fallen on my feet with the new post. It’s paediatric orthopaedics and I went into Theatre this morning and the consultant actually let me assist.’

‘On your first day in the job?’ Beabea was understandably amazed. She’d had to listen patiently at the beginning of Emily’s time on Mr Breyley’s firm while she had moaned about wanting to do more than observe and do endless paperwork and legwork.

‘On my very first day,’ she agreed with a triumphant grin. ‘It was an operation on a little boy. The bones of his skull had fused too soon and we had to—’

‘Don’t tell me any of the gory stuff,’ Beabea warned with a grimace. ‘I don’t like thinking about it when it’s happening to little ones. It’s bad enough when it’s adults. At least they can understand what’s happening and why.’

‘Softy,’ Emily teased. ‘But I know what you mean. I hate the idea that they’ll be in pain so I always double- check their medication.’

‘But you say this new man let you assist. Does that mean passing the tools or instruments or whatever they’re called, or—’

‘No. There’s a member of theatre staff who does that. I was allowed to irrigate the incision—’

‘Irrigate? That sounds like something I’d do in the garden,’ Beabea teased, and Emily’s heart lifted that she was in good enough spirits to joke.

‘Then I stitched everything up and put the dressings on before he was transferred to Intensive Care.’

‘And what did the consultant think of your work?’ Beabea quizzed, and Emily felt the swift tide of heat flood into her cheeks. She was so grateful that there was a knock at the door before she could find an answer that wouldn’t reveal her own thoughts about the consultant.

‘Am I intruding?’ said an unexpected male voice, and a greying head appeared round the edge of the door.

‘Dr Tremayne!’ Beabea exclaimed, and Emily was amused that her grandmother sounded almost flustered. Well, for an older man he wasn’t bad looking, she supposed, and for a woman of her grandmother’s generation, the idea of a good-looking younger man seeing her in her bed was probably plenty of reason for embarrassment.

‘I was just visiting a couple of patients and thought I’d call in on one of my favourite ladies—unless it’s inconvenient. I can always come back another time.’

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