Her Very Special Boss

Kirsty’s heart sank. This wasn’t how she had imagined her first meeting with Dr du Toit, her new boss and the physician superintendent of the hospital. Somehow she had assumed he’d be much older. The man in front of her looked to be no more than thirty.

‘Puncture, back a few miles,’ was all Kirsty could manage through her dry mouth.

‘And there wasn’t a spare in the boot? Someone’s head is going to roll. I tell them never to allow the cars to go out without checking. But come on, let’s get you out of the heat.’ For a moment he peered into Kirsty’s face. ‘And get you a drink of water. For God’s sake, don’t you know the first rule of Africa? Always carry plenty of water.’

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.

Kirsty retrieved the equipment Greg had given her and scrambled down the slope to the bus, oblivious to the small stones that scraped her bare legs and feet. The vehicle had come to rest at the bottom of the ditch, its front badly crumpled. The wheels on the driver’s side had mounted a small hillock and the bus tilted precariously over to the left. The driver had been thrown through the windscreen and hung there like a casually tossed rag doll. Kirsty reached up and felt for a carotid pulse. As she suspected, the driver was dead.

Moving around the front of the bus, she attempted to open the passenger door. Unfortunately the angle of the bus prevented her from opening it more than a few inches. Through the narrow gap, she could see that there were two more people in the front seat—an elderly man, who was conscious and moaning with pain, and a young woman, who was crying but seemed uninjured. She recalled her training. It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about. With these words ringing in her head, she decided that both casualties could wait until she had assessed the rest. ‘You are going to be fine,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, try not to move.’ With a final reassuring smile she left them and went to check up on the remainder of the passengers. Despite her initial impression, most of them seemed relatively unhurt, apart from possible fractures, lacerations and shock. They too could wait. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she promised the frightened and shocked figures. ‘Those that can, move away from the bus. The rest of you, keep as still as you can.’

Leaving them she found Greg bent over a young man in his early twenties, doing chest compressions. He had been joined by a middle-aged woman who, apart from a few cuts and bruises, seemed to have escaped from the minibus unscathed.

‘This is Sister Matabele,’ Dr du Toit said tersely, barely glancing at Kirsty ‘She was on her way to work in a taxi when the accident happened. She’ll help me here. You carry on treating the rest of the casualties. The paramedics should be here shortly.’

Before Kirsty had a chance to move, a voice called urgently. ‘Help! Over here!’

She hurried over to where a man was cradling a woman on the ground a short distance from the wreckage. She bent over the woman who was lying pale and unconscious. ‘My wife—she needs help. She was awake until just now. Now she is asleep. She is bleeding very badly from her leg, I think.’

Kirsty checked that the woman’s breathing was unrestricted before examining her. Her pulse was rapid and weak. The heart was still beating, but only just. Swallowing her fear, she removed the T-shirt the woman’s husband had laid over the wound. Gently lifting the fabric, she revealed a hole the side of a child’s fist at the top of her leg. Bright red femoral blood pulsed onto the ground.

Once again Kirsty felt the rising paralysis of her fear. Keep calm, she told herself. You’ve dealt with worse than this before. But that had been in the controlled environment of a large inner-city A and E department with the latest equipment and a team of experienced doctors and nurses. Nothing could have prepared her for this. She looked over for Dr du Toit, but he was still bent over his patient. For the time being she was on her own. These two people were depending on her. She needed to stop the bleeding, and soon. She placed her hand over the wound and pressed down hard. Her hand wasn’t enough to stem the gushing flow of blood. She needed something bigger. A quick glance around told her there was only one option. Taking a deep breath to calm her shaking hands and to steady her voice, she slipped off her linen blouse, placing it onto the hole in the woman’s leg. ‘Hold this. Press down hard,’ she instructed the frightened man, taking his hand in hers to demonstrate exactly what she wanted him to do. Kirsty knew if the woman were to stand a chance, she would have to replace the blood she had lost with fluid as quickly as possible. Kirsty used one of the lines she had been given and, ripping off the protective cover from the needle with her teeth, slipped the needle into a vein in the arm. Bingo! she thought with some satisfaction as she hit the vein first time. ‘What’s your wife’s name?’ she asked the distraught man.

‘Maria. Is she going to be all right?’ Kirsty heard the fear in his voice. She smiled and kept her voice low and calm. ‘I’m sure she will be,’ she said, although she wasn’t sure at all. ‘Talk to her. Let you know that you’re here. Reassure her.’

As she worked on her patient, she felt a shadow fall on her shoulders. She glanced up to find Greg looking down at her. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked from what seemed to be a great distance. ‘Do you need any help? My patient is breathing by himself now. Thank God Sister Matabele was here to help. She’ll stay with him until the ambulances arrive.’

‘This is Maria. She has a ruptured femoral artery. I’ve applied pressure and got a drip going. Her pulse and blood pressure are up, but we need to get her to hospital stat.’

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.