She shot him a smile. He stepped closer. His chest was barely inches from her nose and she caught a whiff of pure pheromones. Oh, she could pretty it up by saying it was a combination of soap, remnants of musk antiperspirant and some subtle cologne, but from the effect it was having on her senses it felt like one hundred per cent testosterone.
He didn’t seem worried about their closeness. In fact, she could almost bet that he thrived on it. The thin fabric covering his broad chest brushed against her arm as he sat down. ‘Like I said, tell me what you need and I’m your guy.’
She pushed away the rush of thoughts that flooded her brain as she pulled forward a map. She circled areas for him. ‘We’ve done here, here and here. In the next two weeks we need to cover this area, and north of the river. We expect to see around seven hundred people a day.’
She was glad that he didn’t flinch at the volume of people who still needed to be seen.
He reached over to study the map. ‘How do you work your clinics?’
She gave a nod as the hairs on his arms brushed against her. Yip.
‘The TB regime is harsh. We split our duties. We have two nurses, a few local volunteers...’ she frowned ‘...and only one translator.’
He waved his hand. ‘Don’t worry about that. My Farsi is passable. The dialect might be a little different from where I’ve been working but I’m sure I’ll muddle through.’
Muddle through. She smiled. It was like something her grandmother used to say in private. Not quite the expression she’d expected from the muscular guy who screamed ‘army’.
‘You’re good with languages?’
He looked amused. ‘You’re surprised?’ There was a challenge in his words and a glint in his green eyes.
Her brain couldn’t quite find the words.
He gave a little nod. ‘I speak ten languages.’
She blinked. ‘Ten?’
He shrugged. ‘I was a navy brat. I moved around a lot. I picked up languages easily. It was the only way to fit in.’
She pressed her lips together then rearranged the papers.
Interesting. It was clear he’d hit a sore spot.
She got straight to the point. ‘Lucy and Estelle deal mainly with the patients who require treatment for their TB. Gretchen dispenses the medicines. The volunteers administer and read the tests.’
He raised his eyebrows and she quickly reassured him. ‘We train them ourselves.’
She opened a laptop. A spreadsheet appeared on the screen. She licked her lips. He was watching her closely. It was a little unnerving. ‘We’re estimating sixty per cent of the population have TB in one form or another. Some are active, some are latent, and some...’ she sighed ‘...are multi-resistant.’
‘How many?’
She nodded slowly. He must have read at least some of the information that Gibbs had sent to him. She let out a sigh. ‘Around twelve per cent.’
‘That high?’ He couldn’t hide his surprise. He’d known that drug resistance was rising all around the world, but the figure was higher than he expected.
‘Tell me what you need me to do.’ He was unnerved. And Sullivan Darcy wasn’t used to feeling unnerved. He was used to being the expert in the field. He was used to knowing his subject area inside out. And as Gabrielle’s rose-hinted scent wound its way around him he needed to find some focus.
Gabrielle nodded and licked those pink lips again. She pulled open a drawer next to her and pulled out some kind of cool pack. He watched as she unwrapped it and pulled out the biggest bar of chocolate he’d ever seen.
She gave him a cheeky smile. ‘I hate mushy chocolate.’ She broke off a piece and handed it to him. He automatically reached out and took it.
‘I didn’t peg you as a chocoholic.’
She shrugged, her brown eyes gleaming in the artificial light in the tent. ‘I have lots of secrets, you’ll just need to hang around to find them out.’
He almost choked on the chocolate he’d just put in his mouth. It was almost a direct invitation.
He leaned back in the chair, stretching one arm out to press the button to restart the music. ‘I can see Justin and I are going to become very good friends.’
He folded his arms across his chest and smiled.
CHAPTER TWO
GABRIELLE NORMALLY SLEPT like the dead. It was a skill she’d developed over the last six years of working for Doctors Without Borders. An essential skill. No one needed an overtired, grumpy medic.
But she’d been awake since four-thirty. She’d watched the sun rise as she’d contemplated some more chocolate, wishing she’d had a secret stash of wine.
She could swear she could almost hear him breathing in the tent next to hers. This wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be normal.
Most men she’d met in her life had fulfilled a purpose. She always chose carefully. No one who would sell stories to the press. No one who was secretly looking for a princess. Guys who were interested in relatively short-term gigs. Six months maximum. Enough time for some getting-to-know-you, some trust and some intimacy. But no promises, no intentions and no time for the petty squabbles and fights to set in. She’d always been the one in control.
She’d never actually felt that whoosh when she’d met someone. More like a flirtatious curiosity.
But with Sullivan Darcy it wasn’t just a whoosh. It was a full-blown tornado. For a woman who was always used to being in control, it was more than a little unnerving.
And she was mad with herself. Being caught dancing by him had thrown her off her usually professional stride. Gibbs hadn’t told her anything about the doctor coming to work with her and last night it had seemed too forward to pry.
He’d said he was a navy brat. What exactly did he mean? The guy could speak ten languages? Really? It kind of stuck in her throat. Languages had been one of her major failures as a royal. Mirinez bordered three countries, France, Italy and Monaco. Her native language was French. English had been instilled in her as a child and spending her university years and training time in the UK had served her well.
At a push she could stammer a few words in a few other languages. The same standard statements required by doctors. I’m a doctor, can I help? Are you in pain? What’s your name? But that was it. Languages had always been her Achilles’ heel.
She’d spent her life being top of all her other classes. Her brother, Andreas, had consistently been annoyed that his younger sister could out do him in every academic subject.
And being a doctor was kind of a strange thing. She’d worked with plenty of other doctors who were experts in their fields—just like she was in hers. But she’d never really met a guy who seemed smarter than her.
Mr Ten Languages felt like a little bit of a threat. It was making her stomach curl in all kinds of strange ways. She wasn’t quite sure if it was pure and utter attraction or a tiny bit of jealousy.
She flipped open her laptop to check the list of patients for today. Her emails blinked up. Three hundred and seventy-six. She’d read them all soon. The sixteen-hour shifts here were all-consuming. By the time they got back to camp, washed up and had some food, she didn’t have much energy left. Reviewing patient details and stock supplies was a must. Reading hundreds of emails when a large percentage of them were probably spam? That could wait.
She ran her eyes down the list. The work was never-ending. TB was a relentless disease. There was no quick fix here.
‘All set.’ Gretchen, the pharmacist, appeared at the entrance to the tent with a smile on her face. ‘I’ve just met our new doc.’ She winked at Gabrielle. ‘In some parts of Switzerland, we would call him eye candy.’
Gabrielle burst out laughing at Gretchen’s turn of phrase. They’d worked together for Doctors Without Borders for the last six years—always on the TB programmes. It had been Gabrielle’s first official
diagnosis of a patient when she’d been a medical student and had been her passion ever since.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She smiled in return. ‘I’m far too busy working to contemplate any kind of candy.’
Gretchen wagged her finger at her. ‘Don’t think I don’t know about the hidden candy.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Maybe it’s time to contemplate another kind.’
‘Gretchen!’ The woman ducked as Gabrielle flung a ball of paper at her.
There was a deep laugh and Sullivan appeared with the crushed ball in his hand. ‘Anything I should know about?’
She could feel the heat rush into her cheeks. It was like being a teenager all over again. She stood up quickly, grabbing the laptop and her backpack. ‘Not at all. Let’s go, Dr Darcy, time to learn some new skills.’
She was baiting him and she could tell he knew it. He shook his head and slung his own backpack over his shoulder. ‘I like to learn something new every day.’
* * *
He wasn’t joking. And Gabrielle took him at his word.
As soon as they’d travelled to their first stop and set up, she took him aside. ‘You know the drill. Ordinary TB is horrible enough. It kills one point four million people every year with another nine million suffering from the disease, mainly in developing countries like Narumba. Along with malaria and HIV it’s one of the three main killer infectious diseases. Drug resistance and multi-drug-resistant TB numbers are increasing all the time. Because it’s spread through the air when people cough and sneeze, it’s virtually impossible to stop the spread. One third of the world’s population is infected with mycobacterium tuberculosis but it’s dormant in their bodies. Ten per cent of these people will develop active TB at some point in their life.’
There was passion and enthusiasm in her voice. There was also a hint of anger. She was angry at what this disease was being allowed to do to people all around the world. He liked that about her.
‘We’ve been using the same archaic test for the last one hundred and twenty years and the test is only accurate half of the time—even less so if the patient has HIV. I hope you’re comfortable with kids. We have a new test for TB but it’s not suitable for kids. They need the traditional test and we have the facility for chest X-rays if necessary. Mainly, we go on clinical presentation and history.’
He nodded. He’d read more notes after Gabrielle had gone to bed. He was happy to do something to pass yet another long night when he couldn’t sleep.
She kept talking, her voice going at a hundred miles an hour. ‘You know the clinical presentation, don’t you? A persistent cough, fever, weight loss, chest pain and breathlessness. The nurses will bring through anyone who has tested positive and is showing resistance to rifampicin. You’ll need to check them over clinically before starting their prescription.’ She pointed to a printed algorithm. ‘We have a chart for adults and a chart for paeds. The new test also doesn’t show anyone who has non-pulmonary TB. The nurses will bring through anyone with a history who gives concern.’
He blinked as he looked at the clinic list. ‘You see this many patients every day?’
She nodded, her brown hair bouncing. It was tied up on her head again. She was wearing a high-necked, long-sleeved shirt and long trousers, even though the temperature was soaring. He was lucky. He had on shorts and a T-shirt, but even so the heat was causing trickles of sweat to run down between his shoulder blades.
She gave a little tug at her neck. ‘Okay?’ he queried.
She gave a nod. ‘Let’s just get started. We need to see as many patients as we can.’
She wasn’t joking. It was only seven a.m., but news of their clinic must have spread because there was already a queue forming outside.
Four hours later he’d seen more kids in this TB clinic than he’d ever want to. Doctors Without Borders might be there to try and tackle the TB epidemic, but to the people of Narumba he was just a doctor. His surgical highlight of his day so far had been grabbing some equipment and a scalpel to drain a few abscesses. He’d also seen a huge variety of skin conditions, variations of asthma, diabetes, polio and sleeping sickness. He’d seen multiple patients with HIV—mixed with TB it would be deadly for many of the people he’d seen today. He could barely keep track of how many patients he’d actually seen. And the queue outside? It just kept getting longer and longer.
Long queues were good. He had never been work shy. Long days were much more preferable to long nights. If he exhausted himself with work, he might actually get a few hours’ sleep tonight.
He kept a smile on his face as another mother came in, clutching her child to her chest.
He nodded towards her, speaking in Narumbi. ‘I’m Dr Darcy, one of the team. What’s your name, and your son’s name?’
She gave an anxious smile at his good grasp of the language. ‘I’m Chiari. This is Alum, he’s sick.’
Sullivan nodded and held out his hands to take the little boy. ‘How old is he?’
‘Four,’ she answered quickly.
He blinked. The little boy resembled a two-year-old. The weight loss of TB had clearly affected him. He took out his stethoscope and gently sounded the boy’s chest. The rattle was clear and he had the swollen and tender lymph nodes around his neck. He asked a few more questions. ‘Does anyone else in the family have symptoms?’
The woman’s face tightened. ‘My husband died last month.’
He nodded in sympathy. There was a little pang in his chest. He recognised the expression in her eyes. He’d seen that loss reflected in his own eyes often enough when he looked in the mirror. But there was no time for that here. He had a job to do.
‘What about you? Have you been tested?’
She shook her head and looked anxiously at her son. ‘I don’t have time to be tested. I need to take care of Alum.’
Sullivan reached over and put his hand on her arm.
‘I understand. I do. I’m sorry for your loss. We need to make sure that you are well enough to take care of Alum. We can treat you both at the same time.’ He glanced outside the tent. ‘I can get one of the nurses to do the test. It’s a new kind. Your results will be available in a few hours. We can start you both on treatment immediately.’
He sent a silent prayer upwards, hoping that her test didn’t show multi-resistant TB. Chances were if she had it, her son had it too. Normal TB took a minimum of six months to treat. But if Chiari showed signs of resistance to rifampicin and isoniazid she’d be considered to have MDR-TB. The MDR-TB drug regime was an arduous eight months of painful injections and more than ten thousand pills, taking two years to complete. The side effects could be severe—permanent hearing loss, psychosis, nausea, skin rashes and renal failure had all been reported. But the worse news was there was only a forty-eight per cent cure rate.
He pressed again. ‘What about Alum? Has he been eating? Has he had night sweats or lost weight?’
Chiari nodded slowly. He could see the weariness in her eyes that was obviously felt in her heart. She’d likely just nursed her husband through this disease. Now there was a chance she could have it herself, and have to nurse her son through it too.
He stood up, holding Alum in his arms. ‘Let’s go and see one of our nurses. I’d like to try and give Alum some medicine to help with his weight loss, and start some medicine for TB. Our pharmacist, Gretchen, will give you the medicines and teach you how to give them to Alum. Then we can arrange to get your test done.’
After a few moments of contemplation Chiari stood up and nodded. Sullivan carried the little boy into the next tent. The nurses Lucy and Estelle nodded towards a few chairs in the corner. This was the fiftieth child he’d taken through to them this morning. They knew exactly what to do.
He filled out the electronic prescription for Gretchen and left her to explain to Chiari how to dispense the medicines for Alum. The re
ality was that children had to take adult pills, split or crushed. There were no TB medicines ready for kids in the field.
Gabrielle appeared at his side. ‘Everything okay?’ Her hand touched his shoulder.
He reached up automatically and his hand covered hers. He appreciated the thought. She was looking out for him. He met her dark brown eyes. ‘It’s a steep learning curve.’
She looked a little surprised. ‘I thought it would only take someone like you an hour to ace.’
Was she joking with him again? He shook his head. ‘Maybe after the two weeks. But not on the first day.’
She tilted her head to the side. ‘I heard you talking there. You really do have a good grasp of the language. How do you do that?’
‘It’s similar to Farsi. It was a necessary skill when I was in the army. We treated a lot of civilians as well as servicemen. It doesn’t matter where you are in life—or what you do—communication is always the key.’
She gave a careful nod. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘There are a few cases we might need to chat about later. Adults. They’re being tested but I’m almost sure that both of them are non-pulmonary TB.’
He could tell she was trying her best not to look surprised. Non-pulmonary TB was the hardest catch. The normal test didn’t work, neither did a chest X-ray. There were so many variations that the symptoms were often mistaken for something else.
‘No problem. If you give me the notes I’ll check them over.’
He picked up the two sets of notes he’d started to write, his hand brushing against hers as she reached for them. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’d kind of like to be there to see what you think. Let’s just call it part of the learning curve.’
The edges of her lips turned upwards. She really was cute when she smiled.
‘You want a teaching session?’ There was a definite glint in her eye. He leaned forward a little. He could think of a whole host of things that Gabrielle could teach him.
She was close. She was so close that he could glimpse a few little freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her brown eyes were darker than any he’d seen before and fringed with long dark lashes. It was clear she wasn’t wearing any make-up—but she didn’t need it. He could quite happily look at that face all day.
The Doctor and the Princess Page 2
