by T A Williams
Now, as the pounds – or at least ounces – started to pile back on, she could feel her energy levels rise once more. Things would have been perfect if it hadn’t been for the recurrence of blood-soaked dreams involving machetes, machine guns and worse. She was still waking up almost every night, bathed in sweat, her mouth wide open in a silent scream. During her four years in Africa, two of them out in the wilds of Mabenta, she had seen too many of the appalling injuries and deliberate acts of mutilation inflicted upon men, women and even children – many of whom had died without her being able to save them – and these graphic images returned night after night. It then often took a long time for these horrific memories finally to subside and for her to able to drift off to sleep once more. Still, she told herself over and over again in the welcome light of the following dawn, this was to be expected after her close call at Mabenta, and everybody knew that post-traumatic stress needed time.
As she began to feel better physically, she started to give serious consideration to what she should do after the wedding was over. Her intention had been to take a holiday for a few weeks, but, nice as it might sound just to lie about in the warm Tuscan sunshine without a care in the world, she knew she would soon be bored. Maybe she should do something practical like improving her Italian with a course at one of the language schools in Siena, or volunteering for an archaeological dig or some such to keep her occupied. The more she thought about it, the idea of just heading for the beach or the depths of the country and doing nothing wasn’t going to cut it.
And then there was the question of what to do after this period of R&R. After what had happened in Mabenta, she knew she didn’t feel like taking on another mission to such a remote and dangerous location – at least not for a good long while. MSF operated in over seventy different countries all over the globe, from South America to Asia, and she felt sure it should be possible to find something a bit less stressful if she asked for it. The complication was that since returning from Africa she had started giving her future serious thought, and not only as far as her medical career was concerned.
She would be thirty-six in six months’ time and it hadn’t taken her mother’s far-from-subtle interrogation last week for her to realise that she rather liked the idea of a ‘normal’ life; preferably involving a permanent address, a partner, children – one of each – and a dog or a cat or both. A few roses around the door wouldn’t go amiss either. On one level this almost annoyed her as she had always thought of herself as a self-sufficient kind of woman who was quite happy without the usual trappings of conventional life. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Her introspective reverie that afternoon was interrupted as Daniela returned from work.
‘Ciao Lucy. Had a good day?’
Lucy opened her eyes and smiled. ‘I’ve had a very good and very lazy day and, for just about the first time in two weeks, I’ve started thinking about work again. How was yours? Been busy?’
Daniela was a journalist with a Tuscan newspaper, based in Siena, and Lucy knew she enjoyed her job.
‘Not too bad, thanks. Tomorrow’s my last day in the office for a few weeks and I’ve spent today handing over to Tommy who’s going to be standing in for me while I’m away on our honeymoon.’ Daniela perched on the table alongside the hammock which was strung across the open-sided loggia. This veranda, shaded from the direct sun, had a spectacular view down over the olive groves and across the valley to the city of Siena on the slopes of the next hill. ‘So, what have you decided about work? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of going back to Africa.’
‘No, that’s definitely off the agenda – at least for now. I’m still having bad dreams about the place. No, I’ve been thinking about something a bit closer to home.’
‘MSF are active in southern Italy, aren’t they? Your Italian’s good enough. Why don’t you see if you can get a transfer over here?’
Lucy’s mother had been friends with Daniela’s mother since university and over the years when their daughters had been growing up, the two families had often holidayed together here in Tuscany. As a result, Lucy spoke fairly reasonable Italian, although her years in Africa had tended to favour her French to the detriment of her Italian, but now that she was here again for the first real holiday in over ten years, it was quickly coming back. She nodded.
‘I was wondering about that. There’s been a big MSF operation in Sicily for quite a few years now, looking after the flood of migrants coming over from North Africa. Now that Italy’s got a much more right-wing government, they’re clamping down on immigration, but I imagine there’ll still be a need for medics for some years to come.’
‘Pietro and I’d happily come and visit you in Sicily if that’s where you end up. It’s a gorgeous part of the world and we’re going there for our honeymoon. For now, the important thing is for you forget about Africa and just relax.’ Daniela reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘And don’t worry, the bad dreams will stop, I’m sure. Just give it time.’ She pulled out her phone and consulted it. ‘Anyway, listen, I’m meeting Pietro in Siena in an hour. He sent me a message ten minutes ago. Here, let me read it to you.’ She scrolled through to the message. ‘Here it is. Ciao Danni. See you at six. Bruno’s going to be there. He remembers Lucy from years ago and wants to catch up with her again. Why don’t you come to Siena with me? What do you say? You haven’t seen Bruno for a long time, have you? You’ll be surprised by him now. He’s moved on a lot since you last saw him.’
Lucy sat up – or rather, she tried to sit up in the hammock but failed. Instead, she had to lift her legs out and slide somewhat inelegantly to the ground beside her friend. She straightened her crumpled clothes, stretched and smiled.
‘Bruno? I’d love to see him again. He was always great fun when we were playing together as kids. He was forever telling jokes and getting into trouble. Do you remember when he stuck an egg up the priest’s exhaust pipe and spray-painted half a dozen nuns?’
‘How could I forget? But, like I say, he’s moved on a lot since then.’
‘I suppose he must have done. A lot can happen in, what, fifteen or twenty years since I last saw him?’
Chapter 2
And a lot had happened in the intervening years.
Bruno had indeed moved on and had morphed into a good-looking grown-up. Lucy could hardly believe it when she and Daniela got to the café in Piazza del Campo to meet the two men. This was right in the heart of Siena’s centro storico and she spotted them sitting outside at a table in the shade directly opposite the iconic Palazzo Pubblico on the far side of the piazza. This stunning medieval building, built partly of stone and partly of brick, dominated the square. Rows of arches made up the front and jagged crenellations on the top attested to Siena’s often troubled history. Although Lucy had been here numerous times, she never tired of the views all around this fan-shaped, sloping square with its herringbone pattern of red bricks paving all but the edges. But this evening her attention was drawn by the tall, dark-haired man who jumped up to greet her. Daniela was right. Bruno certainly had moved on from his days as a spotty teenager – but then, of course, so had she.
‘Lucy, ciao. Wow, you look amazing!’
He just stood there and gawped at her and, for a moment, she had a flashback to the teenage Bruno who hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her but, to her chagrin at the time, had lacked the courage to do anything more than stare. Somehow, she had a feeling he might no longer be so reticent. She went over to greet him with a broad smile on her face.
‘Ciao, Bruno, how great to see you again after so long.’
She leant towards him and kissed him on his stubbly cheeks. Then she felt his hands catch hold of her shoulders and he stepped back, his eyes studying her. To her surprise he was a good bit taller now. Clearly he had had a late growth spurt. Finally he managed to stop gawping enough to address her again.
‘I would have recognised you, Lucy, I’m sure. Pietro told me you’d changed, but it’s still you underneath. Your h
air’s the same and your blue eyes are the same. Yes, you look terrific.’ He released his hold on her, kissed the tips of his fingers and fanned them outwards in true Italian style, murmuring an awe-struck, ‘Bellissima.’
She gave him a grin and then went over to kiss Pietro. He and Daniela had started dating way back when they were teenagers and had been living together now for the best part of ten years. Lucy was delighted they had decided to tie the knot and she had no doubt they would spend the rest of their lives together. As ever, she felt a little twinge of jealousy at their luck in finding each other. She rather liked the idea of having a Pietro of her own. Still, she told herself, one thing was for sure: she was much more likely to find somebody suitable here in Siena than in a little jungle encampment in the middle of a war zone. Thought of the war zone brought its own disturbing memories and she had to make a conscious effort to brush them away.
‘So, tell me all about you, Lucy.’ Bruno waved her into a seat next to him, so that she had a view of the square and of the crowds of tourists milling around. It was still only May and it was already busy. She knew from experience just how much more crowded it would become here as the season progressed. Still, crowds or no crowds, the view across the square to the medieval buildings in front of them was as stunning as ever.
‘Well, Daniela and Pietro may have told you I’m a doctor now.’
To her surprise, she saw him nod enthusiastically. ‘Me too.’
‘Really? You a doctor?’ She was genuinely surprised. The last time she had met him he had been much more interested in sticking lizards into unsuspecting ladies’ handbags or worms down girls’ necks – hers included. ‘When did you decide to go into medicine?’
‘To be totally honest, it was when Daniela told me that’s what you were going to do. I thought if that’s what you’d chosen as a career, I’d better do the same.’
Lucy was touched. ‘And where are you practising these days? Here in Siena?’
‘Yes, well almost. It’s a private hospital just outside of town.’
‘It’s terribly exclusive and astronomically expensive.’ Pietro cut in with a few words of clarification. ‘And he gets to treat all kinds of celebrities, but he refuses to tell us who they are.’
‘I’m not allowed to tell you who they are, Pietro.’ Bruno glanced back at Lucy. ‘But I imagine they’re a bit different from the average patient you’ve been treating in Africa. Pietro told me all about you working for MSF. Complimenti. That’s impressive, especially in a war zone. It can’t have been easy.’
As they chatted about their jobs, Lucy’s eyes ranged over the square, alighting upon the famous Torre del Mangia, rising like a finger pointing into the sky from the side of the imposing Palazzo Pubblico. At the top, the red brick shaft gave way to a white stone section that flared out into an observation platform with a slim belfry sitting on it. The tower was over a hundred metres high and Lucy had only climbed the four hundred steps to the top once in her life and had no intention of repeating the experience. The view from up there had been spectacular, but the steep, narrow staircase hadn’t been much fun. Chatting to Bruno here this evening, on the other hand, was bringing back a lot of memories and proving to be a lot of fun.
As the sun sank lower behind them and the shadows lengthened, she studied him more closely from behind the anonymity of her sunglasses. She noticed that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and there was no mention of a wife. Apart from his being taller than she remembered, he now had a rather alluring stubbly chin and impeccably styled wavy black hair that really suited him. He was wearing a pristine blue short-sleeved shirt and his tanned arms were strong and his shoulders broad. There was no doubt about it; Bruno was a handsome man who looked after himself but, somehow, the attraction she had felt for him as a teenager hadn’t carried through into adulthood. He was a very nice guy but, for whatever reason, she was surprised to find she no longer saw him in a romantic light.
He was also evidently no fool. She felt sure that only the best doctors would be employed at the sort of upmarket private hospital where he was working. As their conversation proceeded, she learned more about his work and it was clear that some very important – and demanding – people passed through that establishment, although by the end she was no closer to finding out the identity of any of the famous patients. She respected his discretion and didn’t press him, but one thing was for sure: there was clearly a social and financial abyss between his patients and the ones she had treated in Mabenta.
Once again she thought with affection about some of the lovely people she had worked with and looked after over there and wondered what they would have made of the luxurious surroundings of a private hospital in Tuscany. And once again she also wondered how they were faring without her little clinic to look after them and with so many awful things happening around them. It soon became clear that this was a subject that was on Bruno’s mind, too.
‘And the place where you were working, Lucy, what’s happened to it since you had to be airlifted out?’
She had been corresponding regularly by email with Geneviève and Nicole since coming back to Europe and had heard the news only this morning. Nicole, now happily engaged to be married to her beloved François as predicted, had directed her attention to a recent internal MSF bulletin. This announced that the decision had been taken, with regret, to abandon the Mabenta clinic indefinitely as serious conflict in what was often referred to as Africa’s World War was still raging through the area. She did her best to explain.
‘It’s gone, at least for the time being. Although we don’t hear much about it here in Europe, there’s been a war going on in Africa for years now and it shows no signs of stopping. The government of the DRC – you probably know that’s the Congo – is supported by Angola, Namibia and Zimbabwe, while the rebels are backed by Uganda and Rwanda. The Congo’s rich in all manner of natural resources from diamonds to rare metals, so there are lots of different foreign interests jockeying for position there as well – like the Chinese for example – which muddies the waters further. That whole area of North Kivu – that’s where I was working – is a war zone and it’s just too dangerous to go back there.’ She sighed. ‘So there’s nobody there to look after the local people any more. It’s tragic.’
‘And would you like to go back?’
Lucy paused for thought. ‘For the sake of the locals, yes. I met some wonderful people there – patients and staff – but I just don’t think I can stomach the thought of going back until it’s safe again. I saw some horrific injuries over there and they’re still fresh in my memory. I still get bad dreams, even now after coming over here to Tuscany. I’m sure I’ll get over it all in time, but I had a really close call.’
Bruno reached over and laid his hand on top of hers for a few moments. ‘Experiences like that are enough to give anyone bad dreams. You’re far braver than I am. Far braver than most people. Everybody must be immensely proud of you.’
She gave him a little smile. ‘I was only doing my job. I just hope things calm down soon, or an awful lot more people are going to die over there.’
‘And what sort of cases were you dealing with?’ His professional curiosity was evident in his tone.
‘I trained as a surgeon back in London, and in Africa I found myself dealing with everything from gunshot and machete wounds to childbirth. Thank God I didn’t come across any cases of Ebola – and there was an outbreak only a few hundred kilometres from us – but I’ve dealt with most everything else. I bet you don’t have to treat many cases of snakebite here in Tuscany. I had one recently where the patient’s friends helpfully brought the snake in with him so I would know which vaccine to use. Unfortunately they only stunned it and the damn thing woke up and slithered away between my feet while I had the patient on the operating table.’
She saw Bruno shudder at the thought. ‘Way out of my league. I spend most of my time dealing with breast enhancement, rhinoplasty, liposuction and sporting injuries. No gunshot wounds o
r snakes so far, I’m glad to say.’
Daniela moved the subject on to where to eat. After a brief discussion, during which Lucy tried her hardest to insist that she be allowed to treat them all to dinner, but in vain, the decision was taken to walk just a couple of hundred metres down to Piazza del Mercato. It was beginning to get dark as they strolled across the square and down a narrow road alongside the massive walls of the Palazzo Pubblico before emerging into a smaller piazza with another imposing medieval building directly ahead of them, also made of the same sun-bleached red bricks as so much of the rest of Siena.
Just a little way down from there they came to the restaurant. Although the sun was by now blotted out by the tall buildings all around them, Lucy could still feel the heat radiating upwards from the road as they walked along. From the look of the cloudless sky, it was a safe bet that tomorrow was likely to be another beautiful day and she smiled happily to herself. At her side, Bruno was also smiling and she wondered what was going through his head.
They chose a table on the terrace outside the restaurant, with five chairs around it. From there, they had a stunning view across the old market square with its covered central area supported on hefty brick pillars. Beyond it was a mix of buildings, all different shades of pinks and browns, built over the course of the last seven or eight centuries, no two alike. In the far distance were tree-covered hills crowned with ancient churches, farmhouses and towers, and framed by the ubiquitous cypress trees so common here in Tuscany. Lucy sat back and relaxed. She was still relaxing when the significance of the fifth chair at their table was revealed to her.
‘Ciao a tutti.’
