Captive

by Tony Park

  Nurse Tamara Shepherd and a young doctor in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck walked in. Tamara coughed again. ‘Sorry, doctor, I have a bit of a tickle.’

  ‘Then stay away from the patient, please, nurse. Mr Maxwell, it’s time for your examination.’

  ‘Come on, Kerry,’ Eli said, ‘let’s get some air, give your dad a little privacy.’

  ‘Sure, back soon, Dad. Be good.’

  Tamara rolled her eyes.

  Kerry followed Eli out. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked him.

  ‘I’m OK,’ Eli said. ‘I took a bullet but luckily it didn’t hit anything vital. I’ve had worse.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Just war stories. Doc says I’ll be good to go in a day, maybe two.’ He led her to the hospital cafe. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Sure, anything to get the taste of that rotgut out of my mouth. Cappuccino, please.’

  Eli got the coffees and Kerry found them a table. When he came over she saw he was still carrying his cup of brandy. He sipped some of the coffee then topped it up with the alcohol. He looked clean-cut and fit, but he was a military man and she knew from her dad and her time growing up on army bases that they could get up to no good, no matter how straight they looked.

  ‘Your dad’s a great guy.’

  ‘Yes, he is. I haven’t had a chance to properly thank you. I know you helped Dad and Graham get everything they needed to come and get me, and you put your life on the line.’

  ‘It was nothing. I’m just glad you’re safe.’

  He had a look of sincerity and he held her eyes with his, even as he took some more coffee. She needed to get back to small talk; his eyes were enticing. ‘So, do you head back to Mozambique once you’re discharged from hospital?’ she asked.

  ‘Nope, afraid not. I have to go to Cape Town. I’ve got a fundraiser there.’

  ‘You make it sound like a chore,’ Kerry said.

  ‘Kind of is, for me. I’d rather be in the bush. But some friends of mine with a band are organising a concert to help raise money to fund my anti-poaching unit, so I have to put in an appearance. It’s coinciding with a conference for zoo and national parks people from around the world.’

  ‘I heard,’ Kerry said. ‘Graham’s been asked to speak at an event there as well, apparently.’

  ‘But aren’t you supposed to be working with him as a volunteer?’

  Kerry rolled her eyes. ‘Well, you know Graham, I guess. I’m just getting to know him. It seems like everything I thought I’d be doing in Africa is subject to change. I wanted to see Cape Town at some point on my trip – I had thought it would be at the end – but if he’s going down there for his fundraiser then maybe I’ll go as well.’

  ‘It is a beautiful city, and you may as well see as much of Africa as you can before you have to go back to home and work.’

  ‘I hear you,’ Kerry said. ‘I like my job, but I keep thinking there must be more to life.’

  ‘Your pop says you’re a lawyer, and a damn good one.’

  ‘Well, he would say that, he’s my father. It’s mostly corporate stuff, but I’ve done the odd pro bono case and I get more satisfaction out of helping people who can’t afford to pay than minimising the tax paid by big businesses.’

  ‘And Africa?’ Eli asked.

  Kerry sipped her coffee. ‘I didn’t know what it would be like, and what happened in Mozambique was a complete nightmare, but . . .’

  ‘But?’

  ‘It was like seeing the wild dog – Graham and I rescued this wild dog that had been hit by a car near Hoedspruit – it was tragic and so sad, but to see this wild animal that up until an hour or less before the accident had been roaming free, in among people’s houses, but still living this sort of normal life, was just . . . I don’t know . . .’

  ‘Awesome, but in the real meaning of the word,’ Eli said.

  She looked into those dark eyes again and she saw a reflection of how she felt. He was smitten, in love, addicted – not to her, but to this place. ‘It feels like I’ve changed, like I’ve been bitten by something, or I’ve drunk something or breathed something in.’

  ‘Africa.’

  ‘Yes. Even with all that’s happened I have no desire whatsoever to go back to Australia. I’ve known since I was a little kid that I wanted – needed – to go to Africa, but I’m worried, Eli. I think I’m hooked.’

  ‘Hey, if you were free, perhaps we could catch up when I’m in Cape Town, maybe hang out?’

  She leaned back in her chair. ‘Did you just ask me on a date?’

  ‘Well, your dad thought it would be OK.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Eli shuffled in his seat. ‘I mean, I asked him if it would be OK if I asked you if we could . . . if I could ask you if we could maybe . . .’

  His shyness, coming from such a big, strapping handsome man, was endearing, but Kerry couldn’t hold back her feelings of annoyance. ‘You discussed me, with my father?’

  ‘Hey, Kerry . . .’

  ‘Hey, nothing. This isn’t Africa, I mean, it is, but we’re not Africans. You don’t have to offer him a herd of cows or something before you go out with me!’

  Eli put his hands up. ‘No, no, no, that’s only when we get married.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Oh, no. I mean if. If we get married.’

  ‘Crikey, are you asking me to marry you now?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Eli, can you understand that I feel like an object, being discussed by you and my father? I’m thirty-two years old.’

  ‘Shoot, I’m sorry, Kerry. Your dad did warn me that you’d be like this. I . . .’

  ‘He warned you about me?’

  ‘Well, not so much warned me as advised me.’

  Kerry stood up. ‘Eli, I want to thank you for being there for me in Mozambique and I’m sure you and my father are getting on well as mates, but I am not some commodity to be traded.’

  She turned and walked back the way she had come. She was ready to give her father a piece of her mind. The doctor who had come into the room was walking down the corridor towards her.

  ‘Miss Maxwell.’

  ‘Kerry. How is the old goat?’

  ‘Your father is recovering well and he’ll be fit to fly home in a day or two.’

  ‘Oh. Thank you, doctor.’

  ‘Hey,’ said a voice behind her.

  She turned and saw Eli. He had caught up with her on his way back to his room, or Bruce’s, or wherever he was heading.

  ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I want to apologise, Kerry.’

  She felt bad, seeing his soulful eyes. ‘I overreacted. I do that sometimes, sorry. I think I inherited my dad’s temper.’

  ‘I watched a rugby game with him last night – Australia versus South Africa – and I thought he was going to throw a vase through the TV screen at one point.’

  Kerry laughed. ‘That sounds like Bruce.’

  ‘I just saw my doctor, in the cafeteria. He was looking for me.’

  Kerry reminded herself that Eli had been wounded by gunfire in a mission to try and save her, so she should ease up on him. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Good news. I’m clear to check out whenever I want.’

  ‘Well, good for you. Where will you go?’

  ‘I know some folks, the Strydoms, who have a B&B here in Nelspruit. I just gave them a quick call. They’ve got space, but they’re in Johannesburg. Their gardener will let me in; I just need to organise myself a ride.’

  ‘I can take you, I guess.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Eli. ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘Um, to tell you the truth I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Graham said I could keep his Land Rover for a couple of days if I needed it, but I thought I might drive back to Hoedspruit tonight.’

  Eli checked his watch. ‘It’ll take you a couple of hours at least and it’ll be getting dark when you pass through Bushbuckridge.’

&nbs
p; ‘That’s the big town I passed through on the way, right?’

  ‘Yep, that will be the one.’

  ‘Is it dangerous to drive there at night?’

  ‘You would have seen the traffic, with all the minibus taxis?’

  ‘I sure did,’ she said.

  ‘It gets worse in the evening, with people coming home from work. Plus, there’s the risk of cows and dogs wandering onto the road and, as you get closer to Hoedspruit, even wildlife.’

  Kerry nodded. ‘Yes, Graham said to be careful driving after sundown. He actually suggested I stay here in Nelspruit if it got too late.’

  ‘Good advice. Hey, I can call my friends back and see if it’s OK for you to stay in one of their other rooms if you like? It’s clean, self-contained and not expensive.’

  Kerry weighed her options. In his awkward way Eli had possibly asked her out on a date, if she came to Cape Town. He was young and handsome and she wondered if he thought that maybe if they stayed in adjoining rooms in a B&B that something might happen. It wasn’t the worst thought in the world, but after everything she had been through Kerry felt like she wanted to be somewhere safe. Oddly, right now, that seemed like Graham’s place. Graham was an objectionable man, but he hadn’t tried anything inappropriate with her. Sex – even the remote prospect of it – was the last thing she needed right now.

  ‘That’s a really nice offer, Eli. It’s funny for me being here in a city. Every night I’ve spent in Africa so far has been somewhere wild – even Graham’s housing estate has animals wandering about. They have a resident leopard. It’d be weird to go to a bed and breakfast place in Africa. Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll drive back to Hoedspruit.’

  Eli looked a little hurt, but recovered from it quickly. ‘Well, take Graham’s advice and drive really carefully, OK?’

  ‘Deal.’

  Chapter 14

  Bruce Maxwell had been a light sleeper most of his life, ever since Vietnam. He woke and it took him a moment to remember where he was, in hospital.

  Everyone in the family knew that if they had to wake him, they were never to shake him by the shoulder or anywhere near his face or he would spring up in bed and, more often than not, grab the waker by the throat in a vice grip.

  ‘Touch my feet,’ was the order of the day when it came to waking Bruce. He’d told Tamara Shepherd the same thing. She was a looker, Bruce thought. She was mildly flirty, but that was probably just her indulging him, he thought. Tamara – Tammy – was an Afrikaner though her late husband, she had told him, had been an English-speaking South African and she’d kept his surname. He liked her accent.

  Bruce drifted back to sleep and was vaguely aware that he was dreaming.

  He was back in Vietnam, not on patrol but in the rear area base, in the Australian Special Air Service base in Nui Dat. He was wandering past the open-sided green mess tent, his leather and canvas American jungle boots sloshing through mud puddles. He felt sad and annoyed. How, he wondered in his slumber, had he ended up back in this bloody place again? Where was Tammy?

  Bruce sensed danger.

  He couldn’t work out why he was in Vietnam again, after all these years. He couldn’t see any of his old comrades around, but he had the feeling he was being watched, that there was someone lurking between the rows of tents. Each had a wall, halfway up, made of sandbags, to give some protection from incoming mortar rounds.

  Although this was their rear area base, there was no front line in Vietnam; the enemy was everywhere. Bruce heard a movement and someone stepped from the shadows.

  He opened his eyes, sat up straight and found he was in a bed; a starched white sheet falling from his sweat-soaked body. But it was dark, gloomy, like the shadows of his dream. His hand shot out and grabbed something, someone, and there was a muffled yelp.

  It was a dream, Bruce told himself, but, no, maybe it wasn’t, because the woman he was holding, her forearm in the iron grip of his hand, was Vietnamese. A spy. In a white coat. It didn’t make sense.

  ‘Mr Maxwell,’ the woman hissed. ‘Let. Me. Go. It’s OK. You are safe. I am your doctor.’

  Bruce looked around, doubly confused. The room was dark, illuminated only by the glowing lights of the monitor he was attached to.

  He blinked and looked at the woman. She was small, harmless, pretty. For a second he thought of his late wife. He relaxed his grip.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know you.’ He rubbed his eyes, coming out of his deep sleep.

  ‘No. I am Dr Nguyen. Sally.’

  Now that he could focus he saw that she couldn’t be much older than her early twenties. That wasn’t unusual, he thought; it seemed to Bruce that whenever he’d been in hospital in Australia the whole place had been staffed by people who should still have been in school.

  ‘Where’s my normal doctor?’ Bruce asked.

  ‘Oh, he is on the day shift. I am the night duty doctor,’ she said.

  ‘Hmm. Well, I’m fine, Doc.’

  She smiled. ‘You let me be the judge of that, Mr Maxwell.’ She came to him and laid her hand on his forehead. She was short so she had to lean over him. He smelled her perfume; it was sweet and girlish.

  ‘I saw a girl here yesterday while I was making my rounds – she looked part Asian.’

  ‘That was probably my daughter, Kerry,’ he said. Her coat was open and her small but firm breasts were straining against a simple black T-shirt underneath.

  ‘She is very pretty.’

  ‘She had a beautiful mother.’

  ‘Had?’

  ‘She died, cancer.’

  ‘Oh, I am so sorry, Mr Maxwell.’ She put a hand with long scarlet fingernails on his chest, and Bruce felt his old heart pump a bit faster. In his condition that probably wasn’t a good thing.

  She was a cute girl, but there was something not right here; especially her touching him in that way.

  ‘I need to give you some medicine,’ she continued.

  ‘What? I get my meds during the day; Nurse Shepherd brings them, not the doctor. I’m just going to call the duty nurse.’

  ‘She’s busy, I saw her on the way in here to do my rounds,’ Sally said, taking a step back from him.

  Bruce looked her up and down. The nurses here in South Africa wore what would be considered in Australia an old-style uniform, and they had identification cards on lanyards, ditto the doctors. Sally Nguyen, if that’s what her name was, had nothing of the sort visible.

  ‘Where’s your ID?’ he asked her.

  She smiled. ‘Oh, Bruce, I don’t need ID.’

  That did it. He picked up the call button attached to a cable lying next to his pillow. He pressed it and the light outside his room lit up.

  ‘We’ll see what the nurse has to say.’

  Sally gave a little giggle. ‘Oh, Bruce, I told you, the nurse is tied up right now. I’m here to make sure you get better.’

  Bruce was about to call out when he saw Dr Nguyen’s fingers go to the belt of the short khaki shorts he could now see she was wearing under her laboratory coat. She undid the belt, then the top button.

  ‘What the flaming hell is going on here?’

  ‘Oh, Bruce,’ she said in a tone that flowed like warm honey. ‘I think we both know I’m not a doctor.’

  ‘Then who, what are you?’

  ‘I’m your get-well present, Bruce.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You have a friend? American? His name is Eli?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  She looked up, seeming to search her memory as her zipper paused at half-mast. ‘Johnston. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  Bruce was open-mouthed for a couple of seconds. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He sent me with a message. He said to tell you, “This is for Mozambique, to say sorry for letting you down”.’

  ‘The cheeky bugger,’ Bruce said. ‘Where are you from, Sally, if that’s your name?’

  She giggled again. ‘Oh, Bruce, I think we both know my name is not really Sally. But you can c
all me doctor if that turns you on.’

  Sally unzipped all the way, let her shorts fall to the floor and then stepped out of them. She was wearing a red G-string. She shrugged off her coat, twirled it once on one finger then tossed it so that it landed on the visitor’s chair.

  Bruce didn’t know what to make of this. It was a hell of a surprise. Eli had struck him as a mister nice guy, one of those straightlaced Yanks who went back to base for a bit of bible study after a day shooting terrorists. He might have misjudged him.

  ‘Ah, Sally . . .’

  ‘One second please.’ She turned and bent over, giving him a view of a very pert bottom as she snapped open an old-style leather doctor’s bag that he hadn’t seen sitting on the floor. ‘Time for your examination, Bruce.’

  She stood, now with a stethoscope in her ears and a little black zip-up clutch bag in her hands.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be sorry, Bruce. You’ll be happy. And don’t worry about the night nurse. Eli spoke to her and she let me in. Everyone is in on this present to you.’

  That explained why no one had responded to him pressing the call button, he supposed. What kind of a hospital was this? He reached under his pillow and drew out the flask of brandy and unscrewed the cap. He took a swig and offered the bottle to Sally.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m on duty, Bruce.’

  He laughed so hard some of the fiery spirit spurted out of his nose. He coughed and wiped his mouth. What the hell, he thought. He put the cap on the bottle and hid it under the pillow again.

  Sally came to him and slowly undid the top three buttons of his pyjama top. She reached a hand inside and found his nipple and give it a little pinch. He jumped in his bed and hoped she didn’t give him another heart attack. He felt himself start to stir. There was life in the old dog yet, he told himself, rather pleased with the reaction.

  Sally breathed on the round disc of the stethoscope to warm it up and put the zipped bag on the bed beside Bruce.

  He smiled as she leaned over him. ‘Be gentle with me.’

  She tittered and put the end of the stethoscope on his chest. ‘You still have a heart.’

  He laughed. She unzipped the little black bag. ‘What’s in there?’