The Hospital of Fatima Read online

  Katherine looked round for the doctor and found him close behind her.

  “So you like this sort of thing?” he asked her.

  She nodded her head, suddenly shy.

  “Don’t you?”

  But there was no need to wait for his answer. He obviously did. He stood on a hillock of sand, his hands negligently thrust into his pockets, and he looked relaxed. Even when the guns exploded over his head he remained quite calm, exchanging a word of laughter with the leader of the horsemen.

  The horses retreated again into the distance and the crowds pressed forward, the children thrusting their way through their elders’ legs into the front where they could see. Katherine held her breath, waiting for them to come again in another wave of colour and audacity, but this time they came singly, one standing in his saddle, another swivelled right down behind his horse, and yet another using his galloping mount to leapfrog over, from one side to the other.

  The accident seemed to happen in a matter of seconds. One moment the small boy was standing in front of her and in another he had rushed forward towards the horses and was flat on his back with the huge Arab stallion pawing madly at the air over his head.

  Katherine ran towards him as fast as she could, pulling him away from those wicked hooves. There was a splash of blood on his head and he was crying. For an instant she was as frightened as he was, and then she pulled herself together and tried to see how extensively he was hurt. He had a nasty cut on the back of his head, but she could find nothing else to worry about. He was more scared than hurt, she decided, and she comforted him in the easy, laughing way that she had comforted a hundred other frightened children.

  He didn’t know what she was saying, but he recognised the tone and smiled back at her.

  “Pardon, madame,” he muttered.

  Katherine felt strong hands push her to one side and recognised them immediately as Dr. Kreistler’s.

  “He’s not badly hurt,” she told him in her most professional tones. “Just a scratch on the back of his head.”

  The doctor examined the boy for himself and then stood up, looking down at her from a great height. Then without a word he turned on his heel and walked back to the Land Rover. A second later when she looked over to him, she saw him impatiently looking at his watch again.

  “Oh, bother everything!” she said crossly. Couldn’t she do anything right as far as he was concerned?

  The mother of the child was dressed all in black and couldn’t speak a single word of French. She managed to make her gratitude clear with a flood of Arabic and tears that Katherine couldn’t stem at all until she brought her own handkerchief to wipe the woman’s eyes. She knew just how the woman felt, but there was nothing more that she could do. They looked deep into each other’s eyes and smiled in sudden, mute understanding.

  “Besslama,” the woman murmured at last.

  That at least was one word Katherine had heard before.

  “Besslama,” she replied gently, and lost herself in the crowd, fighting her way back to the Land Rover and Dr. Kreistler.

  If she had thought that he had driven fast before, it was nothing to the pace that he set now. He stopped on the top of a bridge and checked all the tyres in readiness for the sharp deterioration of the road ahead.

  “Hold on!” he told her briefly.

  She did, as though her life depended on it. It seemed to her that there were some parts of the road that they never touched at all — this was not driving at all, it was low flying! And all the time the doctor drove he was silent, angrily silent in a way that intimidated her. What could she possibly have done to annoy him so much?

  She could see the green of the date palms of Tozeur long before she realised that this was the oasis where they would be stopping to eat. When they got nearer she could see the narrow streets of the small town and the allotments that were spread out in the cool of the trees. After the unbroken, sand-coloured landscape they had passed through, it seemed a miracle to see fruit trees in blossom, and even a very English standard rose.

  Dr. Kreistler was obviously well known at the hotel. Even the boys selling dates and Arab sandals in the entrance ran forward to greet him and to lead him into the hotel. Katherine followed on behind him. She was stiff and shaken after those last punishing miles and she was hungry too, but when she found herself in the dining-room, sitting opposite the doctor, she didn’t want to eat anything.

  “You’d better eat something,” he told her dryly. “We still have the Chott Djerid to cross — a dried-out salt lake,” he added when he saw that it meant nothing to her. “Sidi Behn Ahmed is just on the other side.”

  She picked up her knife and fork and tried the dish they had set in front of her. She might have been in Paris and not on the edge of the Sahara at all, for the food was truly excellent but definitely French!

  Dr. Kreistler waited for her to finish, and then, with that suddenness that he appeared to be the master of, he smiled at her.

  “And now, Miss Katherine Lane,” he said, quite quietly but without the slightest doubt that he was going to be answered, “tell me all about it.”

  She tell him! It was he who had been so angry! He whose moods changed so rapidly that they frightened her! He —

  “I’m a nurse,” she said bleakly. “I nursed Monsieur de Hallet just before he died.”

  She couldn’t see what he was thinking. When he looked down his eyebrows completely hid his eyes and she could only see them and the firm line of his chin.

  “I’m a nurse,” she said again, and her voice trembled slightly.

  “Qualifications?” he snapped out.

  She told him, her confidence growing as she did so. She was a good nurse and she knew it.

  There was a silence after she had finished, and then he looked up, his eyes bright and challenging.

  “Why wasn’t I told?” he demanded.

  Uncomfortably she sipped at her drink.

  “I thought you knew at first,” she said. “It wasn’t any secret.

  Then afterwards it seemed too late to tell you. I mean —”

  “You mean that you enjoyed seeing me making a fool of myself telling you that a little work was what you needed?”

  She was horrified. Was that how it had seemed to him?

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t that!” she exclaimed. “Work was what I needed. I’ve never had nothing to do before. And anyway, I have to work. I can’t afford not to.”

  He laughed with frank disbelief.

  “How extravagant have you decided to be?” he asked her.

  She began to tell him about the canning plant, her enthusiasm for the idea spilling over into her words.

  “And so you won’t be drawing from the estate yourself?”

  She shook her head.

  “Not a penny if I can help it! Monsieur de Hallet left it to me as a kind of trust, if you see what I mean.”

  “Is that so?” he drawled, but his smile was kindly. “I think you should know that Edouard didn’t like his young relatives particularly. I hardly think he would want you to manage the properties for their exclusive benefit.”

  “No,” she agreed solemnly. She had not forgotten that they hadn’t even bothered to write to the old man. “No, not for them. For the country as a whole. It’s silly that whenever there’s a glut the oranges have to be left to rot.” She chuckled suddenly. “Why, it might be the beginning of a whole new industry!” she said.

  He smiled with her and, for the moment, she was completely happy.

  “It might indeed!” he laughed.

  The narrow trail across the Chott Djerid had only recently dried out and the salt lay deep in patches, completely white, waiting for the unwary to drive into it and sink through the brittle crust until the wheels spun helplessly and it was a major operation to get the car moving again. The doctor had driven across it so often that the hazards no longer seemed to affect him. Every now and again he would stop the Land Rover, climb out and spread two long strips of canvas in front o
f the wheels, drive over them and quietly pick them up again. Sometimes Katherine would help him, but more often than not he would wave her back to her seat, and, truth to tell, she wasn’t at all sorry, for she was tired right through to the very marrow of her bones.

  The first glimpse of Sidi Behn Ahmed showed green in the distance beyond the white of the salt. The sun was sinking rapidly in a blaze of red and orange and a lonely marabout, the tomb of some holy man, stood high above the village, quite pink in the evening light. This, Katherine supposed, was the marabout the oasis had been called after. They left it behind on their left and started down the long straight street of Berber houses, the geometrical patterns of the bricks almost hurting the eyes, so clear was the atmosphere.

  “The hospital is over there,” Dr. Kreistler told her, pointing out a large Western-style building that flew the red crescent over it for all to see. “Your house is just round the corner from it.”

  The date palms clustered thickly on either side of the road, obscuring her view of the houses, and then they came out into the sandy clearing in front of the hospital and she could see her own house for the first time.

  It was as yellow as the sand that surrounded it and built on the Arab principle of the central square with all the rooms built round it. From the outside all that could be seen were the tall flat walls and one or two windows, too high for the stranger to peer into. Katherine looked at it for a long moment and thought how very different it was from the luxury of the house at Hammamet.

  The doctor seemed to be thinking very much the same thing.

  “Will you be content here, by yourself?” he asked as he stopped the car outside her door and applied the brake.

  She looked about her, delighted by everything she saw.

  “I think so,” she said.

  She stepped down from the Land Rover and almost stumbled. In a second he had taken her arm.

  “I should be happier if you had the de Hallets with you,” he muttered. “Go inside and have a hot bath.”

  She smiled a little uncertainly.

  “I’ll do that.” She turned to him abruptly. “I haven’t thanked you for coming to Kairouan, but I am grateful, Dr. Kreistler.”

  “You won’t be when I have you working sixteen hours a day and then call you out at night! You won’t be able to bear the sight of me!”

  “I’m accustomed to hard work,” she replied simply.

  He put her suitcases in her doorway and jumped back into the Land Rover.

  “I could still wish that you had brought Chantal with you,” he said.

  And not entirely for her sake, she thought wryly.

  If he could only know how very glad she was to be away from the other girl! She wasn’t good enough for him, of that she was quite certain. But then perhaps he didn’t mind if she did nothing all day. Perhaps he even liked it. She watched him drive away, across to the hospital, and sighed. Then she turned her back on him, picked up her suitcases and walked into the house.

  It was cool inside and the darkness was a joy after the endless glare of the salt and the sand. Katherine put her cases down in the small hall and went out into the courtyard beyond. A few flowering creepers clung to the pillars and a fountain played in the centre, making the whole place cool and pleasant. There were little singing birds too in all the corners, twittering excitedly in competition with the water. It was cool and calm and very lovely.

  She was still standing by the fountain when the houseboy came out to flit the rooms for the night and to close the netting windows to keep the insects and the flies outside.

  “Madame!” he exclaimed nervously.

  She smiled at him.

  “I arrived with the doctor, as you see,” she told him. “Will you take my bags to my room?”

  He glanced at her, looking quickly away again, standing there in a mute, embarrassed silence.

  “Didn’t you get my message?” Katherine asked.

  He nodded his head violently.

  “But there is nothing ready, madame,” he burst out. “The other madame will never allow me to prepare any of the rooms unless she tells me to personally. I am very sorry, madame. ”

  Katherine was so angry she could hardly speak. She might have left Chantal at Hammamet, but it seemed that her tentacles reached right down here to Sidi Behn Ahmed. Why? Why should she make such a stupid rule?

  “I am sorry, madame,” the houseboy repeated hopefully.

  “It’s not your fault,” Katherine said evenly. “Please make up a bed for me now, though — in the best room!” she added thoughtfully.

  The shocked look he gave her made her want to laugh. It was silly to have been so annoyed, even for a moment. There was probably some very good reason for Chantal making such a rule. She would probably quite soon find out exactly what it was.

  She was just going to bed when the doctor called in to see if she had everything she wanted. He glanced about him with an appreciative eye and accepted the drink she gave him.

  “I am sorry to come still so dusty and dirty,” he said, “but I wanted to make sure that you locked all the doors and that you are comfortable.” He tossed the drink down his throat as though he had been drinking vodka and not good Scotch whisky. “I must go,” he said immediately, and walked rapidly to the front door. Katherine went with him, wondering if he ever paused in his work to look after himself for a while.

  “Goodnight, Doctor,” she said.

  He walked through the open door, looking suddenly tired and dispirited.

  “It doesn’t seem right to have this house open without Chantal here,” he sighed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Katherine shut the door after him and rammed the heavy locks home. Botheration take Chantal, she thought. It’s Chantal this and Chantal that, and I don’t even like Chantal! But she too felt that she was trespassing as she went to her room. She even imagined for a moment that she could smell the other girl’s distinctive perfume left behind from when she had inhabited the best bedroom. But that, at least, was easily remedied. She flung open both the windows, pressing the shutters right back against the wall and the scent of the creepers in the courtyard down below came rushing in to meet her. It might have been Chantal’s room in the past, but now it was hers!

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT HAD been cold in the night, but as soon as the sun got up humans and animals alike crept from one patch of shade to another

  in an effort to keep cool. It was the favourite occupation of the men to throw a couple of highly-coloured camel blankets down on to the street and brew tea on a tiny charcoal fire so that they could sit and gossip the hours away in comparative comfort.

  Katherine had been awakened by the noise at a very early hour. At first she couldn’t think what on earth was happening, and hurried into her clothes at break-neck speed so as not to miss anything. But when she went out she discovered that it was no more than the weekly market. A whole caravan of camels had come into the village during the night and the tall, extra-ordinary beasts had been seated in a long line by their owners and were now being fed by hand on a mixture of leaves and prickly pear.

  There were flocks of sheep too, fat with brown patches across their shoulders and buttocks and the occasional flash of black. Some of the flocks were mixed with goats, giving the scene a Biblical quality that was borne out by the dress of the people. In complete contrast was the backdrop of the hospital, a completely modern building, with an even more modern signpost outside it, giving its name in Arabic and French and with a large scarlet crescent at each end.

  “Hullo, you’re up early!” a voice called out to her across the square, and she saw the doctor leaning against one of the camels with his medicine bag in his hand.

  “Are you starting your rounds?” she asked him, laughing. She was thinking of the soberly clad doctors she had known at home, quite different from this man whose khaki trousers were stained with engine grease and who wore his shirt outside his pants for the added coolness it gave him.

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sp; “I’m off to visit one of the clinics,” he agreed. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

  Katherine remembered the notices she had seen on the hospital door, forbidding any unauthorised person to enter.

  “May I take a look round?” she asked him.

  He grinned at her.

  “Can’t you wait to get into harness, Nurse?” he teased her.

  She found that she didn’t like him calling her Nurse any more than she had liked him calling her Miss Lane, and thought that she must be getting very hard to please.

  “I shall be glad to have something to do,” she said primly.

  His eyes mocked her.

  “I can’t think now why I didn’t recognise you immediately for what you are,” he told her. “I should have known the instant I saw you running off with my medicines!”

  She held out her hands to him.

  “I think it was these that bluffed you,” she reminded him dryly. “I seem to remember you thought they had never seen a day’s work!”

  He didn’t look in the least repentant.

  “I can see they are your biggest vanity,” he agreed smoothly. “So soft and smooth and pretty, yes?”

  She flushed angrily.

  “I hardly ever do anything to them at all!” she denied indignantly. “An occasional hand-cream, that’s all.”

  His eyes laughed at her.

  “It is not a crime to look after one’s hands, Nurse,” he retorted, and his lopsided smile was more mocking than ever. “And yes, you may have a look over the hospital. Tell the head nurse I sent you.” He glanced quickly at his watch. “I must be off,’ he said abruptly, and vanished down the street, his long legs covering the ground at a pace that Katherine could only envy.

  She was smiling as she turned to go towards the hospital. Dear God, she wondered, how did he ever keep it up?

  The familiar smell of disinfectant greeted her nostrils as she pushed open the doors of the hospital. For her it was a comfortable smell, reminding her of London and the world there that she had known so well. In comparison this hospital was very small and compact, but it was none the less scrupulously clean with the same wide corridors and the same underlying hum of activity.