Free Heartbeat (Medical Romance) by Anna Ramsay Page A

nurse on the scene. Sylvia, no doubt, saw a new arrival as competition. If she did but know, there was no love lost between the doctor and the flame-headed nurse … ginger indeed!
    'Paul, could you ... ?' Sylvia fluttered her eyelashes. 'There's a language problem.'
    Ye gods, Paul too ! Jenni pouted visibly, her guard down.
    Paul's response was crisp where Ross's was laconic. 'Right away.'
    He clasped Jenni in a bear-hug, looking down on the sweet-smelling top of her head - no higher than the middle button of his shirt. 'Sleep tight, God bless,' he said.
    Ross had strolled over to the door. He said something to Sylvia, and she gave a backward glance at the freckled redhead.
    Hell's bells, Sylvia, you don't have to worry about me, muttered Jenni to herself as she followed the trio through the compound at a discreet distance. You're welcome to your doctor. Just wish I dared tell you about me and Paul and set your mind at rest. If I get the chance I'll drop a subtle hint ...
    The others went into the hospital and Jenni made her way alone to the sleeping quarters. Single electric bulbs strung out along a line in hazy patches of light guided her way.
    She was so pre-occupied she didn't even notice that after the warmth of the common room she was shivering.
    Then for an instant the generator faltered— causing Jenni to bite back a shriek. Automatically her arms shot out and her heartbeats drummed a wild tattoo. Gone the rational world of the Mission as she plunged from her reverie into usiku —the mystical, fear-charged blackness of the African night.
    No more than a second of sheer blind terror ...
    As the lights flickered back on, Jenni for the second time that day sped for dear life across the compound—to the uncertain safety of her room.
    Most Africans lived in tribal villages, cultivating annual crops on very small plots of poor land. It was one thing doing her research in the calm of the British Library in St Pancras and quite another coming face to face with reality…
    Jenni and Matt, strolling past the village on a rare and precious lunch break, could see the adult men lolling about among the huts in the midday heat. Down by the river in the parched stony fields were the women - toiling away, bashing at the hard ground with a sort of short-handled hoe and digging up what looked like dahlia tubers. 'That’s disgraceful,' exclaimed Jenni, indignant at such unfair division of labour. 'All that hard work, Matt. Why don’t the men help out instead of lazing about like that?’
    ‘No good asking me, kiddo,’ shrugged Matt with a grin. ‘That’s the way it goes over here. Not for us to interfere with their daily routine.’
    ‘What's that plant over there? How can it get that tall when there’s no rain?’
    'Easy to tell you're a city girl, Tadpole. They’re digging up roots of the cassava plant. Personally I like sweet potatoes but maybe they don't do well in these parts. The tall stuff’s maize. Down here by the river the soil's better and they can irrigate the young plants. It's quite easy to grow and the birds tend to leave it alone. East Africans are real keen on maize. They make flour from it as well—'
    'And look! It’s great for a game of hide and seek!' interrupted Jenni, pointing to some children playing among the tall leafy plants. 'Oh-o, there's one of the mothers telling them to pack it in, what a shame. Phew, here's a bit of shade, Matt, let’s sit and eat here and admire the view.'
    They munched contentedly at sweet, stubby bananas and home-baked rolls filched from the dining room. Below them, its muddy edges imprinted with a confusion of animal tracks and footprints, flowed the sluggish brown river, low between its banks.
    'And what work do the boys do when they aren't in school?' demanded Jenni with a frown.
    'Matt was leaning back against the tree trunk, eyes closed, hands clasped behind his head. 'Quit agitatin' about the inequality of African women! The boys do their bit too. You must've seen