Page 10 of Prognosis Baby Daddy

They made it to Ravelloby quarter past eight and Ben drove the Alfa through an arch in a vine-covered wall. They entered a large cobblestoned courtyard dominated in the centre by a spectacular fountain. There was ample room for several cars and Ben angled his into a reserved space.

‘Welcome to the Lucia Clinic,’ he said. ‘Otherwise known as the palace for hedonistic rich people.’

Katya turned and gave him a withering smile. ‘If you can’t stand the heat, Count, get out of the kitchen.’ And she opened the door and climbed out, his laughter following her.

The building was impressive. It was a U-shaped structure built around the courtyard. The wall they had just driven through towered behind her as high as the other buildings and gave the courtyard and the clinic a private feel, protecting it from view. The rendered walls were painted a pale orange, their aged, weather-beaten appearance giving the clinic a timeless quality.

Ben opened the boot and removed their bags. ‘The main wing, in front of you,’ he said, indicating the longest section of the clinic, ‘is the patient’s suites. We have twenty beds. Twelve suites and four twin share rooms. The west wing holds the operating theatres and X-ray facilities, the east wing is the kitchens and staff accommodation.’

‘You have a lot of staff that live on site?’ she asked following him as he moved towards the entrance.

‘There are twenty rooms, but only half are used permanently as most of our staff live locally and commute. The others are used casually. I bunk down here during the week and, of course, one of these rooms will be yours.’

Katya could feel his gaze on her and refused to look at him. The mere thought of him sleeping nearby did funny things to her breathing. It had been the same during their time at MedSurg. Communal staff facilities had seen to it that too often he had been the last person she had seen before going to bed and the first one she’d seen on waking.

‘Come on, I’ll introduce you around. Everyone is very friendly here and most speak English.’

Katya followed him through the magnificent arched entrance and almost gasped at the cool elegance of the reception area. It was luxurious. No expense had been spared, from the artwork on the walls to the marble on the floor to the stylish chandelier hanging above the sweeping stone staircase dominating the entrance hall.

Ben showed her to her quarters first. Katya put her bag on the bed as Ben stood in the hallway. She looked around at cool decorative tiles underfoot and the mirror edged with pretty ceramic tiles inlaid into an arched recess in the wall. It was beautiful but she was more conscious of him breathing and his bulky presence against the doorjamb and what had happened last time he had stood in her doorway. She wondered where he slept and then halted her thoughts.

His quarters were of no concern to her.

‘Come,’ Ben said, ‘meet some of the staff.’

Katya didn’t have to be asked twice.

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Ben introduced herto so many people her head spun and she knew it would take her a few days to remember everyone. He gave her a tour of all the medical facilities, including the two operating rooms.

‘Is this the theatre list?’ she asked, looking at the typed list stuck to Theatre Two’s main door.

He nodded. ‘For this theatre, yes.’

Katya scanned the scheduled operations, thankful to find it was written in Italian and English. Abdominoplasty. Rhinoplasty. Augmentation mamoplasty. She felt her heart sink. Tummy tuck. Nose job. Boob job.

She had known the Lucia Clinic was an exclusive plastic surgery clinic but seeing it in reality hammered it home. It was hard to believe that someone who had worked in war zones could ever consider pandering to such vanity worthwhile.

Ben easily read the distaste on Katya’s face. He remembered his first day at the clinic, shaking his head in disbelief, too. ‘Would you like to see the gardens?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ Katya said vaguely.

They wandered back through the building, Katya dazed from the opulence all around her. No expense had been spared anywhere. From the fittings to the surgical equipment, everything was high quality, top notch, the best that money could buy.

It was a little sickening, actually. How many people could MedSurg and aid organisations like it help if they had this sort of money at their disposal?

Ben took her through one of the private suites that was empty and pushed open the doors onto a small balcony. Katya’s breath caught in her throat as the magnificence of the view hit her. The grounds below had been terraced down the side of the hill and beautiful gardens adorned the rocky slope. Fountains and water features and lush greenery punctuated by colourful blooms, dazzled the eye.

And beyond the grounds was the endless blue of the Mediterranean. It sparkled in the mid-September sunshine like a beautiful priceless sapphire. The craggy cliffs dominating the coastline were breathtaking in their enormity, towering high into the sky and plunging in weathered splendour to the sea.

Katya looked either side of her. Each suite had its own balcony and she was hard pressed to think of a more beautiful place to recover from surgery. It was a stark contrast to her MedSurg job where patients too often recovered in cramped, less than ideal conditions.

‘This villa is centuries old, as are many of the buildings around here,’ said Ben. ‘Ravello is famous for its villas and their beautiful gardens. Many Hollywood films were filmed here back in the early nineteen hundreds and there are regular chamber music concerts held throughout the village during the year.’

‘It’s amazing,’ she said, the sheer beauty holding her in awe, the decadence overwhelming.

Ben heard a hesitant note in her voice. ‘You don’t sound so sure?’

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