‘I’ll see you then,’ she was saying, slipping away from him to cross the courtyard to her room, but as he headed back to his quarters, then out to the hospital, the little niggle of doubt about the outing grew into a huge concern, which seemed to be centred on the wisdom or otherwise of sitting on a blanket on the sand with this woman who was already causing too much distraction in his life.
His head told him he was worrying unnecessarily, he barely knew the woman, while instinct suggested that leaving it at ‘barely’ was a very good idea.
So they’d ‘do’ the sunrise thing and then get on with their work—strictly as colleagues.
CHAPTER FIVE
LIGHT WAS BEGINNING to seep into the world, stars fading in the sky as it turned from inky black to grey.
Lila waited on the loggia, ready to go. By her feet was her small carry-on suitcase with what she hoped would be enough clothes to see out her visit to the nomad camp.
What had Tariq told his mother about their trip—a week, or had it been more?
Well, everything in the bag could be washed out, and she could alternate long trousers and tunics so really it was no problem.
Expecting a car, she was surprised when Tariq appeared on foot out of the gloom of the courtyard, coming up to her and lifting her bag from the ground.
‘We go this way,’ he said, and she set off after him, again hurrying to keep up as he was back in stride mode.
‘All the vehicles are kept at the back of the gardens, including the helicopters and small planes.’
He threw the information over his shoulder.
‘Small planes?’ Lila echoed.
‘‘There’s a runway outside the walls and external gates wide enough to wheel the planes out to it,’ he replied, as if everyone had a fleet of small planes somewhere on their property. ‘They’re useful for visits to neighbouring countries, and for showing visiting dignitaries around Karuba. And less noise than the chopper!’
Lila shook her head. The more she learned of this place, the more astounded she was to find that people lived this way—in palaces with planes and helicopters and heaven knew what else just out the back behind the garden.
And took it all for granted!
They came out into an open area, beyond which what looked like garages had been built against the walls of the old fort. There were too many for Lila to count before Tariq had led her to a shiny little bug of a helicopter, painted a dark olive green, the now familiar golden script written on its side.
‘Let me guess,’ Lila said, running her fingers over the flowing patterns. ‘The head must rule the heart!’
Tariq laughed and shook his head.
‘No, my sister’s idea of a joke. It says “Tariq’s toy”.’
Could she ask which of the swirls and curves said Tariq?
Of course she couldn’t, and she should stop sliding her fingers over the flowing script like some—what?—lovesick teenager?
Surely not!
Of course not!
She barely knew the man...
And still didn’t really know herself...
Tariq settled their luggage and opened the door for her to clamber in—thank heavens for long, loose trousers!
It was like being in a bubble, the windows seemed to stretch right around her so she could see the ground beneath her feet as well as the sky above, a paler grey that was beginning to show the hint of colour that would herald the sun’s arrival.
The little bubble lifted effortlessly into the air, and as they circled the palace she could see the patterns of the courtyard gardens, the arbour outside her room, and the thick walls of the old fort.
Then they were out over the sea, circling again, this time over tiny fishing boats with odd triangular sails, muted red and faded brown.
They returned to land, passing over the city, and suddenly there it was, the desert.
Breath caught in her throat, and her lungs seized. She told herself that anyone seeing such beauty for the first time would be awestruck, but this was different—this was like coming home, for all she’d never been here.
Shadowed still, grey and black, here and there touched with gold, the dunes rolled away beneath them. The little aircraft tilted slightly, turning towards a dune higher than the rest, curved like a huge wave curling in towards a beach.
With seemingly effortless ease, Tariq set the helicopter down.
‘Don’t open your door for a minute—let the sand settle,’ he said, but he slipped out into the swirling cloud, retrieving a wicker basket from the back and carrying it to the top of the dune.
Lila was opening her door when he returned and dragged a rolled carpet from behind her seat.
‘Can I carry something?” she asked, although the question was automatic as she looked around the vastness of the desert, trying to take in its enormity—its magnificence.
‘No, just follow me,’ he said, so she did, still looking around, seeing the way the wind carved shapes in the sand and feeling how it shifted under her sandals.
The urge to take them off and feel the sand between her toes was too great so, keeping a wary eye out for scorpions, she did just that, surprised to find how cold the sand was, thrilled to feel its softness.
Tariq had spread the carpet, which must have been rolled around some cushions for three of them were cast casually on the material. The hamper was open and from it he’d produced a very beautiful silver coffee pot.
‘This is picnicking in style,’ Lila teased, unable to hide her delight in what was happening—the dunes, the picnic, the elegant coffee pot. And Tariq, in jeans today, and a leather jacket—was he a desert biker?
‘The pot is insulated to keep the coffee hot,’ he explained as he brought out covered dishes and set them on the carpet.
‘Far more upmarket than the flask I carry when I drive home from Sydney for a visit.’
‘So, tell me about your home,’ he said, but Lila barely heard the question, for the sand around her was turning to liquid gold, while the sky to the east was flushed with pink and orange, and the tiny curve of the red orb of the sun poked above the horizon.
‘Oh!’ was all she could manage, and although Tariq pressed a cup of coffee into her hands and passed tempting-looking treats her way, she could only stare as the world was reborn with the sunrise, the colour on the dunes around her changing with every moment that passed.
Tariq watched her face, with expressions of wonder and delight chasing across it.
Emotion, too, for now and then a tear would spill and be swiftly wiped away, but mostly it was awe until the sun was fully up and she turned to him with a smile that lit up the dunes even more than the sun had done.
‘That is the most magical thing I have ever seen. Can we do it again?’
He had to smile.
‘Well, not right away,’ he said. ‘It’s not a film or DVD where we can press rewind but there’ll be other mornings, many of them.’
For some reason he nearly added ‘I hope’ but pulled it back just in time.
Though why?
Lila was eating now, testing and tasting the delicacies he’d had his cook prepare for them, so he was free to study her—or at least to glance her way several times.
He was too much his father’s son—too indoctrinated in the rules of the head and heart—to trust the strange things that had been going on in his chest, So think with your head, he told himself.
One, to all intents and purposes she was a foreigner, not brought up in their ways and customs, and there were too many instances of troubled marriages and divorces in his own and his parents’ generations that stemmed from marriage to a foreigner.
But setting that aside, there was the turmoil a relationship between the two of them would cause within the palace. Second Mother’s hatred of N
alini, whose behaviour had reflected so badly on the new wife, was the stuff of legend, so how would she treat Nalini’s suspected daughter?
And on top of that there was the theft.
Though Lila was the innocent recipient of the Ta’wiz, the very fact that she had it pointed to Nalini as the thief. And how would the daughter of a thief—a thief who had brought such shock, and disbelief, and sorrow, to his family—be accepted in palace circles?
He nodded. His head was right. It had come up with very sensible, cogent reasons for not getting involved with this woman and the fact that there seemed to be a physical attraction—the feelings of his chest and elsewhere—underlined the fact that his head was right.
He glanced her way again. She had bitten into a honeyed pastry and was wiping the sweet liquid from her chin with her fingers and licking them. He was close enough to take her hand and lick them clean himself and had actually moved before his head threw up a warning—a definite ‘red for danger’ sign.
He handed her a damp cloth instead, and watched as she wiped her fingers, then her face, inhaling the scent of the cloth.
‘Rosewater?’ she asked, waving it in front of her face to intensify the faint perfume.
‘Yes. My mother uses it for everything, from perfume and soap and hair shampoo, to cooking and making candles.’
‘It’s beautiful. Too faint to be overpowering but there to be enjoyed.’
‘I hope you find all of Karuba the same,’ Tariq said. ‘Here to be enjoyed!’
She turned to him with a smile that rivalled the sun with its radiance.
‘I know I’ll find it the same,’ she said. ‘This may sound silly, given I’ve never been here, or really known much about it, but I feel as if I’ve come home.’
His head told him that didn’t mean a thing, but this time it was definitely his heart that reacted for he felt it skip a beat...
‘Time to go,’ he said, putting a stop to the nonsense going on inside him. ‘We’ve a full day’s work ahead of us.’
Lila looked around as they lifted into the sky once more. Sand, sand and more sand, although up ahead she could see the mountains, great, smooth mounds and slices of rock that seemed to have been thrown together or built by some ancient tribe of giants.
‘The wind and sand wear the rocks smooth,’ Tariq told her, though he couldn’t possibly be reading her thoughts. ‘But see the green at the base? That’s where we’re heading. It’s a very fertile valley with streams fed by underground springs in winter and snowmelt in the summer.’
Low brown tents, shaped much like some of the rocks on the mountain, appeared beneath them.
‘Oh, look, there’s our clinic!’ Lila cried, pointing downwards, but they were already past, flying over it and landing in a flat field a short distance away.
‘Should I cover my hair?’ Lila asked, as the little aircraft settled and the engine noise ceased.
Tariq smiled at her.
‘Not here,’ he said. ‘The nomad women are tough and confident, and subservient to no man. You’ll see.’
And Lila did see. Women with strong, attractive faces, some wearing lipstick and a slash of red across their cheeks, came forward to meet the helicopter. They wore bright clothes, too, deep blue trousers and dusty red tops, with intricately braided belts around their waists and similar braided cloth wound through their hair.
They greeted Tariq with politeness but not the deference Lila had noticed at the airport, and she realised that these women would bow to no man.
‘They remind me of Barirah,’ Lila said to Tariq as she joined him to greet the women.
‘Blood kin—your blood too, most probably,’ he said briefly, before greeting the woman who stepped forward as spokeswoman for the group.
He introduced Lila then led the way to where the mobile clinic was already set up, with long lines of women and children sitting patiently on the sand outside it.
‘Births aren’t always officially registered, so our administrator will start there, making a record of every child, their name, date of birth, any previous illness, vaccinations if any, then we add to the record as we see the children as they grow up.’
It sounded simple enough but as Lila looked along the long line of women and children, she wondered if the number of days Tariq had allowed for this visit would be long enough. To get through those already waiting might take weeks.
‘Well, best we get started,’ she said. ‘I imagine some of the children have already been documented.’
And so began one of the longest days Lila had ever put in, even back when she’d been an intern in the ED.
The nurse did most of the vaccinations because Lila found herself with Tariq in what she thought of as the operating theatre, debriding wounds and dressing them, often having to suture the skin where the wound was too big to leave open.
‘This child should be in the hospital,’ she said, when a little boy with bad burns to his left foot and leg was brought in.
The wound had been treated with something greasy, which, when cleaned off, revealed a large, infected area.
‘It must be so painful,’ she remarked to Tariq, who shook his head.
‘Unimaginably so, but they are stoic people. He would not let his family down by letting us see his pain.’
‘So, what do we do?’
Tariq was examining the wound very carefully.
‘I’d suggest hospital but they are moving on soon and I doubt his family will agree. So we will cut away all we can of the infection, and I’ll do a split-thickness skin graft to cover the gap. If I leave a shunt in and give the mother strict instructions how to care for it, the graft should take. We’ll be here to watch it the first few days and I can fly back out to check if necessary.’
Lila looked around the makeshift theatre.
‘You’ll do a skin graft here? How will you take the skin? And the child will then have two wounds that could get infected.’
He looked up from his study of the foot and smiled at her.
‘We can do anything,’ he said, and something in the way he spoke had her almost believing it.
But the ‘we’?
That was a bit odd, wasn’t it?
‘I’ll take skin, dermis and epidermis, from his thigh, run it through the rollers on the meshing device to make it bigger, then we’ll fix it over the wound. I think a light general anaesthetic should do him if we’ve got everything in place. Absorbent dressings for both sites, maybe staples—no, sutures, I think—then thick pressure padding to hold the graft in place.’
‘And the donor site? Absorbent dressings? But won’t they need to be changed regularly?’
‘Yes. We can do that while we’re here, then leave them with the boy’s mother with strict instructions and also give the female elder the same information. I think they can manage.’
‘Antibiotics?’
‘We’ll start them IV and leave tablets. So, are we ready to go?’
They’d both been moving around the little cabin as they spoke, gathering equipment they would need—well, Tariq had been gathering equipment while Lila watched to see where everything was kept. So much equipment in such a small space!
But she did find gowns and gloves, and the drawers where dressings were kept.
With a heart monitor attached to his chest and a pulse oximeter to one finger, the little boy was anaesthetised, and they began work, first cleaning both the wound and the donor site on his thigh.
‘We work well together,’ Tariq said at one stage, and Lila looked up to meet the dark eyes above the mask.
It was just a passing comment, she knew that, but she felt a thrill of pride run through her body.
‘Bandage both sites well then put a sleeve over them,’ Tariq said, as they finished and he concentrated on the slowly awakening child
. ‘He might rest for a while this afternoon but he’ll be out playing with his friends again tomorrow.’
Lila searched through the dressing drawers for the smallest of the long tubes that could be cut into protective sleeves. She cut two and slipped one over each wound, wondering, as she did so, if she should also wrap them in cling wrap of some kind to prevent them getting wet.
‘I hope his mother can keep him out of water,’ she said, and Tariq smiled.
‘We can only do so much,’ he said. ‘I will speak to his mother about keeping him inside for at least a few days.’
Lila nodded, busy cleaning up while Tariq carried the little boy outside, passing him to his anxious mother, talking quietly to her in a gentle voice—suggesting, Lila guessed, rather than ordering.
‘So what’s next?’ she said, when he came back in.
‘What’s next might be dinner,’ Tariq told her. ‘The nurse has already finished for the day. Come, I’ll show you to your tent.’
‘Tent?’ Lila shook her head. ‘Yes, of course it would be a tent, I just hadn’t thought about it. Is it a women’s tent or do you—or these people—have guest tents?’
‘Definitely guest tents, although you’ll be sharing with Rani and Sybilla. I do hope that’s all right with you.’
‘Fine with me,’ Lila assured him, having already spent enough time with the two women to know she liked them.
He led her out of the theatre and locked the door, then along a path by one of the little canals she now knew ran right through the oasis, carrying water to date palms, fruit trees and vegetable gardens.
Then, on a grassy knoll up ahead of them, she saw one of the low-slung tents with which she was becoming familiar. A taller post held up the middle of the material to form a doorway, before dipping away to where lower posts held the sides about four feet off the ground.
Having eaten lunch in a similar tent, she knew the central area was the living and dining area of the house, while the outer edges made up the sleeping area.
‘Your things will be in the area behind the purple curtain,’ Tariq said. ‘I’m sorry there’s no time for you to rest, but you can at least freshen up before we have dinner in the main tent. Everyone will be anxious to meet you and to talk of how happy they are to have the clinic visit.’
Engaged to the Doctor Sheikh Page 7
