by Ramsay, Anna
At first the curious eyes and jabber of dialects among her fellow travellers was disconcerting, a child fingering the bright curls peeping out from beneath the blue scarf Jenni had tied gipsy-style to reduce the impact of her strangeness.
True to his word, Dr McDonnell had not bothered to wait even an extra five minutes, but on the dot of five-thirty had driven off in a truck freshly loaded with medical supplies.
And all this stuff lugged out from the UK! grimaced Jenni, ruefully surveying her heap of belongings. McDonnell might at least have taken the two big cases on ahead, even if her company was unappealing.
The African day started bright and early. As the bus rattled through the city streets Jenni from her vantage point gazed down on the colourful throng, transfixed by the variety of dress: traditional African robes merging with casual Western clothes and all-concealing Moslem dress. She herself was wearing baggy pink denim dungarees with a cool white strappy top revealing the freckled skin of arms and shoulders, her hair in a ponytail and her sunglasses pushed up on her head. The early morning had been surprisingly pleasant and the outfit seemed appropriate for travelling into the bush.
Relieved to be rid of its weight, she dumped her rucksack on the empty seat beside her, ready to move it the instant anyone looked brave enough to sit next to the girl with the head of fire.
A plump black woman in a smart flowered dress clambered on to the bus with a basketful of green-whiskered heads of maize and a gorgeous baby boy clamped to her left hip. Chattering in an unrecognisable local dialect—which sounded very much like mother and baby talk the world over—the plump woman settled in the seat in front, directly behind the driver.
Jenni pulled a blue paisley bandana from her pocket and tied it round her head, just in case her strange appearance upset the baby. He watched her solemnly with unblinking liquid eyes and a mouth like a rosebud, claiming all her attention and quite distracting her from her annoyance with Ross McDonnell. But the rolling motion of the bus soon sent the child to sleep. Jenni put on her dark glasses and became lost in the wonder and excitement of seeing the African landscape unfolding all around her. Paul's home for the past seven years.
In the far distance, outlined against a dark blue sky, stretched the purple outline of the Kilosa mountains. To the wide-eyed nurse they represented all her hopes and dreams now becoming reality. The red of the African soil cheered her, the pastoral beauty of the countryside surprised and gladdened her heart. How right she was to come here.
The bus rattled along at a steady twenty-eight miles an hour, grinding frequently to a halt at dusty junctions near villages and settlements to disgorge or pick up passengers.
Fewer people were boarding now. Apart from the mother and babe in front, Jenni was surrounded by empty seats.
As time passed and the sun climbed higher, the baby lolled limp in the heat and the mother plied it with water from a plastic feeding bottle. Jenni wondered how far the two were travelling. Perhaps they were from the village close by the Good Shepherd Mission!
They had left the coast far behind, penetrating ever deeper into the sparsely populated Tanzanian interior, the open landscape becoming increasingly flat and arid. Here was where Paul had chosen to spend seven long years instead of the two he had originally planned for. Here in the African bush – this landscape of tall brown elephant grasses studded with thorn bushes, and isolated baobab trees, their spongy bottle trunks bloated with conserved moisture. This mix of scrub and grass and baobob trees, crossed by dried-out river beds. This brown and arid land.
Jenni had believed he would return when she was twenty. But her sister Helen had married her surgeon.
And Paul had not come back.
Now the bus was diverting from the tarmac highway, lumbering along on impacted red dirt roads, travelling bumpily through a forested region. Progress became even slower as the roads got worse and worse. Jenni's back began to ache with cramp and she explored dry lips with a tongue that felt swollen and parched. She wished she'd packed a map in her hand luggage, but had assumed the doctor would point out the route as they drove west.
Ross in his Land Rover must have reached the Mission some hours earlier.
As her discomfort intensified, Jenni was finding it a distinct effort to feel charitable towards the inconsiderate Dr McDonnell. But looking at it sensibly, she was going to have to put a lid on her dislike and establish a working relationship with the guy. The last thing she wanted to be was the cause of any disharmony within this small outpost mission.
The sun beat down upon her, burning her face and arms through the dusty window. The mother, clutching baby and basket, got off at the next village, and Jenni felt quite regretful to see them disappear from view.
Now she was the only passenger left so hers must surely be the next stop - the Mbusa Wa Bwino Mission. It couldn't be long now—oh, please let it not be long now. And let Paul be there to meet her ...
Jenni pulled off her bandana and shook her head to loosen her ponytail.
Her stomach felt so strange and queasy. How awful if she should throw up at Paul’s feet! How unromantic. Not that Paul would turn a hair. He would swing her up in his strongly muscled arms and carry her off to the peace and privacy of a cool shady room. His little Jenni. The two of them alone together. At long last.
Chapter Two
The solitary tear left a shiny trail down the freckled cheek.
A masculine throat cleared itself. The deeper voice spoke again.
'Go and make yourself useful. Unload the rest of those supplies before they take a walk.'
'Spoilsport,' complained the Southern drawl. 'Where d'you wannem, boss, the dispensary?'
'Uhuh. Get some of the boys to help you.'
'Right on, boss.'
There was a sigh. 'Don't keep calling me boss.'
'OK Dr Ross.'
'Clear off, Matt, will you?'
There was a click of obedient heels—and now just the one black silhouette outlined against the intense daylight streaming in through a small high window.
Ross McDonnell stared dispassionately down at his new nurse. Skin freckled like the inside of a foxglove petal. Ridiculously skimpy top. And that pink trouser thing. Where did she think she was going. The beach?
God help this one under the African sun—she'd fry like a chip.
The thrust of lower lip gave his face a formidable expression that discouraged argument. Ross was not a man to suffer fools gladly. And he'd got a right idiot here under his nose.
Vexed, he ran a hand across the stubble of his shorn hair. Take a look at the silly creature now. A fleeting taste of the hot stuff and she'd collapsed in a heap inches from the squealing wheels of the Red Cross Land Rover. She'd been lucky not to be killed, standing there lost in the cloud of red dust. Now if Matt had been driving ...
Dammit, what could Paul be thinking of, encouraging this wide-eyed gingernut to come tripping out here to do her dainty bit for the Third World.
You could see, mused the doctor with folded arms and heavy-lidded scrutiny, that the journey had turned out an ordeal for such a fragile flower, even though he'd left her to sleep in as long as she needed. Well, his mind was made up. A fragile flower would never flourish in scorched earth; she'd be no earthly good to him. Once this young woman was rested she'd best turn her remarkably pretty self about and get back to Sheffield, or wherever it was she was supposed to have come from.
Ross’s expression was grim as he scanned the dirty pink dungarees and the damp golden eyelashes. No room for lame ducks here at the Mission. Paul's 'little sister' or no, the lady must return whence she came. 'Little sister, my foot!' scowled the disbelieving doctor. 'This one's no little sister. More like Trouble with a capital T.'
He chivvied her with brusque impatience, 'Wake up, milkmaid, some of us around here have got work to do.'
The closed eyes snapped open, a flare of golden hazel tinged with alarm. They latched on to the stethoscope around the doctor's neck. 'You're not examining me! I'm p
erfectly all right so don’t come near me with that.’
Ross looked at the white knuckles gripping her dungaree straps—for all the world as if she expected him to rip her clothes off any second. He bared his teeth in a grin.
'No need for a more intimate examination. This time,' he added, deliberately provoking another flash of warning amber. The first good-looking woman to come his way in weeks. Pity she must be got rid of, but he hadn't come to Tanzania to play games, however spirited the opposition.
You don't look any cleaner today, Doctor! noted Jenni in disgust, totally unaware that after her undignified nosedive she was covered in dust herself.
Warily she gave him the once-over: Aggressive stance deliberately assumed to intimidate the female. Ah yes, typical of an irritating breed of doctor—apologies, surgeon—who grabs any opportunity to exert his authority over the nurse-handmaiden. Arms folded to emphasise the strongly developed biceps and superior strength of the brute. Bold eyes in a suntanned face; grey eyes; astute eyes, splintered with the ice of dislike.
'I've made an enemy!' Jenni told herself with a sense of foreboding. 'I didn't imagine it. He's looking down his nose at me as if I'd crawled out from under a stone. Well, whatever I'm supposed to have done, Dr McDonnell, you ain't seen nothin’ yet.'
She returned his insolent stare with chin held high. To come all this way and be greeted with such hostility ... But why? ... And where oh where was Paul?
Ross had changed into khaki shorts but the bush shirt looked like the one he'd been wearing last night—ugh! - and every tough hairy inch of leg above the rolled-down wool socks and the heavy laced boots was filmed with the inescapable African dust.
She had thought the stubble on his head was grey but it must have been dust because in daylight it showed up as a close-cropped lightish brown, almost the same colour as the tanned skin of his face and body.
Jenni looked down and saw the state she was in, clothes and arms filthy, feet bare, her Birkenstocks missing. 'Oh hell!’ she exclaimed, ‘I need a bath. Where’s the bathroom?’
'A bath,' he sneered, emphasising the long vowel. 'Out here we've neither the time nor the water for baths.' And time was too precious to waste any more of it on this foolish creature and her selfish concerns.
'Where is Paul? He'll want to know I've arrived.’
'I daresay. But work doesn't grind to a halt for every new arrival. Paul Hume does a lot of travelling. He'll be back this evening for the communal supper.'
'Well how about taking me round the Mission and showing me where things are.'
'Ask Dr Blarney, the guy who picked you up and carted you in here.'
Jenni slid her legs over the edge of the high couch and dropped to the floor, which was covered with tacked-down coir matting. She expected Ross to take a step back as she invaded his space, but he didn't move. Interesting. Jenni went into automatic flirtation mode. She just couldn’t help herself. 'Ah yes, the frog prince,’ she murmured glancing up at the tall dusty doctor from under her lashes.
There was a moment's pause. Ross McDonnell almost smiled. At least his clamp of a mouth lifted at one corner. The effect, accompanied by the slow regard of those heavy-lidded eyes, was disconcerting. Jenni felt her heart skip a beat. Foolish heart …
She pulled a crumpled tissue from her pocket and rubbed spit into the dirty scratch on her upper arm. McDonnell was one hundred per cent not her type. But his dismissive arrogance was a challenge and he was excitingly different from the smoothies of the London teaching hospitals.
'Wait here.' Ross jiggled the keys of the Land Rover as he paused to look back at her from the doorway. 'Matt can take you over to the staff quarters. But be a sensible girl, right?'
There was a patronising note to his voice that should have warned Jenni to be on her guard.
'Don't bother to unpack. Just the stuff you'll need for tonight.'
'What??'
'I'm driving you back to Dar-es-Salaam first thing in the morning.'
At the girl's sharp intake of breath his hand shot up, palm outward in warning. 'Don’t argue. We've a strong chain of personnel here with no weak links. You're not up to it, milkmaid. I'm putting in a firm recommendation for sending you home. Tomorrow. Right?'
'Hold on a minute! Who do you think you are? You—you—' Jenni spluttered in outrage. The horrible man looked amused, as if she were some kind of agitated beetle. Someone else materialised behind him. A pair of interested eyes peered over his shoulder. 'I fetched some goat's milk, boss. Thought it might do her good.'
'Keep an eye on her, Matt. Bit overwrought, you know how it is.'
'Right on, boss.'
Speechless, Jenni gripped the edge of the treatment couch. Her nails dug into the coarse sheet and her head spun with hunger and fatigue. But she was conscious that Matt Blarney was eyeing her in the way she had come to expect from men, so that was a plus. He’d be rooting for her, would this Matt, in spite of the hostility of the 'boss' man.
Anyway, wasn't Paul the boss around here? What authority did Ross McDonnell have!
Well, he is the Medical Officer, and you are supposed to be working under his guidance, warned the voice of common sense. If McDonnell won't keep you, then I don't suppose he can actually make you leave the country. You’d have to transfer to another mission station where they’re shortstaffed.
Ross was gone. The atmosphere in the room lost its charge of electricity.
Over his jeans and red tartan shirt, Matt was now wearing a white lab coat with the collar carefully turned up—obviously a vital part of his image. And he had exchanged his sneakers for heeled cowboy boots. They looked hot and uncomfortable, but Matt didn't seem unduly bothered. Even in the boots he was several inches shorter than McDonnell but well proportioned on a lesser scale, slim-hipped and broad-shouldered with smooth olive-toned skin. Beneath the thatch of unruly black hair, his face was pleasant and even-featured and his smile held a welcome warmth—even a trace of shyness now he and the new nurse were alone together.
Thank heaven for a normal warm-blooded male, breathed Jenni on a sigh of relief. Matt was staring at her with that old familiar look in his admiring black eyes. So I'm not after all totally repugnant. I was beginning to wonder if I'd grown a head of snakes!
‘Here,’ said Matt, ‘nice an' cool straight from the fridge. Don't expect you've eaten since breakfast.'
Normally Jenni wasn’t fond of the stuff, but now chilled milk had never been so welcome. She gulped it down like a thirsty child. 'When I got off that bus I thought I'd been dropped in the back of beyond. All I could see was the swirl of dust and a track leading off goodness knows where. I was trying to summon up the strength to grab my things and start walking when I just flaked out. I don't normally do that,' she added sternly as if Matt was likely to argue the point.
'No, ma'am,' he agreed civilly, 'but our truck coulda killed you. No one drives fast out here. In the bush you never know what's gonna loom up in front of your truck. But Ross musta got eyes like a hawk to pick you out in all that dust!'
Jenni didn't want to think about Ross McDonnell's eyes…
So he might have killed her! ‘Probably wishes he had,’ she muttered sotto voce. ‘Wouldn't that have saved him some aggro!’
She drained the plastic beaker and demanded with a frown, 'Dr Blarney. Is McDonnell some kind of a nut?’ In his white coat Matt looked far more the professional doctor than Ross McDonnell, and Jenni instinctively felt that here was someone who would take her part. ‘For some reason he’s decided he wants me out of here. I must find Paul! Where oh where is Paul?’
The hand plucking at Matt's sleeve demanded reassurance. In spite of its smallness it was a workmanlike hand, short-nailed and slightly rough-skinned. 'I'm under contract, I asked to come here, specifically. Surely Dr McDonnell hasn't the authority to order me back to the UK? I really need to see Paul!’
The young American pulled a rueful face. The girl kept asking for Father Paul like she couldn't wait another moment to see th
e guy... which was kinda interesting and unexpected. 'You do look, well, kinda like the sun's gonna frizzle you up,' he said kindly. 'Ross is afraid you ain't gonna cope with the climate. He said he felt sorry for you last night, you looked so washed out. So he left you to sleep in and enjoy the more leisurely bus trip.'
Jenni's jaw dropped. Did Ross really say that? Could that be true?
Some of Matt's pronunciation took a bit of getting used to. Leesurely ... not the most obvious description of the ride.
'Dr Blarney, I'm tired and I’m confused.’ The bright curls danced in a halo as she shook her perplexed head.
'Hey babe, just call me Matt,’ he said quickly. The "doctor" bit is just a courtesy title. Back home in Alabama I'm still in med school.’
‘I thought you looked a bit young to be qualified.' Jenni hitched herself back up on the treatment couch and examined Matt Blarney with heightened interest. Here at least was someone she was going to enjoy working alongside. 'Which medical school. Matt?'
'University of Austin, Texas, yes ma'am!' he told her proudly, rocking back and forth on his cowboy heels. 'Got another eighteen months before I earn my MD.'
'And you volunteered for this?'
He nodded. 'Yup. I'm out here with the American branch of IMR.' Jenni looked blank. 'International Medical Relief,’ he explained. ‘IMR funds people interested in giving some time to medical work in Third World countries. Back in med school I'm gonna have to run to catch up, but I surely don't begrudge one second. Reckon it's the experience of a lifetime, comin' out to help Africa.'
Jenni felt a rush of warmth towards this enthusiastic young man. She thrust forward an eager hand. 'I'm very glad to know you, Matt. I'm Jennifer Westcott Registered General Nurse. RGN, that is.' Her hand was immediately grasped and pumped up and down for several minutes longer than strictly necessary. She made no attempt to withdraw her own hand from Matt's warm clasp. It was surprisingly comforting to experience friendly physical contact after McDonnell's hostile attitude.