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She hadn’t confided it to a soul. She hadn’t wanted to. And part of her had an inexplicable urge to spill all her fears to this man right here, right now. If she could trust anyone with this secret, it would be Maximilian Van Berg.
Yet another part of her held back. Better to stay away from her personal problems, concentrate on someone she could help: her patient.
Evie drew in a breath and sipped tentatively at the hot drink to steady her nerves.
‘Honestly, it’s just that my patient really does need this operation, not just for the obvious physical benefit but, as far as I’m concerned, for her mental well-being. She’s on the brink of psychological depression, becoming more and more disruptive in school, and becoming so reclusive that her social skills aren’t developing.’
‘The issue, as I’ve seen, is that one of her breasts is barely an A-cup and the other is almost a D-cup, so the need for an operation in the future is inevitable?’ he stated abruptly.
‘Right.’ Evie nodded as Max frowned. So he had been looking into the case file.
‘She can’t wear a bra that fits, she can’t go swimming with her friends, or go to friends’ houses for a sleepover. She can’t even change in front of them for a basic PE lesson in school without being taunted. It’s making her withdraw socially, and she’s now developing stress-induced Irritable Bowel Syndrome.’
‘I read the file, Dr Parker,’ he responded, removing his drink from the machine and taking a generous gulp.
The man must have an asbestos mouth.
She gave an imperceptible shake of her head to refocus her thoughts.
‘However, the paediatric surgeon we spoke to doesn’t want to operate due to her young age. He doesn’t want to operate when the patient is still growing and developing, and he doesn’t know if she could cope mentally with the procedures, including an implant.’
‘He has a point.’
‘I appreciate that, and you must know how cautious I am about making such recommendations. But I’ve worked with this girl for almost a year. I don’t believe its body dysmorphic disorder, and I know it’s a fear of all paediatric plastic surgeons that they could miss such a diagnosis. In this case it clearly isn’t an imagined or minor so-called defect in her appearance. It is something which is understandably imposing significant limitations on her life.’
‘And what about realising the impact of these procedures? Does your patient understand that her body will never be perfect, that she will have to deal with the scars from the operation?’
‘She absolutely does understand that. But, in her own words, the scar is something she could live with. It wouldn’t prevent her from wearing a bra, or a swimsuit, or a prom dress. All things she currently can’t do.’
He pinned her with a look that was more about the undercurrents running between them than the conversation they were ostensibly having.
‘And your assessment is that this procedure isn’t just about rectifying the physical problem but is necessary for developing well-being?’
‘I think it’s essential to her self-esteem and her social development at this crucial time in her life, Mr Van Berg.’
Her hands shook as she took another steadying sip of her coffee, her eyes still locked with his over the plastic rim.
‘Then I’ll take a look at the case before I leave.’
‘You would do that for her?’
‘I told you before, I respect you as one professional to another,’ he growled. ‘So, how’s the boyfriend?’
Evie stiffened. As it happened her latest attempt at a boyfriend had resulted in being unceremoniously dumped when his mother had deemed her not good enough for her precious son, after Evie had revealed that she would never be able to give the woman the longed-for grandchild.
She hadn’t loved the guy, but, still, it had been painful. It had hurt being told that she wasn’t good enough, an echo of the hurt she’d felt when her father had walked out all those years ago.
But surely Max couldn’t know about her pathetic love-life? She’d be a laughing stock. Hospital gossip was an unstoppable machine, everyone knew that, but, not working at Silvertrees permanently, she’d always convinced herself that she escaped the worst of it. Still, if people did know, then she couldn’t afford to lie to Max now.
‘Gone.’
She fought to affect nonchalance.
‘Good. He didn’t deserve you anyway,’ Max murmured, his hand reaching slowly up to lower the cup from her lips.
‘You didn’t know him,’ she protested mildly.
‘I know if he lost you, he’s a loser.’
