Desert King, Doctor Daddy

by Meredith Webber

  Was he telling her out of politeness? Of course he would be—ridiculous to imagine he didn’t like to see her hair covered, for all he’d run his fingers through it as he’d kissed her.

  And you can put those memories right out of your head, she warned herself, before finally speaking directly to him.

  ‘I don’t mind, and if, as I hope, I’m going to meet some of the women who already use the clinic then perhaps it’s appropriate I keep it on.’

  ‘The nomadic women? They are not afraid of colour, or of showing their hair. For all that they are wary of Western medicine, they are more liberated in many ways than the women of my family. Wait until you meet them—you will see. But first I must show you the hospital.’

  The driver had opened the door and he climbed out, and as someone else had opened the door on Gemma’s side, she too left the vehicle and followed Yusef along a covered walk-way and into the building.

  ‘It is strange, coming here now,’ he said, waiting for her just inside the door. ‘Before, when I was here, I was just another surgeon, treated with as much or as little respect as I earned, but now, it is—not embarrassing but uncomfortable because although all the staff here know I’m still me, they treat me differently.’

  And as they walked along a corridor to the left Gemma could see what he meant. Staff members they passed as they walked didn’t exactly bow, but they nodded their heads and murmured a quiet, almost reverent greeting, not the usual cheerful hospital greetings colleagues shared.

  ‘Here is where I believe we can expand our services to all the women of the country, and their children as well,’ he announced, pausing at a closed door and looking directly at Gemma for the first time that morning. ‘Until now they have been using the general hospital facilities, which are overcrowded and not specifically directed towards the needs of any particular group.’

  Was it apprehension she could see in his eyes? Was he wondering if perhaps this whole scheme was nothing more than a wild pipe dream?

  Yusef hesitated, uncertain now about what had seemed such a wonderful idea, then memories of Wardeh’s death returned and he opened the door, seeing for himself for the first time the work that had been done in his absence.

  Marvelling at it, as Gemma marvelled, her eyes wide with surprise as she looked around at the spaces that had been created, then out towards the courtyard where the mature roses he’d ordered to be planted were already in bloom.

  ‘It’s more like a palace than a medical centre,’ she finally said, shaking her head as she walked around, touching a soft couch here, a wall tapestry there.

  Yusef studied it again, wondering if he’d got it wrong.

  ‘I wasn’t trying for a palace but for the ambience of a tent, with the cushions and carpets and familiar, homely objects.’

  Gemma had picked up a tall, shapely brass jug, gleaming in the rays the sun shed through the windows.

  ‘Homely objects?’ she echoed, the teasing note in her voice affecting him more deeply than her physical presence—and that was bad enough.

  ‘It is a homely object—all families have such things—they are for oil.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said and his doubts doubled.

  ‘You think I’ve got it wrong? You think I’ve overdone it?’

  She shook her head and came towards him, pausing only a couple of feet away, looking into his face, his eyes.

  ‘Yusef, I don’t know if you’re overdone it. How can I judge when I don’t know the women whom you hope will use the centre? Or what you were hoping to achieve when you set it up?’

  ‘I set it up as a special place for women who visit the hospital, whether for themselves or for their children, but the physical setting is the easy part-see. Through here, there are offices and consulting rooms and the usual hospital paraphernalia, but it is your expertise I need now to ensure I can provide a high-quality health service to my countrywomen.’

  ‘Then I need to talk to the women who will use it,’ Gemma told him, ‘to find out their needs. Not necessarily specific needs at first, but general health issues.’

  She thought for a moment, then said, ‘For instance, with the new people settling in the towns, are there vaccination programmes for the children before they begin school? And are the new settlers aware of these programmes? Do they understand the spread of childhood diseases and why they should have their children immunised?’

  She opened the door into the enclosed courtyard, letting the perfume of the roses into the room. Turning to face him, she asked, ‘You’ve done all this—had it done—since I said I’d come?’

  Yusef frowned at the question—a strange one, surely.

  ‘I couldn’t do it earlier—you might not have come,’ he explained.

  ‘But someone would have,’ she pointed out. ‘You know a better service is a necessity, so you’d have found someone.’

  He nodded again, then came towards her, smiling as he remembered their meeting.

  ‘But until I’d met you and seen the houses, seen the homeliness you created so the women would be comfortable there, I didn’t know what was needed here.’

  ‘And that was, what, five days ago? You’ve had all his done in five days?’

  Now he was really puzzled.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, and she shook her head and laughed.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘But I can’t help thinking of the couches at the hotel—they displeased you so had to be removed immediately. You want a special room, and a rose garden, and, voilà, it’s there. It’s like the genie in the bottle granting wishes. I thought he was only in fairy stories.’

  If she hadn’t laughed he’d have been okay, but that carefree sound echoing around the room, mingling with the scent of roses, stirred his body and he reached out his hand to touch her, draw her close, for all his determination to remain aloof.

  He was going to kiss her. Gemma knew that as surely as she knew her name. But she also knew it would be wrong—wrong for her because these occasional kisses only made her longing for him worse, and very wrong for him.

  She backed away, into the garden, reaching out to pluck a rose, nipping off the tender stem near the bloom.

  ‘I need to meet some women, particularly some of the new settlers,’ she reminded him. ‘It is they who will not only determine the success of the service but will be able to talk to me of their needs.’

  She paused, sniffing at the rose then looking up at him.

  ‘It is you who said this cannot be,’ she reminded him, raising the rose and touching it to his cheek.

  His eyes darkened but his face remained unreadable. He studied her for a moment longer then turned away.

  ‘The women,’ he said as he walked towards the door, obviously expecting her to follow him. ‘I will take you to the markets. It is there they would traditionally come when they were in Fajabal, and as most of them are merchants, they have stalls there, run by relatives of the nomads who have already settled here.’

  He had to stay away from her! He could not afford to be tempted and sidetracked as he had that morning. Yusef cursed under his breath as he led the way back to the car. As if seeing her last night, with his daughter sleeping in her arms, hadn’t been bad enough, but this morning—that first glimpse of her as she’d come out of the house, tendrils of her bright hair escaping from the dark green scarf, tiny freckles turning her skin golden in the sunlight. His heart had stopped, then raced, then plummeted.

  Unseemly, that was the word. He knew it full well. It would be unseemly for him to have an affair with this woman, quite apart from the trouble it could cause in his already troubled land. But how could he avoid thinking about it when images of her kept flashing through his mind, images that sent his blood racing through his veins, pooling low down, hardening his body.

  Sexual attraction! How easy it had been to satisfy when he’d been young and the juices had begun flowing in his body. A healthy and wealthy young man could find any number of willing bed partners and although he’d always
been more discerning than some of his brothers and cousins, he’d had his share of what he hoped had been mutually satisfying affairs. Then marriage, Africa and Fajella. His life had changed, only to change even more dramatically when he’d taken the throne.

  He sighed as he considered the troubles ahead of him. Yes, it might work, his idea of looking after the women, but it would take time and he doubted he had time, factions already being at work to appoint his older brother ruler. But he’d brought Gemma Murray here, so he owed her the courtesy of helping her find her feet not only in a new job but in a new country. He would take her to the markets, through the alleys to the women’s souk, introduce her to some of the women then get Almira involved again. Almira could act as her guide.

  This was opting out—he knew it—but given the attraction between them, and the impossibility of taking it further, it seemed the most sensible thing to do.

  Sensible, he repeated to himself, and she climbed into the car beside him, setting nerve endings on alert at her closeness.

  He opened his laptop again—pretending to be busy might distract his body.

  ‘Too busy to point out the sights?’ she asked quietly, and he closed the lid on the screen, which was still blank.

  And looked at her—really looked—reading resignation in her eyes and a touch of sadness.

  ‘I do understand—I really do,’ she said softly. ‘My grandfather’s one weakness was old vinyl records and he used to play them in the evenings. There was a song on one of them that said something about it being the wrong time and the wrong place, and that’s how it is for us, isn’t it, Yusef? An attraction that’s nothing more than an impossible dream!’

  She reached across and touched his fingers very lightly, but far from dampening down the fires within him, they fanned the embers into flames, although he hoped he kept that particular reaction hidden.

  ‘So, tell me where we’re going.’

  Her tone was bright—falsely bright, he suspected, but she was making an effort, so the least he could do was to follow her lead.

  ‘We’re going to the markets—the souks. Most of the nomad tribes are traders and have always had stalls in the markets. Some family members have lived here, running the stalls, while the others travelled.’

  ‘But if these people have family members already settled in your country, wouldn’t that make their settlement easier?’

  He turned towards her and saw the slight frown that accompanied the words.

  ‘You would think so, wouldn’t you?’

  Gemma had been doing really well, keeping things cool and businesslike between them, until she saw the wry smile twisting his lips as he spoke. It held sadness, but not defeat.

  ‘So tell me,’ she insisted.

  ‘Families,’ he replied, as if that explained everything.

  ‘I didn’t have one,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Perhaps that is a blessing,’ he said, then shook his head. ‘No, I don’t mean that—families are the single most important and powerful unit of any civilisation, but they don’t always have to agree. For instance, my brother and I disagree about the way our country should be run, and in the same way these tribal families have their own differences. The settled ones feel they established the stalls and have a right to them, while the new settlers believe, having supplied the goods for centuries, the outlets are part of their business and so, by rights, theirs.’

  ‘Ah!’ Gemma said, then, as several disparate facts slipped into place in her head, she added, ‘And the business people among them would no doubt feel drawn to your businessman brother!’

  Fortunately the car had stopped at the entrance to the market, and the conversation ceased. The driver opened Yusef’s door, and he stepped out. Someone from the group hovering around a high-arched entryway in a white stone wall opened the car door on Gemma’s side and a strange apprehension shivered along her nerves before she, too, braved the sunshine and climbed out of the vehicle.

  ‘We have Western-style shopping complexes now, but many people, especially the older ones, still do all their shopping in the markets,’ Yusef said, his voice that of a polite host explaining to a guest. Which is how it should be, Gemma told herself as he led her through the arch into an unbelievable wonderland.

  The walls of the alley rose up on each side, dwellings maybe four or five storeys high, and on each side rows and rows of stalls, the first twenty metres mostly pots and pans—huge pots and pans—and metal jugs in beautiful shapes, and urns, and amphoras in silver and brass hanging from the walls and the spindly frames of the stalls, little separating each one from the next.

  Then the spices, huge tubs of golden tumeric, the scent of cardamom and fenugreek, the mingling of a hundred different aromas transporting Gemma to a truly magical place.

  Men cried out at her to buy their wares, holding up bundles of dried herbs, but Yusef answered them, apparently joking with them for they laughed and waved the pair of them on their way.

  ‘I should have brought a reel of cotton and tied one end of it at the entrance or dropped breadcrumbs to find my way back,’ Gemma said as they twisted and turned through the maze.

  Yusef turned to her.

  ‘I will not lose you,’ he said, and although she knew his words could have no deeper meaning than the obvious one, Gemma felt that shiver of connection feather up her spine again.

  But before she could consider it—even to rebuff it—a new wonderland opened up in front of her. They had reached the silk markets—the women’s place—and bolts of brilliantly coloured silk shone and shimmered all around her, dazzling the eyes and delighting the senses with the lush beauty of it.

  Gemma paused by one stall, where a bolt of emerald-green silk, woven through with golden thread, all but yelled at her from amidst the riches. She ran her hand over the fabric, delighting in the sheen, the softness, then Yusef was behind her, speaking to the woman behind the stall, who was blushing and bowing at the same time.

  A man appeared, small and dark, not bowing but nodding his head to acknowledge Yusef. Then he lifted the bolt of cloth and walked away, the woman talking again with much waving of hands and wide smiles, happiness radiating from her.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Gemma asked as they moved on.

  ‘She was surprised to see me in the markets,’ Yusef replied, but Gemma doubted that was all, for all along the narrow passage, messages were being passed and all the stall-holders were smiling at them now and chattering amongst themselves.

  But the source of the gossip remained a mystery until Yusef stopped at another stall, this one selling intricately beaded headdresses and heavily beaded gowns.

  ‘Ha! So the lion walks among the lambs and causes furore.’ A tall woman with a striking face—dark eyes flashing against dark olive skin, a beak of a nose held proudly high—greeted Yusef with this teasing comment. ‘The talk is all through the market—the king has come, not only come but spent some of his money. Now they say if it is good enough for him to shop here, people should forsake the big Western stores and return here.’

  ‘You know I hope they will, Yanne. You know I’ve always hoped that. Not forsake the big stores entirely, but keep enough of the old ways to value the souks. It is important.’

  The woman’s lips parted to reveal a wide, white smile.

  ‘I know you mean well, but will you succeed?’ she said, and Gemma noticed the way Yusef, always so upright in his bearing, straightened even more.

  ‘With the help of you and others, I will,’ he said, no shadow of doubt in his voice. ‘That is why I’ve come. This is Gemma Murray, Dr Gemma Murray, the woman I spoke of who will advise me on the establishment of a centre for women’s and children’s health. Gemma, this is Yanne, Fajella’s aunt.’

  Fajella’s aunt?

  Yusef’s dead wife’s sister?

  Or some more obscure relationship?

  It didn’t matter. Gemma’s hand was already extended towards Yanne.

  ‘I was telling Yusef I need to talk to
the women who will use the centre to find out what they need,’ Gemma said. ‘It seems there are already facilities but they are overstretched and not specifically for women so this makes the women reluctant to use them.’

  Yanne studied Gemma for a moment, then she nodded.

  ‘I will help you,’ she said, and Gemma sensed that, beside her, Yusef had relaxed, as if this was some huge hurdle he had overcome. Had Yanne sensed it also that she turned to him? ‘You will leave Dr Murray with me. She and I will talk and we will meet some of the women. I will see she is safely returned to the compound at the end of the day.’

  If Yusef was taken aback by this order, he didn’t show it, simply turning to Gemma to ask, ‘You are comfortable with this?’

  ‘More than comfortable,’ she said, then the ground rocked beneath her feet, noise assaulted her ears and the world turned blurry, billowing clouds of dust and smoke filling the air. Gemma felt Yusef’s hand on her arm and heard him talking urgently to Yanne.

  ‘Come,’ she said. ‘There’s a back door. We must get out there, into the open.’

  Now Yanne was pulling Gemma’s other arm, but Gemma could smell fire now and pulled away.

  ‘It was an explosion. People could be injured. I must go.’

  Yusef had already disappeared and Gemma hadn’t the slightest doubt that he’d headed for the danger zone—if danger zone there was. It would have been as instinctive for him as it was for her, and now she tried to push through the crowd of people trying to escape the narrow alley, going against the tide but with such determination she wormed and squirmed her way to the far end of the alley where flames were licking up the walls and the wailing of injured people told her she’d be needed.

  Men were playing hoses on the flames, and in the distance Gemma could hear the wailing siren of a modern fire engine heading towards them, but a large crater at one side of the alley told her the explosion had been considerable, and remembering how packed the markets had been as she’d walked in, she could only imagine the number who might be injured.

  Yusef, his headdress gone, his white gown knotted between his knees, was carrying a woman to an open space at the end of the alley. He scowled at Gemma when he saw her but didn’t seem surprised, so she followed him to where other people were setting down the injured, more than twenty patients already lying there.