He smiled again and Abi’s breath caught in her throat. ‘All your recognition will come from your reconstructive work and there will be plenty of that. We have an arrangement with the Bright Hope Clinic to do some charitable work for the underprivileged children who are treated there and that, along with the other external referrals that come to us for reconstructive surgery, will keep you occupied most of the time. But this cosmetic work on the celebrities and their partners, and the Hollywood heavy hitters and their mistresses, wives and girlfriends, and the cash they are prepared to part with for the best medical care and for our discretion means that we are able to do that charity work, and I suspect that will appeal to you.
‘You will get paid for any charity work that you do but The Hills, by which I mean James, absorbs those expenses. We are strong believers in giving back to the community. It’s a win-win situation. So, does that make you feel better about today’s list?’
Abi nodded. She hadn’t really thought about the ramifications of the clinic’s location on the client base but Damien’s explanation did ease her conscience. Besides, the surgical procedures were the same no matter what you called them. Although the surgeries were performed for different reasons, aesthetics or function, the actual operations were similar and giving them labels such as cosmetic or reconstructive was really just semantics.
‘Okay,’ Damien continued, ‘on today’s list we have two blepharoplasties, one neck lift, two liposuctions, a breast lift and an arm lift. I have to warn you, a couple of our patients are men. One is a very well-known actor who has decided to treat himself to a neck lift and the other patient has recently left his wife and is planning on unveiling his much younger girlfriend at the awards and he wants to take a few years off his face with an eyelid lift. But remember, discretion is something we guarantee at The Hills and I know it’s been written into your contract but I need to know that you can rock a poker face. It doesn’t matter what we think about cosmetic surgery, these patients have their reasons for undergoing this work and we need to be discreet and respectful.’
Abi had plenty of her own insecurities. While she didn’t think she’d ever resort to cosmetic surgery, as her insecurities weren’t really physical, she could understand people’s need to change or to make a better version of themselves to boost their confidence, and she wasn’t going to judge them for their choices. She understood that different things worked for different people and she certainly wouldn’t criticise a patient’s decision, although, given the opportunity, she thought she might try to dissuade some of the people some of the time.
She wondered what the clinic’s policy on that was. Was honesty considered the best policy or was the bottom line the main consideration? But she wasn’t going to ask that question on her second day. She would toe the line for the moment, there would be time to find out later just how much she was expected to keep her opinion to herself.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said as she finished her coffee. ‘I understand how this works.’
The day ran smoothly and the time passed quickly, as it always seemed to when she was immersed in surgery. She was impressed with Damien’s skill but also with the way he related to the theatre staff. He treated everyone with respect and she could tell that the nurses adored him. She had done a large percentage of each of the surgeries under Damien’s watchful eye and he’d been encouraging and complimentary about her skills. As far as she could tell, there was not a vast difference between cosmetic surgery and regular reconstructive surgery, although it was perhaps always important to make sure the stitches were as tiny and neat as possible, and preferably hidden, in all cosmetic procedures. But neat stitching was one thing she had always prided herself on.
They were finishing off the second blepharoplasty and there was one more surgery still to come when the theatre phone rang. The blepharoplasty was something different for Abi. She was used to repairing eyelids, stitching eye injuries and even, on one occasion, making a new eyelid, but to do an eyelid lift purely to make someone look younger was novel.
The scrub nurse had answered the phone and Abi could see her looking at Damien. ‘Dr Moore, it’s for you, it’s your daughter’s school. Apparently no one has come to collect her.’
He had a daughter?
She didn’t know why she was so surprised. She knew he was a ‘we’ but a daughter was more than she’d expected.
‘Can you finish up for me, Dr Thompson?’ Damien asked as he tied off the last stitch. Abi glanced at the clock on the theatre wall. It was already after four in the afternoon and she wondered what he was planning on doing. ‘She needs ointment applied to her eyelids before they are bandaged,’ he continued.
‘I can do it,’ the theatre nurse offered. Abi wasn’t sure if she was offering because she saw Abi’s vague expression and took pity on her or whether she was trying to get into Damien’s good graces, but Abi wasn’t about to let her take over. She could do this.
‘I’ve got it,’ she said.
She listened in to Damien’s conversation as she applied the ointment. He could have taken the call on another phone but he seemed quite happy to have the conversation in front of the staff.
‘This is Dr Moore,’ Damien said, as the scrub nurse held the phone to his ear. He could feel the pressure building in his chest as anger rose in him. What was Brooke up to now? She was supposed to be collecting Summer from school. Had she forgotten again? What was the point of making arrangements with her if she was so unreliable? He worked hard to accommodate his ex-wife, he wanted to make sure that their daughter got to spend time with both of them, but sometimes Brooke made it impossible.
‘Summer hasn’t been collected,’ the woman on the end of the phone told him. ‘She has been sent to after-school care and I need to notify you. I need to make sure she is picked up by six o’clock.’
‘I’ve been in surgery all day, I’m still in surgery and I won’t be finished by then.’ Damien was aware that all the theatre staff could hear his conversation quite clearly but it was too late for secrets now. Abi was busy bandaging their patient’s eyes but he could sense by her posture that she was listening just as intently as all the others, but he couldn’t worry about them. Summer was his priority, now and always. ‘Have you contacted her mother? She was supposed to collect her.’
‘Of course, but she is in New York.’
‘What? She’s where?’ God, that woman was unbelievable. What the hell was she doing in New York?
‘She told me she contacted you.’
‘What? No, she hasn’t,’ he said, but he knew what she would have done. She would have left a message on his cellphone. No matter how many times he told her he didn’t check his cell if he was in Theatre, she never listened. Brooke always danced to her own tune; other people’s lives were of no consequence to her, she didn’t make allowances or exceptions for any of them, not even her own daughter. Once again, Damien would have to pick up the pieces left by Brooke’s selfishness. ‘Can you give me five minutes?’ he asked the woman on the phone. ‘I’ll make some arrangements and call you back.’
He nodded to the scrub nurse to hang up the phone and let out another expletive.
‘What’s going on?’ the theatre nurse asked.
‘Summer hasn’t been collected from school,’ he replied. He had another couple of hours left in Theatre and just five minutes to work out a solution. He wouldn’t be finished before six so he wouldn’t be finished in time to collect Summer.
His eyes roamed the room as he tried to figure out what to do. Abi taped the last bandage in place and looked up just as his gaze settled on her. She might