Her Very Special Boss

Greg examined the woman briefly but expertly. ‘She’s doing fine for the time being. Good work,’ he said warmly. ‘I’ll carry on assessing the rest. I’ll let you know if I need you. But first…’

Kirsty felt him wrap something around her shoulders. ‘Apart from the obvious distractions of a half-naked woman, you’ll get sunburnt unless you cover up.’ He smiled down at her and despite the situation, Kirsty could have sworn she saw a wicked twinkle in his eyes. Suddenly very aware that she was dressed only in her bra and skirt, the colour rose in her cheeks. Quickly she slipped her arms into the shirt. She needed to roll up the sleeves several times and it came well below the hem of her skirt. Her day was going from bad to worse. Now she was dressed like some kind of hobo. Never, in a month of Sundays, would she normally be found less than perfectly groomed. She shook her head impatiently. What was wrong with her? Thinking about clothes at a time like this!

‘Someone! Please. Over here!’ Another cry for help, but before Kirsty could react, Greg was already moving. Within seconds he was crouched beside the bus. A moment later he called out, ‘I need assistance over here.’

There was little more Kirsty could do for Maria for the time being. In calm, measured tones she instructed her helper to keep pressure on the wound and, grabbing one of the uninjured passengers, told him to keep the bag of fluid raised. Once she was satisfied that her patient was in capable hands, she hurried over to Greg.

He was kneeling by the side of the bus, his mouth set in a grim line. The upper body of a young woman in her late teens or early twenties was visible from under the bus.

‘This is Lydia,’ Greg told Kirsty tersely. ‘Her right leg is pinned underneath the bus.’

‘I don’t know how I missed her,’ Kirsty said, upset.

‘Hey, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known she was here. We need to give her some morphine and get some fluids into her while we work out how we can get her out.

‘We’re going to give you something for the pain,’ Greg told the frightened young woman, taking a syringe of morphine from Kirsty. ‘We’ll have you out just as soon as we can.’ While Greg administered the pain relief Kirsty set up a drip.

Large brown eyes darted from Greg to Kirsty. ‘My son. I need to find my son. Please.’ Lydia squirmed, trying to pull her leg from under the broken fender.

‘Is your son a toddler of about two? Wearing a blue jumper?’ Kirsty asked.

‘Yes, yes. Did you see him? Is he all right?’

‘He’s perfectly fine. Someone’s looking after him. We’ll bring him over to you once we’ve got you sorted.’

Lydia’s head sank back on the ground. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered gratefully, before closing her eyes.

Kirsty looked at Greg. ‘How are we going to remove her safely?’

‘The pressure from the bus on her leg is probably helping to stem the bleeding.’ Greg said softly, his voice thoughtful. ‘We’ll wait until the ambulance gets here, then we’ll have help to lift the bus. We’ll need to be ready to control the bleeding.’

To Kirsty’s relief, the wailing of sirens signalled the arrival of the ambulances. There were two, each with a paramedic. ‘Tell the paramedics to deal with the injured, but get the drivers over here,’ Greg told Kirsty.

As the paramedics set about seeing to the other patients, the two burly ambulance drivers came over to the wrecked minibus.

‘OK, guys. Once I’m finished here, I need you to lift the bus. Kirsty, you keep the leg stabilised while I pull her out. Watch out for any sudden haemorrhage. It’s quite possible the weight of the bus is preventing us from seeing any big bleeders, but once we lift it, that’s when we’ll know the true extent of her injuries. Get ready to apply pressure.’

Greg knelt and said something to the woman in a language Kirsty didn’t understand. But whatever it was, it seemed to reassure her because she nodded and even managed a small smile.

At Greg’s count of three the two ambulance drivers lifted the minibus, their muscles bunching with the effort. The vehicle was lifted a couple of inches, but it was just enough for Greg to gently pull Lydia out. Once she was clear, the men let the bus drop with gusty sighs of relief.

Although Lydia’s leg was a mess, clearly broken several times with her tibia showing white through her ebony skin, the anticipated spurting that would indicate a torn artery failed to materialise. Kirsty breathed a sigh of relief and bent to cover the wounded leg with padding before stabilising it with one of the inflatable splints the ambulancemen had brought over.

‘The rest of the patients are loaded and ready to go, apart from this one,’ one ambulanceman informed the two doctors. ‘The rest are walking wounded and one of the passers-by will bring them in by car.’

Greg looked at Kirsty and grinned, dimples appearing at either side of his mouth. His smile sent a shiver down her spine ‘Good work. Not bad at all for a city girl.’

Kirsty felt inordinately pleased at his praise but before she could think of a reply he went on, ‘I’ll need to go in the ambulance with the two critical patients. Would you mind driving my car?’

‘Wouldn’t you prefer me to go in the ambulance?’ Kirsty asked.

‘I think you’ve had enough of a baptism by fire for the time being, don’t you? The keys are in my car. Just follow the ambulance,’ he said, continuing to supervise the loading of his patients. ‘The hospital is only a few miles up the road. I’ll see you there.’

Kirsty decided the easiest thing to do was to do as she was told. She hurried over to his Jeep and leapt in. She spent a couple of minutes familiarising herself with the vehicle. She had to move the seat at least a foot forward before she could reach the pedals.

Driving in convoy, they arrived at the hospital as evening descended. Kirsty was oblivious to the setting sun casting its halo of orange rays behind low, distant mountains. Instead, her only thoughts were for the accident victims and the doctor who’d worked so unstintingly to help them. What had caused the scarring on his face? It looked like burns. She had noticed that his right hand was also scarred, although the movement didn’t seem impaired. Despite his rather cool manner, there was something about him that inspired confidence. Kirsty was sure he’d be a patient, if demanding teacher. She knew that if the rest of her new colleagues were half as skilled and dedicated as he was, she was going to find being part of the team an experience she wouldn’t want to miss. For the first time she was really able to believe that coming to Africa might be so much more than simply running away from her past.

When the ambulance doors opened, a squad of staff surged around the injured. There wasn’t time for introductions as Greg barked orders to them, instructing which patients needed to go immediately to Theatre and which required X-rays and tests before a proper diagnosis of the extent of their injuries could be determined.

‘Jamie, take this one will you? Kirsty, give the boy to Sister Shange here. Elspeth, what’s the status of the other casualties?’

‘Would you like me to assist in Theatre?’ Kirsty asked.

Greg stared at her, as if for a moment he couldn’t remember who she was.

‘I think you’ve done enough for the time being. We’ll cope from here on. If you give me a minute, I’ll find someone who can show you to your quarters.’

‘But…’ Kirsty started to protest.

Greg lifted a hand to stem the flow of words. ‘I don’t have time to argue. You don’t know the layout of the department. Right now, we’ve enough staff to help. You’ll only get in the way. Please,’ he added firmly, ‘leave it to us.’ Then he smiled as if to soften his words.

Kirsty glared at him, her eyes flashing. He was treating her like some incompetent medical student.

Greg must have sensed her frustration. He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘You did very well back there. Now go get some rest. You’ll be in a better position to help tomorrow.’ He turned his back to her, but not before something in those cool blue eyes told Kirsty it’d be useless to argue further. Reluctantly she looked at his retreating back.

* * *

Later that night as Greg wrote up his notes, he thought about Kirsty. The image of her standing before him in his bloodstained shirt and the short skirt which did nothing to hide her long slim legs kept intruding on his thoughts. She was undeniably attractive with her thick auburn hair escaping from her ponytail and her elfin face with those flashing green eyes. Although on the surface she appeared sophisticated, there was something vulnerable about her—and it wasn’t just her age. He cursed under his breath. She had only been qualified for a couple of years. Despite the way she had performed at the accident scene, she was still far too inexperienced to work in such a remote and challenging setting. He had tried to refuse to accept her as a member of his new team, but had been overruled by the hospital manager. ‘You can’t keep working night and day, Greg,’ he had said. ‘This hospital should have twelve doctors, not the four we have. We need help, at least your colleagues do, and it’s not as if we’re overrun with applications to come and work here. You might be able to work all the hours God sends, but your colleagues need a break. If they don’t get some time off, we could lose them.’

There was no denying his argument, but Greg knew to his cost that an inexperienced doctor could be worse than no doctor at all. With her delicate features and slim build, Kirsty looked as if she had just come out of medical school, although he knew that she was twenty-five. The last thing he needed was to babysit some inexperienced doctor who thought spending a few months in a rural hospital in Africa would be fun or, worse, a good way of practising newly acquired medical skills. He’d had enough of those types in the past and they had proved more of a hindrance than a help. Most of them had only stayed a short while. Long enough to realise that the incredibly long hours and hard work was too much.

He shook his head in frustration. He had been tempted to take Kirsty up on her offer of help earlier. Perhaps working through the night in the primitive and gruelling conditions would have been enough to see her immediate return to the UK. But the temptation had been fleeting. It wouldn’t be in the best interests of the patients to have an exhausted and inexperienced doctor working on them. Still, he had to admit she had done well at the crash scene. Apart from that initial hesitation she had worked calmly and efficiently. He knew that more than one patient had reason to be glad she had been there. It didn’t help that something in those luminescent green eyes had sparked feelings that he thought had gone for ever. No, it was best all round if she could be made to see that Africa wasn’t for her.

CHAPTER TWO

THE sun streaming into her room woke Kirsty. Anxious that she’d overslept, she glanced at her watch and couldn’t believe it wasn’t quite six yet. She stretched, breathing in the unfamiliar but heady scents that drifted in from her open window. Last night, one of the kitchen staff had escorted her to her accommodation after serving her some mashed pumpkin and roast beef. The rest of the staff had all been busy with the aftermath of the accident, so it had been a solitary supper for Kirsty.

Although she had been a little disappointed not to meet and work alongside her new colleagues, part of her had been relieved to get the opportunity of a much-needed early night. She had barely managed to stay awake long enough to shower the blood, sweat and dust away, before collapsing into bed. She had expected to fall asleep the moment her head had hit the pillow, but instead had found herself replaying the events of the day and her introduction to the strangeness of this wild, untamed patch of Africa and its people, including the enigmatic Dr Greg du Toit. Although she couldn’t say her new boss had been unwelcoming, she’d sensed he wasn’t altogether happy to have her there. She had tossed and turned, wondering if she had made the right decision to come to work in this hospital deep in rural Africa. Would she cope? Everything seemed much more basic than she had imagined. But she’d had to get away. Put as much distance between herself and her memories as possible. She wanted—needed—to start afresh make a new life for herself. When at last she had fallen asleep, it had been to dream of Robbie. She had woken up to find tears drying on her cheeks.

But Kirsty was determined that today would be the beginning of her new life. Curious about her new home, she jumped out of bed. There was a set of scrubs on the rickety chair in the corner of the room. They hadn’t been there the night before. Greg must have asked someone to bring them over. She was surprised that he had remembered, with so much going on.

The accommodation certainly wasn’t lavish but, then, Kirsty hadn’t expected it to be. Nevertheless she appreciated the gleaming polished earthen floors smelling faintly of lavender, cool and smooth under her bare feet. And although the furniture was sparse, she knew that with a few touches she could make her new home more appealing.

The house was at least half a century old, with a hodgepodge of additions over time to what must have been the original structure—a circular room from which a tiny scullery, her bedroom and a spartan bathroom led off at various angles, each serving to create interesting nooks and crannies.

The circular room—or rondavel as it was traditionally known—was divided down the middle by a freestanding granite unit that separated the living-room area from the kitchen. On closer inspection Kirsty realised it must have been an autopsy slab from bygone times. However, its antiquated, well-scrubbed appearance amused rather than repulsed her.

While the kettle boiled, she searched fruitlessly for something to eat. In hindsight, she remembered being told that staff meals were served daily in the dining room. If she preferred to prepare meals for herself, she’d have to do her own grocery shopping. Hell, there wasn’t even tea or milk! Dispirited, she flicked the kettle off. Breakfast in the staff dining room it had to be!

She took a quick shower, pleased to find that while the furniture and fittings might be sparse, there was a plentiful supply of steaming hot water. However, she remembered that Africa often suffered severe water shortages and limited her shower to the minimum amount of time needed to soap her body and rinse the last of the dust from her long auburn hair.

She wasn’t expected on duty until the following day but she was eager to see how the victims of yesterday’s accident were faring so she dressed quickly in the scrubs, which were a surprisingly good fit. She wondered if Greg had selected them himself—if he had, he had an accurate idea of her size.

Looking around for a socket for her hairdryer, she was dismayed to find that although there were a few, none fitted her UK plug. Mildly put out, she towel dried it instead, before plaiting it into a thick braid. She would simply have to learn to adapt as best she could to her new environment. After all, she thought with some longing, she was unlikely to find all the conveniences of her home city several hours’ drive into the African bush. Nevertheless, she thought with exasperation, there were some things she couldn’t possibly be expected to do without, and a hairdryer was one of them!

Following the footpath that led from her cottage, she entered the rear of the hospital where most of the wards were situated on different sides of a long passageway. She stepped into the first room on her right through double swing doors and was greeted warmly by a smiling Sister Ngoba, the night sister whom she’d met the previous evening and who was now busy writing up reports before handing over to the day staff. As Kirsty’s eyes roamed the length of the ward, she was surprised to see a familiar head bent over the bed of a female patient whose leg was in traction. When he looked up she could see the stubble darkening his jaw and the fatigue shadowing his eyes.

‘Kirsty?’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘You don’t need to be on duty until tomorrow. Everyone needs a day to settle in.’

‘I know. I wanted to check up on how our patients from the accident yesterday were doing. And I’m longing to get started. I don’t need a day off. Anyway, you’re on duty,’ she challenged.

He smiled tiredly. ‘But I’m meant to be on duty.’

‘You haven’t been up all night, have you?’

‘Almost, but not quite,’ he said, wryly thinking that the hour’s sleep he’d managed to get hadn’t been nearly enough.

‘Thank you for your help yesterday, by the way, and a belated welcome to the team. You’ll meet everyone later.’

‘I look forward to that.’ She paused to smile hello at the patient Greg had been examining. It was the young woman whose tibia and fibula had been badly crushed by the overturned minibus. Lydia, her eyes cloudy with painkillers, managed a weak smile in return, before closing her eyes.

‘How’s our patient?’ Kirsty asked quietly.

‘I think we’ve managed to save her leg. Once I’m sure she’s stable, I’ll arrange to send her to one of the hospitals in the city. They have better equipment than we do, as well as access to physio. For cases like this we patch them up, stabilise them and then send them on.’ He smiled down at the girl and said something to her that Kirsty couldn’t understand.

‘You speak the language?’ Kirsty asked impressed.

‘One or two of them—there are around fifteen different languages or dialects in this country, but I know the ones that are spoken in this neck of the woods. I find it’s pretty useful for communicating with my patients.’ He stretched, working the kinks out of his muscles. ‘But obviously you’ll need a nurse or an assistant to help you translate when there are patients who don’t speak English.’ Kirsty made a mental note to try and master as much of the language as she could. She had learned a few words before coming out, mainly greetings, but intended to learn more.

‘I’m just telling Lydia that the morphine that we’ve given her is what’s making her sleepy. She’ll probably be out for the count for the rest of the day,’ Greg explained, and sure enough Lydia had closed her eyes and seemed to have already succumbed to the sedating effects of the drug. Kirsty and Greg moved away from the bed.

‘I also hoped for a tour of the rest of the hospital. I’m really keen to see it all.’

Greg wrapped his stethoscope around his neck. ‘I could show you later,’ he replied.

‘Please, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ve got enough to do. One of the nursing sisters can—or, if everyone’s busy, I can see myself around. I won’t get in anyone’s way—I promise. But first I need a cup of coffee! I haven’t had any yet and I’m a bit of a caffeine junkie.’

Greg hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘Damn, I’m sorry about that. I meant to organise some provisions for you yesterday but with everything going so crazy here, it completely slipped my mind.’ His sheepish grin was contrite. ‘I’m almost finished the ward rounds so if you can hold on, I’ll show you the dining room. Then unfortunately I’m due in Outpatients so I’ll have to leave you to your own devices.’

‘I’ll come with you to Outpatients, if that’s OK. I’d really like to get stuck in as soon as possible. A coffee and toast will do me until lunch,’ she said.

Greg looked at her appraisingly. Kirsty couldn’t help notice how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. But even when relaxed there was a presence about the man, an animal-like energy that seemed to fill the room.

‘We could do with the help. Jamie and Sarah are in Theatre this morning and Jenny is anaesthetising for them, so quick rounds, followed by coffee and Outpatients it is.’ He went on, ‘This, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, is the female surgical ward.’ He moved to the next bed. ‘You recognise this young lady?’

It was the woman who had had the femoral bleed, Maria. A quick look at her chart told Kirsty that she was stable.

‘I take it if she’s not in Intensive Care, she’s going to be all right?’

‘We had her in surgery most of the night, but it looks hopeful. Once we’re sure she can tolerate the journey, we’ll send her by ambulance to one of the teaching hospitals in the city. They’ll be able to take it from there.’

‘And Lydia’s little boy? Where is he?’ asked Kirsty, suddenly remembering.

‘He’s in the paediatric ward for the time being. There was nowhere else to put him. He’s been driving the staff crazy with his loud wailing. He won’t be consoled. We’d let him see his mother if she looked a little less frightening. Can’t you hear him?’

And Kirsty did, faintly. She found herself moving in the direction of his cries.

‘Any relatives we can contact?’

‘No one’s come forward to claim him but it’s early still. When the mother surfaces properly, we’ll get more information.’

‘I think he should see her,’ she said firmly.

‘Would that be wise?’

‘He’s, what…about two years old? Old enough for some understanding. I think he needs to feel his mother’s still alive, even though she’s “sleeping”.’

‘It might make things worse. Surely it’s better to wait until she’s alert enough to reassure him herself?’ he suggested.

‘How could anything be worse for him than what it is now? He’s not crying just because he’s miserable and wants to make a loud noise. He’s crying for his mother, and he can’t understand why she’s not coming. In his mind she’s abandoned him.’

‘If you’re sure…’

‘I’m not sure. It depends on his ability to comprehend. But he seemed so well cared-for I’m willing to take a gamble… Besides, I do know a thing or two about children.’ Kirsty felt the familiar crushing pain as she said the words. She ignored Greg’s searching glance and turned towards the cries before he could say anything.

They entered the children’s ward together. The toddler was not the only one crying but he was certainly the loudest. Kirsty’s greeting of the staff on duty was cursory as she focused her attention on the unhappy child. Picking him up, she depended on the natural inherent curiosity of toddlers for him to be distracted long enough for her to talk to him. She was confident that, like most very young children, he understood a lot more than most adults would give him credit for. Recalling the desperate concern of the mother at the accident scene, this child knew love.

‘Shh,’ she said, soothing the distressed infant, dangling her stethoscope in front of him. It took a while but he quietened eventually as, momentarily distracted, he explored his new toy. Kirsty knew that it wouldn’t be long before his cries resumed.

She caught sight of one of his fingers, which had a sticky plaster on it, a superficial pre-crash wound she’d noticed yesterday.

‘Ow,’ she said, lifting his hand and kissing the well-wrapped injury. The little boy seemed hypnotised by her attention. ‘What’s “Mother sleeping”?’ she asked the staff while the boy gazed, astonished, at his finger, as if seeing it for the first time in a new light. ‘Tell him his mummy has a big “ow” and is sleeping.’ The nurse spoke to the child and he listened, taking in what was being said to him.

Armed with a few new words of the language, Kirsty followed Greg back to the surgical ward.

‘Mummy’s sleeping—bomma robetsego,’ she tried in his language as the toddler stared down at his mother. His bottom lip quivered and Kirsty knew tears were not far behind. In an age-long gesture, he leaned out of Kirsty’s arms, his arms stretched pleadingly towards his unconscious mother.

‘Mummy’s sleeping. Shh,’ Kirsty repeated softly, allowing him to touch the still figure. ‘Let her sleep.’

The little boy crumpled in her arms. This time, though, his tears were quieter as she took him away and returned him to the children’s ward.

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Greg said, walking alongside her.

‘It doesn’t always work,’ Kirsty admitted, ‘but I thought it worth a try. He’s exhausted so hopefully he’ll sleep now, and when he wakes up someone should take him back to see his mother. With a bit of luck she’ll wake soon and comfort him herself.’