Heartbeat (Medical Romance) (16 page)

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 fists.
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.

Paul and Sylvia. They had concealed their feelings for each other so well. One never could have guessed.

She made haste for the children's ward to bury her sorrows in work.

G
radually Jenni came to realise that her distress stemmed from shock and did not truly reach heart-deep. She'd made a bit of a fool of herself—but heavens, it was only her pride that was suffering. She feared she must unwittingly have given Sylvia an uncomfortable time. Well, that was water under the bridge now, and when the couple announced their engagement she would pull all the stops out to show her genuine delight.

Funnily enough, the prospect was quite heart-warming. For Jenni was discovering it wasn't just her pride putting a clown's mask on the face of tragedy. There was no tragedy. She genuinely did wish her friends a long and happy life together.

On her arrival at the Mbusa Wa Bwino Paul had quite literally swept her off her feet with shouts of delight at seeing 'his little Jenni' again after seven long years. But the reality wasn't a patch on the dreams. Oh yes, he was a hero of a man. But the chemistry wasn't there. For Paul's heart already belonged to Sylvia.

Jenni saw now how mistaken she'd been, assuming Paul never intended to marry. Sylvia and he had so much in common, had shared so many experiences together. It was right. It was good. It was meant to be. How delighted for him all the Westcott family would be!

Jenni didn't say anything to Paul. As far as he and Sylvia knew, their secret was still theirs alone. They were unaware that Matt had been outside the office when a distraught Sylvia rushed past and abandoning her customary cool self-control hurled herself into Paul's arms. Thus had Matt put two and two together, passing his calculation on to a startled Jenni.

She checked her watch. Ten past six. Tuesday. Funny ... his truck was already gone. Surely he couldn't have forgotten she was taking out his stitches today? She glanced doubtfully at the scattering of crumbs and the pile of dirty dishes which testified to others having made an earlier start.

'Has Paul gone out?’ She addressed her question to the only other person seated at the breakfast table. ‘I was supposed to take Paul's stitches out today,’ she said with a puzzled frown.

'I took them out myself,' returned the doctor crisply, noting the flicker of disappointment in her shadowy golden eyes. 'C'mon, have some toast. I don't think you eat enough. You look tired.'

Jennifer Westcott had lost her vivacious sparkle and Ross reckoned he knew why.

The nuns had taught the African cooks to bake their own bread. It quickly turned stale in a tropical climate but made delicious toast for breakfast. Ross tipped two slices onto Jenni's empty plate. She stared at them for a moment, dully, as if lacking any appetite. Then she lifted her head and asked anxiously if Paul’s wound was satisfactory.

'Perfectly,' reassured the doctor, pulling her plate towards him and spreading margarine and marmalade thickly as if to help a listless child. 'Paul has taken Sylvia with him into Dar for a couple of days.'

They had gone to buy an engagement ring, but Ross was not going to say so. On their return they planned a party for everyone: a farewell to Ross and the big announcement of their own.

Ross had devised a scheme that would get Jenni herself away from the Mission and give the girl something concrete to worry about—like rampaging elephants and charging black rhino. With no one but Ross around to see, she'd have the chance to relax that stiff upper lip; and she could cry on his shoulder, if she chose to…

Now was a good moment to broach his plan.

'When I officially finish my contract at the end of next week I plan to camp out for a few nights in one of the wildlife areas. How about you coming along to keep me company?'

He didn't think he'd ever seen a face look more astonished! 'We could take a small tent, stay a couple of nights at Lake Manyara, travel on to the Serengeti National Park. Do you the world of good to have a short break.’

'A break?' stuttered Jenni, completely thrown by the idea of spending a night in a small tent alone with Ross. So she'd been wrong about Sylvia: that couldn't alter the fact that there was a Mrs McDonnell somewhere back in the UK. And an experienced girl didn't tangle with a married man. Once bitten – twice shy!