Anne Fraser – Her Very Special Boss (страница 2)

Once again, Kirsty felt herself prickle with annoyance. He had no right to speak to her like she was some schoolgirl. OK, so she should have been able to change a tyre, but he should have ensured that the car she had been left was in better condition. Maybe for the time being she should let him believe that there hadn’t been a spare tyre? No, she couldn’t do that. If he found out, she would look an even greater idiot than she did already.

She sank gratefully into the cool seat of the four-by-four and she felt his eyes on her as she gulped greedily at the bottle of water he held out to her. When she had finally slaked her thirst she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

‘There was a spare wheel. I, er…I couldn’t remove the bolts,’ she lied. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. They were probably so rusted that she wouldn’t have managed anyway. She glanced down at her perfectly manicured hands, which bore no evidence of having been anywhere near a toolbox, and quickly hid them under her thighs. It was only a white lie, she told herself. She just couldn’t cope with this man’s disdain. Not now. Not today. Her should-have-been wedding day. Swallowing hard, she pushed the thought away. She had promised herself she wouldn’t think about it.

Greg glanced at his watch. ‘How far back is the car? Are you up to going back for it? I don’t want to leave it too long or we might find it stolen or dismantled by the time we get around to recovering it. We’re pretty short of cars at the complex.’ He smiled and all of a sudden the grim lines of his face relaxed. For the first time Kirsty looked at him properly. He really was quite attractive, if in a rugged sort of way, she admitted to herself. Not even the scar detracted from his looks. In an odd way, it even made him seem more vital somehow. Kirsty was already getting the distinct impression that this was a man who was used to people following his orders. Not that she would ever find another man attractive again—not after Robbie. Men were a thing of the past as far as she was concerned. She closed her eyes against the memories. She must stop thinking of the past and concentrate on the present. What was he suggesting? She stifled the protest that came to her lips. Go back? All she wanted was something to eat, a shower and a bed—and not necessarily in that order.

Still, Kirsty was painfully aware that the impression she had created so far was a million miles away from the one she had meant to make. Instead of the immaculately turned-out, efficient, career doctor she had hoped to present, here she was, bedraggled, dirt smeared and seemingly woefully unable to look after herself. Having to be rescued by her new boss had never been part of the plan.

‘Of course we should go back. It shouldn’t take long.’ She straightened in her seat. ‘I suppose they’ll keep me some dinner?’ She couldn’t quite erase the plaintive note from her voice.

Once again she felt his appraisal. This time she was conscious of his gaze taking in her dishevelled appearance and her scratched and bleeding feet. He frowned as he started the car.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, steering the car back onto the road in the direction from which he’d come. ‘You must be exhausted, as well as starving.’ Again that brilliant flash of teeth. ‘I’ll take you to the hospital and come back with one of the others. We usually eat around seven. If we hurry, you’ll just have enough time to freshen up before dinner. It’ll mean waiting for your luggage, I’m afraid, but I’ll bring it over as soon as I can.’

‘There’s no luggage,’ Kirsty told him. ‘It’s been delayed. Lost somewhere between here and Timbuktu, I imagine. I’ll have to find a way of collecting it from the airport tomorrow. Supposing they manage to find it.’ She couldn’t help sighing at the thought of a repeat journey the next day. But at least she’d have slept by then.

Greg muttered something under his breath that Kirsty suspected she wasn’t supposed to hear. ‘Bloody airlines. Still, it can’t be helped. The driver who was supposed to pick you up, but decided not to come at the last minute, can collect it on his way tomorrow. I did try to contact you to tell you to find yourself a hotel for the night, but I couldn’t get through on your mobile. I phoned the airport and they told me you had collected the car and were on your way. These roads aren’t safe for a single woman, especially at night. When you didn’t arrive by the time we expected you, I thought I’d better come looking. Just as well I did. You don’t look as if you were in any shape to finish the journey on foot.’

Once again Kirsty felt chastised, although it was hardly her fault. Instead of apologising—after all, the car was the hospital’s responsibility—the man was making it clear she was causing a lot of extra work.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, willing her voice to remain steady. ‘I really didn’t plan to cause all this bother.’

‘No problem,’ he said brusquely, but somehow Kirsty didn’t believe him. She was beginning to think she had made a dreadful mistake in coming here. She wondered bleakly if she would be able to work with this man. He was far too autocratic for her liking and already seemed to have taken against her. But there was nothing she could do about it right now. She was far too tired to think logically so she closed her eyes and within minutes was fast asleep.

She was jolted from her dreams by the sound of an explosion. She opened her eyes to see a minibus swerve erratically across the road in front of them, bits of rubber flying from a rear tyre. Disorientated, Kirsty sat bolt upright in her seat and, as Greg veered to avoid the out-of-control vehicle in front of them, she spread her hands to brace herself for impact. For several breath-taking moments the minibus continued to career from one side of the road to the other, churning up clouds of dust in its wake before finally spinning off the road. Its front wheels hit a shallow ditch and Kirsty held her breath as, with the sound of crunching metal, the vehicle slowly tipped over on its side.

As Greg carefully brought his vehicle to a halt at the side of the road, Kirsty was immobilised with horror. She was barely conscious of him leaning across her to open the cubbyhole and scrabble for something inside, except, incongruously, the clean lemony smell of his skin.

‘Double-glove before you do anything,’ he said tossing an unopened pack of latex gloves onto her lap before reaching into the back for his medical bag. ‘Let’s go,’ he ordered, and, without waiting for a response, was out of the car. Hastily, Kirsty pulled on the gloves and followed.

It all felt surreal to her. The music emanating from the vehicle’s unbroken stereo system was a blast of happy sounds, a sharp, eerie contrast to the moaning and crying voices and the still-spinning wheels of the tilted minibus. Bodies spilled out and lay around, arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles. Still others were slowly extracting themselves from their seats and stumbling, zombie-like, away from the disaster.

Despite the warmth of the African sun on her bare arms, she shivered. For God’s sake, she thought, I’ve been in the country less than four hours and a doctor for not much longer. This can’t possibly be happening.

‘Dr Boucher—Kirsty.’ She became aware of a hand on her arm and looked up into calm blue eyes. ‘I have to phone for help. In the meantime you have to start triaging the casualties.’ He turned from her and opened the boot of his car. He shoved a pile of lines and bags into her unwilling arms. ‘Take this. Once you’ve finished triaging, put in lines where you need to.’ She looked at him, still in shock. He shook her arm impatiently. ‘Look, you can do this. I need you to help me.’ He held her eyes for a few moments, and then with a final shake of her arm he was gone.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kirsty became aware of a small figure stumbling away from the wreck. A child, no older than two, toddled purposefully up the side of the ditch towards the road. It was the impetus she needed to shake her loose from the paralysis that had gripped her in the first dreadful minutes since the crash. ‘Stop! Come back!’ she called out. Tossing the equipment Greg had given her onto the passenger seat, she lunged for the child, grabbing the small bundle seconds before he reached the road. The frightened and bewildered child squirmed in her arms. She looked around at the passengers and, finding a woman who seemed uninjured, thrust her small charge into the woman’s arms.

‘Hold onto him. Don’t let him go. Not even for a second.’ She wasn’t sure if the woman understood her words, but she must have understood her meaning as she engulfed the child in her embrace.

‘Move away from the bus,’ Kirsty instructed her. Still unclear whether the woman understood, she indicated a stretch of ground away from the bus and the road. ‘Bus could explode,’ she added miming an explosion with her arms. Thankfully the woman seemed to grasp enough of the exchange and moved away with her charge.