by Ramsay, Anna
No, Jenni was more concerned with her own secret and how much of that she had inadvertently revealed in Ross's arms. Poor Sylvia! One consolation—she was no mouse and certainly old enough to look after herself.
Jenni rolled on to her back and stared at the ceiling, willing back the way she used to feel about her sister's ex-fiancé.
'As for me and Paul ...' she confided to the whispery darkness, 'well, it's come as a bit of a shock. I mean, I'd stopped hoping because it just didn't seem meant to be. Once I get used to the idea again I know I'll be truly happy.'
She bit her lip, fearful of revealing her precious secret to the listening night. Hell's teeth, she just had to confide in someone. 'It's just that I fell rather headily in love with Ross McDonnell and I'm afraid it's given me …' a little breathy gasp at her own diagnosis, 'given me a sort of emotional concussion so that I'm feeling kind of numb. Don't get me wrong, though!' Her two hands thrust into her hair as she struggled to convince herself, 'Being in love with Ross isn't at all the same thing as loving Paul. In love ... that's just a crush on someone. Loving means true caring. So just give me time and I'll get over this numb feeling and be absolutely (yawn) deliriously (yawn) happy ...'
And unaware that delirious happiness was not yet to come her way, Jenni drifted into welcome sleep.
'Ouch!' muttered Paul, swatting at his left thigh.
'What is it?' questioned Jenni, leaning forward to get a better look at the crushed remains in his palm.
'Blue-bodied wasp! Paul, that could be nasty,' worried Sylvia.
The two girls cooed anxiously over his bare brown leg. 'There's a nasty red lump coming up. I bet that's painful. Ross, would you take a look at this?'
Paul would have none of it. 'Leave him alone, he’s got his new comic and he’s a happy man.’
Ross was sitting nearby, his head in his copy of the BMJ, brought over with the mail from Dar that afternoon. He didn’t stir though he must have heard it all.
‘I've had painful experience of a good many bites over the years, and survived 'em all.'
'Perhaps you should wear long trousers more often,' suggested Jenni, thinking what a shame to cover up those hunky legs.
'In this climate? I couldn't stand it.'
Sylvia was sewing a button on Matt's shirt while Matt lounged bare-chested, cowboy boots stuck up on a chair, slurping Coke from a refrigerated can. She put down her needle and prodded the angry red spot on Paul’s thigh with a dubious forefinger. 'I think I'll pop across to the dispensary and get you something for that.'
'Woman, don't fuss!' Paul protested in tones of mild exasperation.
'Someone out here for you, Father,' called Sister Bea from the door.
'I'm coming.' The eyes of the two nurses followed as he limped outside to see who wanted him. Though neither of them said anything, their faces told a story.
Ross McDonnell noted all this from behind his BMJ. He had been sitting right beside Paul—and years of clinical experience had shown him something that gave cause for concern. Late that evening he collared the Mission priest, who was burning the midnight oil in his office.
'How long,' he asked, 'since you had a thorough medical?'
'Ross, what a question!' Paul ran a hand over his shorn head. 'I don't know... before I came out to Africa, I guess. I haven't had time to be ill. Why do you ask?'
Next morning Jenni was surprised when Paul presented himself in the clinic for a medical. In the treatment room Ross gave him a thorough going over. Jenni, bringing in a tray of elevenses, smiled thankfully to hear the doctor's verdict. 'All in all, old chap, you're remarkably fit. But I want you to let me remove that blemish above your right knee.'
The mugs rattled on the coffee tray. With dread premonition Jenni read the doctor's mind. He must suspect a skin cancer. While she and Sylvia were fussing over that wretched wasp sting, now no more than a scarlet pinprick, the hawk-eyed doctor had seen something far more important—potentially life-threatening—and was wasting no time in dealing with it.
'That?' Paul shrugged carelessly. He was a busy man, too busy to notice or to care about trivialities.
They all peered at the small mark. Jenni was trembling. She saw a speckled brownish blotch with a jagged irregular outline. 'D-does it itch?' she asked anxiously.
'No—yes, I think it may have ... why?' Paul looked up into the two concerned faces. Jenni, bless her heart, seemed on the verge of tears! Genuinely puzzled, he turned questioningly to Ross, who patted his shoulder and handed him his coffee.
'Nothing to get steamed up about, old chap,' he said kindly. Calling Paul old chap, thought Jenni wretchedly. Ross sounded genuinely concerned.
But he couldn't be, could he? He had no heart.
Ross was thinking quickly. Back in the UK, skin cancer and the dangers of sunbathing had lately received a lot of publicity. Paul probably knew nothing of this. That little growth on his knee had very likely been produced by the sun's rays. Running around in shorts all day gave the sun plenty of chance to do what it liked to a fair Anglo-Saxon skin. Paul was just the type to be at risk. And so was Jenni Westcott with her fiery hair and delicate milky skin.
Ross's head swung towards the nurse, noting the pallor beneath the freckles and judging the girl too emotionally involved for rational thought. No need for panic, silly girl.
The doctor explained. Paul looked startled. Ross said he would remove the growth, and that once he had done so, all should be well. But he warned Paul to be on the look-out for further blemishes that might develop in future.
'When do you want to do it?' asked Paul, astonished rather than perturbed by the speed of it all.
Ross checked his watch. 'Anything you can't cancel this afternoon?'
Paul thought for a moment, then shook his head. 'I guess not.'
'You want to help,' Ross asked Jenni, 'or shall I ask Sylvia?' When Jenni bravely said she would scrub, Ross was relieved. The last thing he wanted was to tell Sylvia until all was satisfactorily over.
'Let's keep this between the three of us, eh?' he suggested. 'It's just a minor op. No need to put the Mission in a panic.'
So after lunch Paul went straight into theatre and Ross injected a local anaesthetic. 'Hope that stuff works,' their patient joked as Jenni handed Ross the scalpel.
'Do let me know if it doesn't,' murmured Ross with a pleasant grin, setting the seal on an atmosphere which was lighthearted and far from dramatic.
In no time Ross had excised a boat-shaped piece of skin and was putting in a few neat stitches.
Jenni covered the wound with a small dressing, and it was all over. She felt a debt of gratitude towards Ross out of all proportion to the simple technicality he had performed. If Ross hadn't noticed that one small blemish ... but thank God that he had.
'I'll change into my cassock,' said Paul, sure this was all a fuss about nothing, 'then no one will notice anything amiss. There's a week's post waiting to be dealt with in the office.' He shook his surgeon by the hand. 'A thousand thanks, my friend.'
He walked gingerly to the door, turned back for a moment and included nurse and doctor in one of those smiles that melted Jenni's heart. Such a precious, gentle man.
She sought refuge in work, busily clearing away instruments and preparing the theatre for its next use. 'I'll just take these to be sterilised,' she said in a very small voice, quite unlike her vivacious self.
Ross eyed the ashen-faced nurse with sympathy. The last couple of hours must have held a special torment for Jenni Westcott. He stripped off his surgical gloves, and touched her wobbly chin with a questing finger. Smile for me, he wanted to demand of her, selfishly, and his touch left a trace of powder from the inside of his glove, scarcely whiter than her pallor.
'All over now,' said Ross softly. 'Nothing to worry about, eh Jenni?'
His unexpected tenderness was more than she could bear. She picked up the tray of instruments and fled to the autoclave in its monstrous den, loading the thing willy-nilly, slamming the lid shut and
sheltering there while the steam poured in and the great metal tub rattled and rolled and she indulged in a good cry, using a pillowcase for a handkerchief.
Ross was angry. He strode round the wards like a bear with a sore head, then shut himself in the office to write up some notes. But he couldn't concentrate. Her distress was hurting him. It was written all over the girl's face that the love of her life was Paul. Paul’s little sister indeed! That girl was nobody's little sister. She was, every inch of her, a mature desirable woman and just what the doctor would have ordered for himself.
Why the hell did those two have to keep their engagement such a deadly secret? Surely they could let the senior staff in on their plans.
I can't tell her! Ross fumed, stabbing a full stop and making an ink stain explode across the paper. Why didn't Biros last five minutes in this heat? Where in hell did Bea hide the Tipp-ex? He started slamming drawers and swearing.
He was the very last man ... she didn't trust him, would entirely misunderstand his motive.
I just hope I'm gone before she finds out, that's all. I'm the last person she'd turn to for comfort. And I don't want to get involved with a woman ever again. Not even my tempestuous Jenni, who's looking for a ring on her finger and a lacy bridal veil to cover her beautiful head as she trots down the aisle of her father's church. Just as well I leave at the end of the month. I couldn't comfort her when—
There was a knock on the door and a flushed face framed by steam-damp tendrils looked into the office. Jenni smiled at Ross rather sheepishly, love and gratitude blazing from red-rimmed eyes. In the space of a blink it was gone and Ross knew that he must have dreamt it. 'Sorry, doctor, you're obviously busy.'
She looked better already. Ross spread his hands and in a crafty move acted helpless. 'Don't know where Bea keeps the Tipp-ex, do you? I'm getting myself in a mess here.'
'In that bottom drawer. I'll find it for you. If I can just squeeze past—oh, sorry.'
Ross swivelled his legs round to let her into the cramped space and with a catch of breath Jenni felt his two hands helpfully circle her narrow waist.
At this interesting moment Sylvia appeared at the door. 'Need any help, Ross?’
Ross signalled to Jenni with his eyebrows. She muttered an awkward excuse about measuring the milk powder for the babies' feeds, and made herself scarce.
That was unfortunate! She did hope Sylvia wouldn't misunderstand.
It seemed that one of the African nurses had seen Father Paul emerging gingerly from theatre with a bandage on his leg and looking distinctly dazed. Sylvia, on hearing this, had come in search of Ross. 'Look here, Ross, what's going on?' she demanded, at this stage more curious than worried.
Ross put an arm round her shoulders and pulled the tall girl close to his side. Jenni hurried back to the wards, knowing they'd be short-handed without her.
In the daytime heat some of the beds were wheeled out on to the sheltered verandah and in one of these lay an old woman, shrunken to skin and bone and dying of TB. She called out for water and Jenni, with a hundred and one jobs awaiting her, quietly held the skeletal hand until a blue-uniformed local nurse requested help with the naso-gastrically fed babies.
In her tea-break, Jenni took her chance and slipped away, heading for the office to check on Paul. She was just leaving the building when Matt sprang out of nowhere and excitedly grabbed her by both arms, twirling her round and round in an impromptu dance.
'What's brought this on?' asked Jenni, forcing her solemn face into a smile for her exultant friend.
Matt's pulled a white envelope from inside his tartan shirt. The paper crackled as he clasped a dramatic hand over his heart. 'Such a letter I've had!’ He did a sudden double-take, 'Hey Tadpole, you all right? You look a bit …an' your hair all mussed up like that. Have I missed an emergency?'
Jenni glanced down and saw she was still wearing her green theatre dress. Bemused with concern for Paul she'd forgotten to change—and not a soul had commented! 'Oh, this. I—I was sterilising some dressings. The steam ruined my hair-do.'
'I didn’t see no surgery on the schedule.' Matt wasn't to be put off the scent so easily. 'Paul loaned me his picki picki to take supplies along to one of the villages. I wouldn'a gone if I'd thought I was missing something.’
Jenni interrupted with an over-bright smile. 'Now what's this exciting news you came to tell me?' she probed, tucking a small roughened hand into the crook of Matt's elbow. 'Tell me quick, my tea-break's nearly gone and I have to change.'
Producing his letter like a proud conjuror, Matt explained with totally disarming eagerness that he'd come to tell her first, because he just knew Jenni would be thrilled for him. He was so very happy that Jenni's tense face softened with affection for the young American. If it hadn't been for Matt's companionship in the early days, she didn’t think she could have survived the ordeal of Ross McDonnell's hostility.
He stamped his cowboy heels and if he'd had a hat to match he'd have flung it sky-high. ‘Yippee, my Charmin's coming back!' he announced.
'Charming?' she queried.
'Yup, my Charmin'. She's passed her Midder exams—that's deliverin' babies, y'know—'
Jenni had to laugh. ‘Yes, I do know!'
'So she's leavin' the big hospital in Moshi and comin' back to the Good Shepherd to work. That means I'll get to see her before I leave for Alabama. Ain't that the most sensational news, Tadpole? C'mon, I can tell you all about me an’ her while you’re changing your clothes. We've had to be mighty careful, see. Her daddy's a lawyer and he won't rightly care for Charmin' goin' with a white boy.'
He shoved a dog-eared snapshot six inches from Jenni's dazed eyeballs. 'Goodness,' she murmured, 'what a happy-looking girl!’ She shook her head, bemused. Why hadn't Matt mentioned this nurse, this Charming, before?
One thing Jenni was sure of in her own mind: after the fright Paul had given her today, she could bear the tension and uncertainty not a moment longer. The first chance they got to be alone together, she and Paul were going to have a very serious talk.
In the glorified broom-cupboard which served as the nurses' changing room Jenni pulled off her theatre gown. The young American leaned on the wall outside, gazing at his photo and continuing the conversation through an inch of open door. What a little beauty! What a lovely lady! mooned Matt, gazing into Charming's melting dark eyes and recalling their extrovert performances in the bushes.
'Why didn't you tell me before about Charming? She sounds such a super girl,’ called Jenni, down to her bra and briefs.
Matt's chuckle echoed in the dimness of the passage. 'Didn't wanna go beatin' ma gums about Charmin'. Leastways, not while I thought there was a chance for you and me to have some fun! But,' he added slyly, 'I soon realised it, you're a dame who prefers her doctors very experienced.'
Jenni's inner response was electric. She clapped a hand against the fire in her chest. And what is that supposed to mean, Matthew Blarney? Yes indeed, Matt Blarney, just what are you a-hinting at?
Chatting with an invisible Jenni reduced to her skimpy underwear certainly loosened his tongue. He wanted her to be happy too. He wanted to share his happiness with the world. 'You and Dr Boss!' He raised his voice so she could hear better. 'Together you two would set the world on fire!'
'With our blazing rows, you mean,' Jenni snarled back, struggling to fasten the poppers on her white dress with fingers apparently made out of Play-Doh. She found her hairbrush at the bottom of her rucksack and dragged the bristles viciously through her curly hair.
'Y'know what they say, Tadpole. Love and hate — opposite sides of the same coin,' chanted Matt, blithely unaware of the murderous sensations he was arousing in his unwilling listener. 'Yes, ma'm, I seen what was happening between you and Ross the Boss. When you came out here,' he rambled on amiably, 'I could have sworn it was on account of Big Poppa.'
Inside the stuffy little room Jenni choked for air. Her cheeks flamed red as poppies and her nails dug into the palms of her clenched fi
sts. Shut up, Matt, shut up, do you want the whole Mission to hear?
But there was a greater shock to come. Matt hadn't finished yet.
'Course, you didn't know about him and Sylvia. Well, none of us did officially, though we kinda guessed.'
Jenni collapsed on to the bench like a punctured balloon. Anger drained out of her, and in its place came a stunned sense of disbelief. What was this idiot telling her! Paul and Sylvia? Paul and Sylvia?
One of Matt's teases. It surely couldn't be.
She seemed to sit there for an age, her two hands clasped over her horrified mouth as, like a drowning swimmer with total recall, her inner vision replayed it all. Jenni raving on about Paul. Jenni reminiscing to a chilly Sylvia about the old times when he lived with the Westcott family at the vicarage. Jenni praising those husky bearded looks, the nobility of Paul's fine upstanding character, his dedication. No wonder Sylvia had looked sick as a parrot!
And idiot that I am, I meant so well, moaned Jenni, clutching her head in distress. I automatically assumed it was a doctor-nurse romance. Fancy matching poor Sylvia to the wrong partner ... imagine the chaos if I ran a marriage bureau!
Matt thought he heard a faint groan. 'You OK in there?' He drummed his fingers on the green-painted wall. 'Need a hand with your buttons? ... Did I tell you I just seen Sylvia? She's over in the office cuddling up to Big Poppa and sobbin' her heart out over somethin' Ross told her. Don't know what, Tadpole. Maybe you can put me in the picture.'
Sister Bea's disembodied voice echoed in the corridor, interrupting this pleasant chat. 'Oh, there you are, Matt. Could you be a love and put up a drip for me? I'm short-handed, what with Sylvia running off like that.'
This galvanised Jenni. With one graceful movement she swept her hair into a ponytail and snapped an elastic band into place. Gone the dishevelled emotional girl, and in her place the calm professional woman.
