Bush Doctor

BUSH DOCTOR Rosemary Carter

His sudden appearance gave Stacy a shock! "Andre!" The name was torn from Stacy in an anguished whisper She had never expected to see him again, least of all here, at a South African bush hospital. But it was Andre, the man she'd tried so hard to forget. Now all the memories would return to haunt her, all the pain of unrequited love would come flooding back.... It was a love that lay in the past, Stacy told herself firmly. A love that never could have any future. Unless ... could she dare to hope?

CHAPTER ONE IT was noon, and as Stacy Marlow hurried through the crowds, the streets of Johannesburg bustled with traffic. A small slender girl with sea-green eyes and auburn hair which bounced on her shoulders as she ran, she was unaware of the many interested glances which followed her. She reached a robot just as the lights turned to red. Anxiously she lifted her hand to look at her watch. Twelve-fifteen! Andre had arranged to meet her at twelve, and Andre was not an easy-going man. He would be impatient at her lateness. And when he learned of her decision he would be angry It was the phone-call which had delayed her. John Allison's niece had wanted to know how her uncle was progressing. Because Stacy knew that the woman was genuinely concerned about the ailing old man, she had done her best to answer Miss Allison's questions. And then, just as she was about to leave the house, Mr Allison had called from upstairs, wanting to know who had phoned. She had gone to him, and given him regards from his niece. She had passed a soothing hand across the querulous forehead, then told the relief nurse not to leave him while he slept. Leaving the house at last, Stacy hoped that she could still reach the restaurant in time. But she had reckoned without the peak-hour traffic. Biting her lip, she stood at the intersection, willing the lights to change. The moment the colour changed to green, Stacy stepped off the kerb and into the street. In her haste she did not wait to see if the road was clear....

There was a harsh shrieking of brakes and a slithering thud. An agonised moan, and the screams of the people who witnessed the accident. A little later, the shrill siren of an ambulance. Two white-clad men pushed their way through the crowd of bystanders to kneel beside the unconscious form of the injured girl. Gently they lifted her on to the stretcher. She lay still and limp, like a helpless doll, her vivid auburn hair falling untidily across a white forehead. The crowd parted as the stretcher was carried to the ambulance. The doors closed and the vehicle pulled away, sirens screaming. Three blocks away, in a small Italian restaurant, a dark-haired man waited. His features were lean and ruggedly handsome, and several women looked his way with interest. But he was unaware of them. On the table beside him stood a bottle of wine and two glasses. For the umpteenth time he glanced at his watch. In growing impatience he fixed his eyes on the door.

It was very quiet in the ward. Sister Ellis sat by the window, enjoying the warmth of the sun. She was growing old for the profession. Another year or two and she would have to retire. Perhaps it was for this reason that she was assigned the less rigorous tasks. The elderly nurse glanced across the room at the girl who lay motionless in her bed. There was more colour in her cheeks now, so that the vivid hair did not contrast quite so shockingly with the pallor of her face. Even her breathing was steadier. But she was still unconscious, as she had been since she had been admitted to the hospital the previous day.

Sister Ellis did not know if anyone had been notified of the accident. One thing was certain, nobody had been to see the girl, Stacy Marlow—her name had been on an invoice in her bag. There was a slight movement from the bed. The girl had stirred. Her eyes were still closed, but her forehead was puckered, as if in pain. Poor lass! She would recover, but the left leg had been badly injured. It was doubtful whether she would ever walk again without a slight limp. Wondering if the movement indicated that there was a returning consciousness, Sister Ellis got to her feet and walked to the bed. There was something pathetically vulnerable about the slim quiet form. Thick black lashes cast long shadows over the small oval face in its frame of auburn hair, and Sister Ellis tried to visualise how that face would look when its expression was animated and happy. She had the feeling that Stacy Marlow would be beautiful, and, if not that, at least arresting and unusual. Again she wondered that nobody had been to see her. There was another movement from the bed, and the watching nurse noted the slight fluttering of the long black lashes. Another flutter, and then the lashes lifted to reveal a pair of green eyes. Sister Ellis had a moment of satisfaction. She had been right in her conjecture. Green eyes and auburn hair; the girl was beautiful. 'Where ... where am I?' The words came in a whisper, and the lovely eyes were dazed and confused. 'In hospital. You've had an accident.' The nurse spoke softly, reassuringly. 'Hospital?' A look of panic merged with the confusion, and then Stacy was trying to struggle up.

'Lie back.' There was a note of authority in Sister Ellis's tone. 'You'll hurt yourself.' 'But ... Andre... I must go to....' And then she was once more overcome by pain. Her eyes closed and she sank back against the pillow. So there was somebody. A little later, when the girl was properly awake and aware of her surroundings, she would be able to answer questions. For the moment it was better that she sleep. Another flutter of the long lashes. The eyes opened and focused on the nurse. 'Meeting Andre. 'Hush, lass.' 'Letter.... Must write... .' The words were slurred and indistinct. 'Try to sleep, lass.' 'No! Please, letter... . Must write...' Again the expression of panic, only stronger now. Sister Ellis wished she knew what was going on in the mind of the girl. Whatever it was, one thing was clear. Stacy Marlow would have no rest until she had written her letter—and rest was what she badly needed. Hardened nurse that she was, the wild despair in the girl's eyes caught at Sister Ellis's heartstrings. For some reason this letter was of great importance to Stacy. She would not be at ease until she had written it. 'I'll bring you some paper,' she agreed.

Green eyes opened as the elderly nurse returned with a writing pad, an envelope and a pen. Gently the nurse helped the injured girl into a half- sitting position against the pillow, so that she could write. Then she went back to her chair by the window, thereby giving Stacy the illusion of privacy. 'Finished....' The word was a weak murmur. •Clearly the exertion required to write the letter had been too much. The envelope and the sheet of paper dropped to the floor as Stacy Marlow sank back against the pillow, her eyes closed, her face pale. She had returned from a world of pain and confusion to one of blessed unconsciousness. When she had eased the girl into a more comfortable position, Sister Ellis bent an arthritic back and picked up the letter. Curiosity overcame her, and her eyes swept the page. Her face was troubled as she went to the window. She glanced at the letter again, and then her face cleared as she came to a decision. In the hospital bed Stacy Marlow slept the blessed sleep of the unconscious. Later she would remember nothing of the pain she had suffered. Nor would she remember that she had written a letter. 'Will you do it, Stacy?' Stacy Marlow looked thoughtfully at the fair- haired girl with the eager expression. She did not answer immediately, but went to the window and looked outside. It was raining, as it had been for days, and the garden was a mess, with muddy pools and creepers hanging soddenly from faded trellises. She shifted her weight on to her right foot. Her left leg was aching, perhaps because of the weather. Unsightly mauve scars ran from the top of her thigh to below the knee. At first she had walked with a limp, but two years had passed

since the accident, and as the leg had grown stronger, the limp became noticeable only when she was tired. On the whole, given the extent of the injury, she was fortunate that the leg had healed so well. She wished that she could say as much for her spirits. Several weeks after the accident she was able to leave the hospital, and was pronounced well enough to resume her own nursing career. Mr Allison had died peacefully one night in his sleep, but Stacy's references were good, and it was not difficult to find new positions. There were always people who needed a nurse in their homes; an elderly lady, infirm and unhappy, wanting care as much as she desired companionship; a man who had been paralysed after an accident, and who needed someone to perform the personal chores which once had been routine but now had become tasks of almost insurmountable difficulty; a young mother, depressed and weak after a difficult confinement, and shocked to find that the care an infant required did not come with instinct, merely because she had donned the mantle of matronhood. This last was the kind of nursing Stacy liked best. Tearful the young mothers might be, but in their homes was the magic element of hope and the prospect of a future, two qualities which, too often, were lacking in the homes of the elderly patients. She had just completed a spell in the home of a post-operative woman. The patient was completely recovered, but she had been querulous much of the time, and self-pitying, so that Stacy was not sorry to leave. Presently she was trying to make up her mind which of two jobs to accept. And now Hilary Lang had arrived, with the offer of a job which was quite beyond the realms of anything she had ever imagined. 'Will you do it?' Hilary repeated her question.

Stacy turned from the window, her brow still puckered in thought. 'I don't know, Hilary.. .. It's unlike anything I've ever done.' 'That's one of the reasons why you should agree.' Blue eyes sparkled. 'Forgive me, Stacy, but aren't you in a bit of a rut? You've been doing private nursing for too long. Isn't it time you tried something else?' 'Yes.' Stacy acknowledged it frankly. 'I've thought it myself lately. This last spell with Mrs Smith was draining. There was just no end to her demands. But this -Where is the hospital?' 'It's a place called Diazinto, somewhere in the Eastern Transvaal, not far from the Kruger National Park.' 'Not in a town?' 'Out in the bushveld. From what I can gather the hospital was once a part of a mission-station, but today, it's privately owned.' 'It sounds like a miniature of Albert Schweitzer's Lambarene.' Stacy was intrigued by the little Hilary had told her of the bushveld hospital. 'Not quite Lambarene,' Hilary smiled, as she detected the note of interest, 'but unique in itself.' 'You're whetting my appetite, and you know it.' Stacy smiled back at her. 'And yet... I've had no practice in tropical diseases, Hilary. I don't know anything of the conditions prevailing in the bushveld.' 'You're a nurse,' her friend reminded her gently, 'and a good one at that. You've been trained in the basics of nursing. Any specialised aspect could be easily learned.'

'I suppose so...' There was something appealing in the thought of spending some time in a hospital far from a city, and from the confines of people's homes. Perhaps a sojourn in some lonely place, away from the trappings of civilisation, might be the very thing she needed to restore her former good spirits. Yet still she was hesitant. 'You say I'd have to go soon?' 'Day after tomorrow.' 'That doesn't leave much time to find out if the hospital will want me.' 'I know. But, Stacy love, they're expecting Betty Hugo. They don't know that Betty's mother has been ill and needs her daughter to look after her for a few months.' 'Betty will let them know?' 'Of course.' Hilary rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. 'But in the meanwhile, Diazinto needs a nurse. If you agree to go, you will earn the hospital's appreciation and Betty's undying gratitude.' 'What can I say after an oration like that?' Stacy laughed at her friend's dramatic irreverence. 'A simple "yes" is all that's called for.' 'Then yes it must be.' Stacy was still smiling as Hilary picked up the phone, dialled Betty's number, and imparted the good news.

Stacy stood on the platform and watched as the train gathered speed. Within minutes it had vanished out of sight, and she felt, inexplicably, as if she had lost her last link with the world she knew. Her confidence ebbed as she looked around her. She was the only person who had alighted at this station. And station was too grand a term to describe the place. It was just a railway-siding, in the middle of the bush. Nothing more than a concrete platform and a weatherbeaten shed with a tin roof which had once been red and was now an indeterminate mixture of shades. It was a lonely, desolate scene. On all sides stretched fields of mealies. The plants were tall and green with the tips of the cobs peeping out from tightly-wrapped leaves, and almost ready for harvest. In the distance stood a clump of eucalyptus trees, and a windmill turned in the breeze. Evidently some previous stationmaster had once made an attempt at creating a garden, for on either side of the platform there were signs of flower beds, almost hidden now by the encroaching veld. No flowers grew in the garden, but there were a few cactuses, their hardy red flowers making a flash of colour against the scrub. There had been so much to do in the short space of time which had elapsed between the moment when Stacy had consented to go to Diazinto and the time of her departure that she had had no opportunity to wonder what would happen when she left the train. If she had thought about it at all, there had been the expectation that someone would meet her, or alternatively, that she would make her way to the hospital by bus or by taxi. It was only now, as she stood alone on the deserted platform, that she realised how comforted she would be by some small sign of civilisation. She cast her mind back to her one meeting with Betty. Hilary had arranged a meeting with the - nurse from Diazinto. Betty had been filled with gratitude at the fact that Stacy could take her place at the

hospital. It would give her a chance to be with her mother. The doctor had been insistent that Mrs Hugo needed proper care for at least three months, and she so badly wanted Betty to be with her. She hated the idea of a strange nurse. Among other things, Stacy had Wanted to know how she would get to Diazinto, and at the time the girl's answer had not seemed so vague as to be unsatisfactory. In her mind's eye she could see Betty's face, freckled and a little homely, yet pleasant and friendly. 'You must leave the train at Willowspruit,' she had said. 'Will there be someone to meet me?' 'I'll send a telegram. Someone will be at the station.' That answer had seemed reasonable enough, and they had begun to talk of other things. Now, feeling very much alone in the midst of the endless veld, Stacy, wondered why it had not occurred to either of them to put a long-distance call through to the hospital to let them know that she was coming. Was it possible that Betty had sent a telegram and that it had not arrived? Or that she had forgotten to send it? It was no use to brood. Whatever the reason, she was saddled with the reality of the situation, and must find a way of dealing with it. There was only one way. Picking up her suitcase, she walked to the simple shed which seemed to do duty as a station. It was empty. If the stationmaster had been around at the time of the train's arrival, he had now vanished. Her brow was puckered in a frown as she withdrew from the shed. Somehow she must find a way of getting to Diazinto. In a few hours

it would be night. She could not stay for ever on this desolate station platform. At the sound of a car-door closing a little distance away, her head jerked up. Someone to fetch her? But no, nobody was in sight. A little desperately, Stacy walked to the back of the shed, and for the first time she noticed a small sprawl of houses not far from the station. In a direct line with the shed, she could not have seen them from her first vantage point. Blackjacks caught at her pantyhose as she picked her way along an overgrown path. She was anxious and tired, a combination which caused her to limp very slightly. Approaching the first house she saw the faded letters which proclaimed 'General Store'. Parked on the sandy road was a long brown station- wagon. Hope rose inside her. Perhaps there would be somebody who could help her. She heard the sound of voices, then a short burst of laughter. As she went inside, the talking stopped and two heads turned to look at her. 'Can I help you, lady?' asked a man behind the counter. 'I arrived just now, on the train... 'Seen you come,' observed the other man laconically. It was dark in the shop, and it took a few moments for Stacy's eyes to adjust to the dimness after the glare of the sun outside. The man who had seen her come wore a peaked cap and a jacket which could have been part of a uniform. If he was the stationmaster, Stacy wondered why he had not approached her, rather than allow an obvious stranger to stand alone on an empty platform. 'I wonder if I might use your phone.' Pointedly she ignored the stationmaster and directed her query to the man behind the counter.

'Over there.' He gestured. 'Long-distance? Cost you extra.' 'I'm not sure.' Stacy hesitated. 'Do you have a telephone directory?' 'You're visiting stationmaster.

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'I'm on my way to a hospital, a place called Diazinto,' She looked from one weatherbeaten face to the other. 'Do you know it?' 'You're going to Diazinto?' For the first time both men looked curious, and the stationmaster asked, on an odd note, 'They expecting you?' 'Yes,' Stacy spoke with a greater show of confidence than she felt, 'of course they are.' 'Hey!' The man behind the counter raised his voice and called, 'Dr Jim! You expecting someone?' 'We are.' Stacy spun round at the sound of a new voice. 'Nurse Betty should be back some time today.' 'This here ain't Nurse Betty, Doc.' 'No?' A man emerged from a corner of the shop. It was so dim that Stacy realised why she had not noticed him before. As he came towards her his face took on a puzzled expression. 'You're going to Diazinto? To the hospital?' His voice was deep and pleasant. 'Yes. There should have been a telegram...' 'A telegram?' He shook his head, looking a bit puzzled. 'Not that I know of. Are you a friend of Tessa's?'

'Betty Hugo asked me to come.' Stacy bit her lip, uncertain all at once of her reception at the hospital. 'She wants me to take her place for a while.' 'I see.' The puzzled expression vanished. 'That explains it.' 'I came in here so that I could phone the hospital and ask someone to fetch me.' 'That won't be necessary now.' He smiled, and his smile was as attractive as his voice. 'I'm from Diazinto, I'll take you back with me. I just want to pay for these purchases, then we'll be off.' The strain and uncertainty of the past half hour were dispelled by the pleasantness of the man's manner. As Stacy waited for him to conclude his. business, she looked about her. Now that her eyes , had become accustomed to the dimness, she saw that she was inside a general store, very like those she remembered from long-ago fishing trips at the coast with her father. It was a typical country store, probably serving the farming population for miles around. The shelves were packed with an astonishing variety of goods. Bales of cloth and balls of brightly-coloured wool; shoes and clothing; tinned food and biscuits, candles and cigarettes and cold drinks. In a refrigerator was fresh produce, and on the counter, gathering dust, was a rack of postcards. 'Ready?' The man she had heard called Dr Jim turned from the counter and bent to take Stacy's suitcase. In his other hand was a big parcel. 'Please, let me carry my case,' Stacy protested. 'This really isn't necessary.' 'Not often I get the chance to help a pretty girl,' Dr Jim chuckled. 'Goodbye, Frank ... Piet,' he called to the watching men. And then to Stacy, 'Come along. The car is right outside.'

'We haven't introduced ourselves,' he remarked, when he had started the station-wagon and nosed it off the rutted dirt track and towards the highway. 'I'm Stacy Marlow,' Stacy offered smiling. 'And you're Dr Jim.' 'Jim Howes, for the record,' he told her, brown eyes twinkling in a well-shaped, sensitively attractive face. 'And now, Stacy Marlow, how about telling me why you're taking Betty's place at Diazinto?' When she had finished telling him, he said, 'I'm sorry about Betty's mother, but it will certainly be a nice change to have a new face around, especially one as pretty as yours.' It was the second time he had called her pretty, and though Stacy suspected he was just teasing her, she could not help being flattered by the compliment. It seemed a long time since she had enjoyed any form of flirtation with a man. Not that there had been no opportunity, but since the accident the inclination had been lacking. There had been more than one man who had been attracted to the piquant oval face with the vivid green eyes, but Stacy had never been able to bring herself to go out with any of them more than once. Always at the back of her mind had been the memory of a tall broad-shouldered man, with black hair and rugged features. Much as she had tried to shrug the image away, he had remained to haunt her, making it impossible for her to enjoy herself without reserve. Somehow she sensed that with Jim Howes things might be different, and she wondered why. Was there something special about the man himself, or did the reason lie in the break with the life she knew, the break with the routine which had become so stifling in its monotony, so that the weeks ahead seemed like a holiday? She mentioned the holiday feeling to Dr Jim, and he shook his head

ruefully. 'The hospital is a busy place. You'll be rushed off your feet for much of the day.' 'It will be a challenge, and I'm in the mood for a challenge.' She looked at him eagerly. 'Won't you tell me about the hospital, Doctor?' 'My friends call me Jim.' There was a sparkle of warmth in the brown eyes that scanned her face appreciatively. 'If you'll call me Stacy....' 'Thank you. There's not much to tell, Stacy. The hospital used to be attached to a mission station, but only the remnants of the mission are left. But the hospital has remained. In fact, it's grown. It caters for most of the tribal folk for miles around.' 'It sounds exciting.' For no reason, Stacy felt a surge of exhilaration. 'Depends on how you look at it.' Jim Howes grinned ruefully. 'It has its moments. Mostly I'm glad that I chose to work here. But there are times, when we're swamped with a rampaging epidemic for instance, when I wonder why I didn't settle for a comfortable practice in Johannesburg suburbia.' 'I'd guess you'd be bored there much of the time,' Stacy laughed. 'Will I be responsible to you, Jim?' 'No. There's Tessa Mantis—she's the Matron. She also owns the hospital.' 'Isn't that unusual?' Stacy asked curiously. 'Tessa's father owned the place before her. He was a doctor, and specialised in tropical medicine. When he died he left the place to Tessa.'

'And she's run it ever since? Does she never get tired of living so far from civilisation?' Stacy found herself intrigued by the unusual setup. 'Tessa Mantis is an ambitious woman. The hospital is one of her passions in life.' 'You speak as if there's more than one passion.' 'The other is more humdrum,' Jim said briefly, without elaborating. A man, Stacy guessed. And that brought her to another question. 'Are there any other doctors?' 'Yes.' There was a tautness in Jim's voice and Stacy, seeing the tightening of the muscles around his jaw, wondered at the reason. For a while they drove in silence. Jim's eyes were on the road, all his concentration engaged in negotiating bends that were becoming ever sharper and steeper. Stacy was able to study him unobserved. His arms and throat were lightly tanned, perhaps from the many hours he would of necessity spend out of doors, but his physique was not that of an outdoor man. He was slender, and his face had the sensitive lines of an aesthete. His eyes were intelligent, and the hands that held the steering-wheel were slender-fingered. It did not matter where one encountered Jim Howes, Stacy thought, whether in a jungle or in the fabled surgery in suburbia, one would not fail to think of him as an aesthetic and intelligently sensitive man. 'Have you been in this part of the world before, Stacy?' Jim asked at length. 'Never.'

'Do you like it?' He was smiling once more, and Stacy was relieved to note that the strain had vanished from his expression. 'I haven't had much chance yet to form an opinion,' she said gently. She turned her eyes from the appealing man by her side, and focused on the scenery. At the railway siding she had had an impression of flatness— ceaseless veld, maize fields that stretched on and on, to the horizon and beyond, barbed-wire fences and tin sheds, and an occasional windmill. But while they had been talking, the scenery had changed. Maize had given way to citrus, and here and there lay fields of tobacco, the plants looking green and darkly lush against the brown earth. And then they had left the farmlands behind them as they came to the mountains. The road climbed ever more steeply, and the bends became more tortuous. On each side of the road were forests, pine and spruce and eucalyptus, tall and straight, with pine needles and moss on the ground beneath them. They came to a rise, and Stacy drew in her breath at the vista of mountains and blue sky, and thickly wooded slopes falling away to all sides. 'I never dreamed it would be so beautiful!' she gasped. 'It is magnificent,' Jim agreed. 'What are these mountains?' 'The Drakensberg.' 'The Drakensberg?' Stacy was puzzled. 'I thought they were in Natal.' 'They are, Stacy. But the range begins here, in the Eastern Transvaal.'

'And to think that I needed persuasion to come here!' She gazed, about her in rapture. 'Look at that waterfall, Jim. Look at the way it cascades down the rocks. Oh, and that lovely pool at the bottom.' She turned to him. 'Can one swim there?' 'It's unlikely.' The quiet gaze took in the eyes that shone like jewels. 'Much of the water around here is polluted.' 'Bilharzia?' she asked sadly, thinking of the sickness which was the cause of so much distress in the Highveld. She had never taken care of a bilharzia patient, but as a nurse she knew of the snails that inhabit the stagnant waters of South African rivers and dams, and of the parasites which make their homes in the snails. The bilharzia parasite was a deadly carrier of a disease which, though recently curable, could also be fatal. It was hard to believe that this lovely stretch of mountain water could be infested with the parasite. 'Bilharzia,' he agreed regretfully. 'But the water didn't look stagnant.' 'It isn't. And I can't say for certain that there is bilharzia in it. But it isn't safe to swim in any of the pools and rivers around here, Stacy. Remember that.' 'What a shame!' She did not tell Jim why she preferred to do her swimming in private, away from pitying eyes. To change the subject she asked, 'Do you get many tropical diseases here?' 'A fair amount. Incidentally, did Betty tell you to take malaria pills?' Stacy shook her head. 'Just as well I asked. We'll have to fix you up with a supply of pills.'

'Is that really necessary?' Stacy queried. The loveliness of the countryside seemed to preclude the possibility of another dread disease. 'Absolutely,' was the serious reply. 'The anopheles mosquito is as much of a menace as the bilharzia parasite. Scientists have made great strides in recent years, what with spraying dams and swamps, but every now and then a malaria epidemic rears its head.' He said firmly, 'You must make a point of taking your pills regularly.' He slowed , the car. 'This is where we leave the main road.' 'Are we nearly there?' Stacy sat forward excitedly, as the car bumped along a muddy track. 'Another few miles. Sit back, Stacy. You could get thrown against the windscreen.' His eyes were warm with laughter. 'We don't want our new nurse turning into a patient even before she gets to the hospital!' He was nice, Stacy thought, as she leaned back in her seat. She guessed his age to be about thirty- three, yet there was something boyish about the ready smile, which made him seem younger. Not for a long time had she taken such a liking to a man. There had been something in his manner a little while back which had made her wonder if she would like the matron, Tessa Mantis, and the other doctor. But at least Jim Howes would be at Diazinto and though they both would be busy during the day, it was nice to know that she would have congenial company when she wanted to talk or share a joke. As the track grew bumpier, so the scenery grew even more beautiful. It was a wild and untamed beauty, which thrilled and fascinated Stacy even while it scared her a little. The cultivated forests of pine and spruce had given way to jungle. Trees, tall and

straggly, vied with one another in an effort to reach the sun. Roots, gnarled and coiled, looped the thin trunks, and sprawled over the ground. And in between the tangle of roots there was moss, deep green and vivid, and tiny flowers, and even big spotted toadstools, like drawings in a fairy story, an invitation to the unwary who did not know them to be poisonous. Here and there were views of waterfalls, cascading down rugged slopes, falling into dark pools which looked mysterious and brooding. They came to a clearing, sun-dappled and bright, where the sun did not need to struggle down a dense canopy of tropical foliage. And on a stone gatepost were the words, 'Diazinto Hospital.' A few grey vervet monkeys sat on the gatepost, and at the car's approach they screamed cheekily and made comic gestures. As Jim stopped the car to open the gate, one monkey, bolder than the rest, leaped on to the bonnet of the car and pressed its face to the windscreen as if to get a closer view of the person inside. Then it clambered around to the window, holding out its paw in a gesture which could only mean a plea for food. Stacy was about to look in her bag to see whether she had anything she could give the little beast with the wise humorous face, when Jim got back into the car. 'Don't feed the monkeys,' he ordered. 'They're enough of a nuisance as it is. If you give them food it becomes even more difficult to get rid of them.' 'I'll remember.' Stacy was still smiling as they negotiated the last stretch to the hospital, along a narrow strip road bordered with scarlet flame trees. It was all so beautiful that it was hard to believe that only yesterday she had still been living in the concrete bleakness of Johannesburg's flatland. At a bend in the track Stacy had her first view of the hospital. It was unlike any other hospital she had ever seen, just a sprawl of low whitewashed houses, clustering together, as if for comfort, in the

shadow of the jungle. One building was bigger than the rest. Obviously the hospital itself, Stacy thought. 'Let's find Matron,' Jim suggested as he parked the station-wagon in the shade of a huge and ancient wild fig tree; 'She'll want to know you've arrived.'

CHAPTER TWO 'WILL she mind that I've taken Betty's place?' Stacey asked. Jim hesitated. His eyes searched the small oval face, resting on eyes that sparkled like emeralds, on the fall of auburn hair that gleamed like molten gold in the sunshine, and on the generous lips, corners tilted upwards. 'Why should she mind?' he asked. But the words came a fraction too late, and Stacy thought his tone lacked conviction. For the first time some of the joy went out of the day. They made their way to a small building, to one side of the hospital. On the door was a plaque with the word 'Office'. Jim knocked, then opened the door and led the way inside. A woman sat at a desk. She was writing, and her head was bent over her work. Her spotless uniform and the gleaming coil of black hair, combined with the almost spartan appearance of the room, gave Stacy an impression of a rather frightening efficiency. It was an efficiency which contrasted almost shockingly with the abandoned colour and earthiness outside. For no reason, she shivered. 'Jim? I'll be with you in a minute.' The perfectly coiffed head did not lift as the woman spoke, and though the tone was friendly enough, Stacy was aware that it blended with the efficient matter-of-factness of everything else in the room. 'Did you get what I needed?' A final flourish of the pen, then she looked up. Stacy saw immediately that she was beautiful. It was a beauty that came from symmetrical features and a flawless skin. But it was a

beauty which was utterly devoid of warmth. In Stacy's eyes, Matron Tessa Mantis was an ice-maiden, exquisite, perfect, and cold. On the perfectly moulded lips was the merest suggestion of a smile, one which did not reach her eyes, Stacy noted. And then, as the woman registered Stacy's presence in the room, the smile vanished. Stacy grew rigid with strain. Had the Matron spoken, the strain might have been reduced, but she said nothing. She only sat, composed and calm behind the desk, sizing up Stacy's appearance with an almost pointed arrogance. 'This is Stacy Marlow—Sister Marlow.' Jim's voice sounded hesitant, and Stacy wondered fleetingly if he was scared of this perfect icy woman. 'How do you do, Sister?' The voice was low and perfectly modulated. 'Stacy has come to work here ... in Betty's place.' Jim sounded even more uncertain than before. 'I don't think I understand.' The beautiful eyes were chips of ice. 'I'm not aware that we needed to replace Sister Betty?' 'Betty couldn't return today.' Stacy spoke for the first time. 'Perhaps you received her telegram?' 'I did not.' 'Her mother is ill.' 'I regret that Mrs Hugo is indisposed,' there was no hint of sympathy in the perfect face, 'but I don't see what her illness has to do with the present situation.' 'Betty had to stay behind to nurse her,' Stacy's explained.

'I wonder who gave her that right?' There was no effort to unbend, and Stacy wondered if the Matron was being deliberately difficult. 'Betty had no choice. Her mother needs her.' Stacy's uncertainty vanished, anger taking over at the woman's intolerance. 'I don't consider that you're in a position to make that kind of judgment, Sister Marlow.' 'Whatever the position,' Jim cut in hastily, forestalling an angry retort from Stacy, 'I think we should be grateful to Stacy ... to Sister Marlow ... for agreeing to take Betty's place at such short notice.' 'I prefer to choose my nurses personally,' came the icy rejoinder. 'Tell me about your nursing experience, Sister Marlow.' Stacy was about to reply, to tell this cold woman that she could catch the next train back to Johannesburg, when she caught Jim's appealing eyes on her. She was giving the Matron the details she wanted when the door opened and a tall figure in a white safari suit entered the office. 'Something I wanted to discuss, Tessa....' His eyes fell on Stacy and he stiffened. 'I'm sorry, I didn't realise you had company.' 'Andre 1' The name was torn from Stacy in an anguished whisper. Without warning her knees buckled so that she had to grope for support at the matron's desk. Oblivious of the watchful eyes, she could only stare at him in mesmerised horror. He was a giant of a man, broad-shouldered and powerful. His arms and his face and the strong column of throat thrusting upwards from the collar of his jacket were deeply tanned. His face was lean and rugged,, and very stern. His presence was so compelling that it was as if the others in the room were no more substantial than ghosts.

He was watching her, his eyes narrowed and watchful. If anything his expression had grown more stern. Later Stacy was to wonder if he would have pretended that he did not know her. Certainly there was no smile of welcome. But her own reaction had not passed unnoticed. In the circumstances he was forced to acknowledge their acquaintance. 'Hello, Stacy.' His voice was cool and crisp. It was neither surprised nor welcoming. He might have been greeting any casual acquaintance. 'Hello, Andre.' It took an effort of will to match his calm. 'You know Miss Marlow?' The Matron's beautiful voice was taut with suspicion. 'We've met.' Andre's tone was so offhand that Stacy wondered whether he had succeeded in dispelling the impression created by her own shock and horror. Even in a few seconds one thing had become clear. Andre meant nobody to know that there had been a time when he and Stacy had been more than just acquaintances. 'Really?' Tessa Mantis's eyes were hard and suspicious. 'Why did you look so shocked when Dr de Vries came into the room, Sister Marlow?' 'My shock, if that's what you want to call it, had nothing to do with Dr de Vries.' Stacy's nerves were jagged as she maintained a studied calm. 'If that's what you thought, it was purely coincidental. I've had a long journey. Perhaps I'm tired.' She could not help glancing at Andre. In his eyes was a brief flicker of something she could not quite define.

'You tire easily, Sister Marlow?' There was an icy smile on the beautifully sculptured face. 'That would confirm my impression that you're not suited for work here.' 'You've come here to work?' For the first time there was curiosity in Andre's tone. 'I've come to substitute for Betty Hugo. Her mother is ill.' Stacy lifted her head proudly. 'If I'm not needed, perhaps Jim will drive me back to the station.' Andre's eyebrows lifted momentarily at the casual mention of Dr Jim's name. Then his eyes became impenetrable. 'Since you're here, you'd better stay.' 'But, Andre, I don't think Sister Marlow is suitable.' Tessa Mantis regarded Stacy with unmistakable dislike. 'Her experience is limited to private nursing. We need someone with real ability and stamina.' 'I may have done private nursing, but I'm nevertheless a trained nurse,' Stacy pointed out quietly. 'We do need her,' Jim said. His voice was persuasive. 'Aren't you being unnecessarily hard on the girl, Tessa?' 'Only in the interests of the hospital. You agree, Andre?' The smile she threw him was so sugary that Stacy wondered that he did not feel nauseated. Andre, however, seemed unaffected. 'Whatever you do is always in the interests of the hospital, Tessa,' he returned smoothly. 'But Jim is right—we're short-staffed. I think Sister Marlow should stay until Betty is able to return.' They were discussing her as if she were invisible, Stacy thought resentfully. As if she herself had no say in her own affairs. There

was absolutely no reason why she should stay. She had only agreed to come to Diazinto to help Betty out. Had she known that Andre de Vries would be here no amount of persuasion could have dragged her to this place. But she had not known. Even now she felt that she was dreaming, that she was in the grip of a nightmare from which she would wake... And what about Tessa Mantis? The Matron had made no secret of her antagonism—-an utterly unjustifiable antagonism as far as Stacy was concerned. Surely the fact that she had not worked in a bush hospital before, but had spent her time doing private nursing, should not condemn her before she had been given a chance to show what she could do. All at once she remembered Jim's hesitation when she had asked him whether the Matron would mind her coming to substitute for Betty. He must have anticipated her reaction. But why? She must remember to ask him. She was about to ask Jim to drive her back the way they had come when she saw Tessa Mantis's lips tighten. 'Very well,' she said tightly. 'You may stay, Sister Marlow.' The displeasure in the Matron's expression brought out the devil in Stacy. She would not give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her leave. Nor would she give Andre that satisfaction. Granted, he had persuaded Tessa to let her stay, but only because short-staffing made it necessary. She would prove to them both that she could work, and let them be as uptight as they pleased. 'That's fine, then,' Stacy said brightly. 'Perhaps Stacy ... Sister Marlow would like to go to her room,' Jim suggested.

'Thank you, I would like that.' She made herself smile. Turning to Tessa, she asked, 'What time do I go on duty?' 'This evening. Seven-thirty,' came the Matron's icy reply. 'I don't think we need Sister Marlow's services tonight.' Andre's voice was so mild that the words could in no way be construed a reproach. 'Tomorrow morning would do just as well.' 'Of course, Andre.' Tessa Mantis slanted the tall doctor a smile. 'I'd forgotten for the moment that Sister Marlow tires so easily.' She turned to Stacy, and the look she threw her was pure venom. 'Seventhirty tomorrow morning, Sister. And we believe in punctuality.' 'I'll try not to disappoint you,' Stacy said evenly. She bent to take her suitcase, but Jim was there before her. He preceded her to the door and held it open for her. She was about to walk out of the office when the Matron's voice rang out. 'You'll have to do something about your hair, Sister Marlow. This is not a fashion show. See to it that your hair-style is not so conspicuous when you come on duty.' 'You might have warned me,' Stacy remarked when they were out of earshot of the office. 'I'm sorry.' Jim's sensitive face was unhappy. 'Nothing Betty said led me to expect such a tyrant.' 'She's not like this generally.' Again the pleasant voice was hesitant. 'You mean it's something to do with me?' For a moment it occurred to Stacy that Tessa Mantis knew something of her relationship with Andre. But no, that lay in the past, and it was unlikely that Andre

would have spoken of it. Uncertainly, she asked, 'What have I done to provoke such a display?' 'Nothing.' Jim chuckled quietly. 'In a way, you could call it a compliment, Tessa Mantis can't stand competition of any kind.' 'Competition?' Stacy stared at him disbelievingly. 'She was so disparaging about my nursing experience. Surely she can't see me as a threat. If that were so...' The wide brow puckered. 'Betty Hugo has far more experience than me.' 'I wasn't thinking of your professional competence.' Jim stopped walking and turned towards her. The brown eyes studied her with an intensity that was disconcerting. 'Has anyone ever told you that you're very beautiful?' he asked softly. 'Doesn't that happen to every girl at least once in a lifetime?' she smiled. 'Does it? I wouldn't know. I do know you're the loveliest girl I've seen in a long while.' 'That doesn't mean all that much.' She knew she was flirting with him, and was enjoying it. 'Not many girls to look at here at Diazinto.' And then, because she could not resist it: 'Tessa Mantis is a very beautiful woman.' His lips tightened. 'She is,' he acknowledged. 'But the word I used was "lovely". Tessa's beauty has a hardness that doesn't appeal to me. Besides,' he paused, 'it is reserved for Andre.' The words were a knife in her heart. Which was absurd after all this time. She had tried so hard to forget Andre, and had thought that to some extent she had succeeded, but his unexpected appearance today had stirred up old emotions with all their old force.

'You still haven't answered my question.' She changed the subject, hoping to cover her pain. 'Why has Tessa taken such a violent dislike to me ? And how does she behave towards Betty?' 'I thought I had answered you.' Jim paused and smiled. 'Betty is a nice girl, but nobody could call her pretty. Tessa doesn't like pretty girls. That was what I meant when I said she doesn't care for competition.' 'I see.' Stacy was quiet a moment. When she spoke again her voice was deliberately casual. 'You intimated that there was a ... an understanding between Tessa and Andre de Vries. In that case, why should she care about other girls?' 'There is an understanding.' Brown eyes regarded her thoughtfully. 'I wouldn't be surprised if Andre marries her. It's what we're all expecting. But Tessa will always regard attractive women with suspicion. It's the way she is.' There it was again—the pain in her chest. But she dared not let Jim see it. If she did, it would only be a short while until Andre and Tessa knew it too, and that would be unbearable. She managed a bright smile. 'I suppose I should be flattered.' 'You don't strike me as being the kind of girl who needs flattery.' They had walked a little way when he asked, 'Stacy, is there anything between you and Andre?' She stifled a gasp. Had it been so obvious? 'Of course not,' she said, with a calm that surprised her. 'Should there be?' 'I hope not.' His pause lent emphasis to the meaning behind his words. 'I couldn't help wondering....'

'Because I knew Andre?' Better to get this over quickly. 'That shouldn't surprise you, Jim. He's a doctor, I'm a nurse.' She smiled briefly. 'Despite Matron's derogatory remarks, I spent enough time in a hospital to have encountered a few doctors.' 'I apologise.' His voice was contrite. 'You don't have to explain it to me, Stacy.' 'There's nothing to explain, Jim.' She had to quell the rising note of hysteria welling inside her. 'I merely wanted to tell you how I came to know Andre.' 'You've told me as much as I need to know.' His free hand went about her waist, and she could not help stiffening as he drew her close for a moment. 'For reasons of my own, I hoped there was nothing between you and Andre.' He took his hand from her waist and gestured. 'See that bungalow? That's Betty's. For the present it will be yours.' The tensions and beneath-the-surface complications of the last hour were submerged for the moment as Stacy looked at the place that was to be home for the next three months. She had imagined herself living, if not in a nurses' hostel, at least in a dormitory of a kind. It had never occurred to her that she would have a bungalow of her own. The bungalow was small and white-washed, and a little apart from the rest of the compound. It was set in the lee of three flame-trees, their cactus-like flowers a deep coral against the green of the jungle, Which was only yards away. Bougainvillaea trailed over the walls of the house, evidently trained to frame the doorway. The purple flowers cascaded in wild profusion, making a cheerful contrast against the stark whiteness of the walls.

It seemed that Betty had enjoyed gardening in her spare time, for in front of the bungalow was a small patch of cultivated lawn, bordered with barberton daisies, their bright heads turned towards the sun. Next to the door was an oddly-shaped shrub which Stacy, who had lived in the milder „ climate of Johannesburg for most of her life, had never before seen. Its branches were bare and pointed upwards, as if in supplication, and its flowers were pale pink. A bloom had fallen to the ground and Stacy picked it up. The petals were smooth and velvety, and when she pressed it to her nose the fragrance was a delicate perfume. She looked up and saw that Jim was watching her. There was an intentness in the intelligent brown eyes which brought a sudden flush to her cheeks. 'What is this flower?' she asked, a little breathlessly. 'Frangipani.' 'It's lovely.' 'One of the loveliest flowers in this part of the world.' His tone was light, but she had the feeling that his words were meant to convey something entirely different. She shook herself impatiently. The unexpected meeting with Andre had thrown her off balance, so that she read hidden meanings into every glance and every word. She could not start her stay here with an over-sensitive reaction to everything that happened. Besides, she could see already that with Andre and Tessa ranged against her, she would need a friend, and Jim Howes was just about the most perfect person anyone could choose for the role. 'I don't know what sort of facilities Betty has in this bungalow,' she said with a smile, 'but if there's a kettle and a tea-bag may I offer you a cup of tea?'

'Thanks, Stacy, there are facilities, but we'll leave tea for another time. You must be exhausted. Why don't you unpack and have a rest? I'll come for you later and show you the hospital—I have the afternoon off today.' 'I'd like that.' This time her smile was not forced, but was one of genuine gratitude. More than anything she needed to be alone for a while. He left the suitcase just inside the entrance, and was about to go, when a thought struck Stacy. 'What happens about meals? You said there are facilities. ...' 'Rudimentary ones.' He shook his head ruefully. 'We don't do much cooking in our bungalows. There's a common dining-room, and we all eat together.' So she would not be able to avoid contact with Tessa and Andre, Stacy thought as she closed the door. And then she reminded herself that she could not avoid it anyway. With such a small staff, frequent contact was inevitable. If only she had known that he was working at Diazinto! Not even Betty's plight would have persuaded her to agree to come here. But she had not thought to ask Betty about the people who worked here, and now she must make the best of it—at least until she could find a way of leaving Diazinto without giving either Andre or Tessa the satisfaction of knowing that she had left because of them. The decision made, she realised suddenly that she was tired and hungry and in need of a bath. She pushed a tendril of damp hair from her forehead, and looked about her. As with the garden outside, the interior of the bungalow had been furnished with love and care. The stamp of Betty's personality was everywhere. There was only one room, a big room which doubled as living-room and

bedroom. The curtains were orange, and made of a loosely-woven sun-filter. On the divan, which seemed to double as a settee during the day and a bed at night, was a matching woven cover. Everywhere there were cushions, blending with the orange in autumn shades of milder hues. On one wall was a batik, a huge picture painted on cloth, depicting a wild-life scene, and probably the work of an African artist. On another wall hung a long fork and spoon, made of yellow wood and intricately carved. And on a table stood two beautifully carved wooden birds. The decor of the room was simple, yet tasteful and gay, and it occurred to Stacy that beneath the pleasant face of Betty Hugo dwelt the soul of a sensitive person, longing to express in her home the beauty she could not present in her person. For the first time she wished that she had had an opportunity to know the girl better. When she made her way to the kitchenette, Stacy realised why only the most rudimentary meals could be prepared here. There was a hot-plate, an electric kettle, and a tiny sink. In a cupboard against the wall was a tin filled with tea-bags, a jar of sugar and a packet of biscuits. Stacy filled the kettle with water, and when she had had her tea she went to the bathroom and ran a bath. Lying back in the warm soapy water she reflected on all that had happened in the last few hours. There was the strangeness of her arrival at the station, the relief of meeting Jim and the pleasure in the knowledge that he would be her friend. There was the enchantment of seeing Diazinto, the place that would be home for the next few weeks. There was the hostility of the Matron, puzzling at first, but understandable once Jim had explained its cause. Lastly, and more important, there was Andre. She felt her stomach muscles knot with tension at the thought of him. If she was to stay at Diazinto, for however short a period, she mustn't allow herself to

think of Andre and of what had been. Until she could sort out her thoughts and come to terms with what had never really ceased to give her pain, she could not settle down to life at the hospital. But for that she needed time. Jim was coming to fetch her. She would have to leave her thinking for a quiet hour, when she could be alone and uninterrupted. She was rested and ready for him when he came, and at his knock she opened the door. He stood in the doorway and looked at her, the surprise on his face changing to another expression altogether. For some reason her heart beat a little faster. 'Do you think Matron will be satisfied?' 'I'm not so sure.' Jim's eyes swept the auburn hair, which was now secured in a smooth chignon at the back of her neck, then went downwards, lingering on the bright eyes and smiling lips. 'This isn't what Matron had in mind?' Stacy asked hesitantly. 'I'm sure it is.' The brown eyes were warm and smiling. 'But I have a feeling she won't like the result.' 'Why?' Stacy was genuinely puzzled. 'You don't seem to be possessed of the usual female vanity.' The warmth in his eyes deepened. 'What I meant is, with this new hairstyle your loveliness is even more pronounced.' 'You're teasing me, Jim!' 'No, Stacy, I'm not. With your hair brushed back this way, the perfection of your bone structure and the flawlessness of your complexion is enhanced.'

'You do wonders for my morale, Jim.' Stacy was laughing, her cheeks the colour of a ripe peach. It was a long while since a man had shown her such admiration. 'I'd like to do more than that for you, Stacy.' He was still smiling, but there was an undercurrent of deep seriousness in his tone. For some reason, though she enjoyed his admiration and was glad of his friendship, Stacy was reluctant that he should continue in this vein. 'I think,' she suggested lightly, 'that before you turn my head completely with your flattery, we should take a walk to the hospital.'

CHAPTER THREE SHE was again conscious of a holiday atmosphere as she walked at Jim's side towards the low sprawling building, the biggest of the compound. Though she knew that the purpose of her coming to Diazinto was to work, it was impossible to remain unaffected by the beauty all round her. It was a wild and abandoned beauty, exotic and untamed, despite the astringent personality of the woman who seemed to own the place. • No hospital complex she had ever seen had had a garden like this one, with such a profusion of tropical shrubs, their perfumes and colours making a heady assault upon the senses. Here and there were clumps of banana palms, bananas dangling down in green clusters. There were pawpaw trees, the fruit clinging like round yellow balls to the tops of the trees. There was even a tree with mangoes, and Stacy's mouth watered at the sight of her favourite fruit. Behind the bungalows a few workmen were busy with pangas, curved and dangerous-looking implements. They were cutting a swathe through a tangle of undergrowth. As if they had rehearsed it, their movements were synchronised. Together they lifted their pangas, and at the same moment they executed the fast downward lunge, chanting a song as they worked. Not for the first time Stacy marvelled at the inborn sense of music and rhythm of the Africans. As she watched she guessed that it must require constant effort to keep the jungle at bay. The interior of the hospital .was also a new experience. The patients were all tribal folk, men and women and children who lived in kraals far away from the nearest city. Each bed was occupied, and as Jim introduced her to the patients there were shy smiles of welcome. Jim spoke in the dialects of the tribes, and Stacy realised this his

acquaintance with the bush and its way of life was wider than she had at first realised. As they walked he told her about the cases, and these too, she realised, were different from the illnesses found in a city hospital. There were tropical diseases, malaria and bilharzia and even a case of sleeping sickness, the dread and often fatal illness caused by the tsetse fly. There were cases of malnutrition, and of food-poisoning. But by far the most common illness seemed to be a disease of the eyes— trachoma. 'This is Andre's particular field,' Jim commented as they left the bed of a child almost blinded by the illness. 'Trachoma is his own special passion.' Stacy's head jerked up quickly. 'Really?' she asked, and was about to question Jim further, but changed her mind. Much as she longed to know more about Andre, it might prove impossible to keep the note of special interest out of her voice. To change the subject, she said, 'Your use of the African dialects is very fluent.' 'I've worked in the bush a long time. You tend to pick up the different languages.' 'You've never married?' She looked at him curiously. 'No.' At the expression which entered his eyes Stacy regretted her question. 'Though I'm by no means a confirmed bachelor. It takes a special type of woman to endure this kind of life.' There was no lightness in his tone when he went on. 'Do you feel you could learn to like it here, Stacy?' He was taking things too fast, Stacy thought with a pang of regret. She liked him very much, but it would take her a while before she

could feel herself ready for any sort of commitment with this man, even assuming that this was what he wanted. He was waiting for her answer. 'I don't know, Jim,' she said honestly. 'I'm fascinated with all I've seen, but this is my first day here. I really can't tell if I would prefer life in the bush to life in the city.' And even while she said it, she knew her answer was only partly honest. For there had been a time when, if Andre had asked the question, her reply would have been unhesitating. Whether she still felt the same way, or whether the turmoil, of emotion she had experienced at seeing him again was only the result of shock, she did not yet know. The disappointment in Jim's eyes was quickly hidden, but not so quickly that Stacy did not see it. It caught at her heart-strings. He was one of the nicest men she had met in a long while. It was quite possible that in other circumstances she would be allowing herself to respond more positively to his not very subtle remarks. But she had met him at a disadvantage. For now Andre was on the scene once more, and although it was quite clear that what had once been between them no longer existed, that he in fact belonged to another woman—in as much as Andre could belong to anybody—still, Stacy now had to sort out her feelings. Until she did so it would be impossible for her to grow too close to another man. Platonic friendship was something else again. She saw no reason why she should not be friends with somebody as likeable as Jim Howes. 'I'd like to meet the other nurses,' she said, in an attempt to cover the awkwardness of the moment.

'Of course.' His tone was a little remote, and she realised that he was hurt. Her remorse was replaced by a feeling of slight irritation. What she had said should not have been construed as hurtful. It was an honest attempt to answer to what could only be termed a precipitate question. She had seen nurses moving around the wards, shy young girls with smiling faces, but until now she had met none of them. Jim made the introductions. Stacy realised that the staff, other than Tessa Mantis, Betty, and the doctors, Andre de Vries and Jim Howes, were drawn from the tribal people of the district. In answer to her question, Jim explained that a few of the nurses had been trained in the teaching hospitals of the cities, but others, over the years, had gleaned their knowledge from the Matron. 'Tessa's a good teacher,' Jim said, in answer to the questioning look Stacy shot at him. 'Any girl who's passed through her hands will make a competent nurse.' Stacy was dismayed that the words of praise irked her. Surely she could not have developed such a violent dislike of the Matron in so short a time? She would have to take herself in hand. No matter how much the other woman riled her, she could not let her dislike show. Any feelings of discord could very quickly be blown up into something out of all proportion. 'I would imagine she would be a good teacher,' she agreed quietly. The most senior of the tribal nurses was a pretty dark-skinned girl with the name of Mara. 'Welcome to Diazinto,' she said in a soft voice. She spoke with the lilting sing-song of her people. 'We are sorry Sister Betty could not come, but we hope you will be happy.' Stacy smiled her thanks at the formal speech. 'I'm sure I will be,' she said gratefully. There was something steady and dignified and

infinitely wise in the great dark eyes of the other nurse. Stacy had the feeling that if she were in doubt of something, or needed help, she could turn to this girl and not meet with disappointment. When they had passed through the wards they came to the dispensary. Jim held the door open for her, then went to a shelf and took down a bottle. 'Malaria pills,' he told her while he made a quick note in the ledger. 'Take them regularly.' 'Thank you.' Taking the bottle, Stacy thought this was a forcible reminder that the Lowveld, though part of the same province as the city in which she lived, was a long way from home. They left the dispensary and made their way out side. They were at the back of the hospital now, an aspect of the building which Stacy had not yet seen. She stopped, intrigued by the little groups of people, some squatting on the ground, some busy cooking over fires, others washing clothes in iron tubs, and still others chattering and laughing with a great deal of animated tongue-clicking. 'Who are these people?' she asked. 'Relatives. They come to visit the sick. Often they come from quite far. Sometimes they stay here a day or two, often they wait until the patient is ready to go home.' 'Where do they sleep?' Stacy was smiling as she watched a very small boy tugging at the udders of a very tall cow with a singlemindedness which was producing the results which he sought. 'We have shelters, though often they make their own.' He pointed in the direction of two long buildings which looked as if they were still under construction. 'Right now we're building dormitories where these people can be housed adequately while they're here.'

'Tessa Mantis sounds as if she's a very resourceful woman,' Stacy observed, with reluctant admiration. 'She is.' It was said with quiet emphasis, but Stacy did not have time to ponder whether the words held a warning, for at that moment the sound of a gong boomed melodiously through the complex. 'Dinner,' Jim informed her, and Stacy marvelled at the contrasts that pertained in this jungle clearing. It seemed that the trappings of Western life and the traditional aspects of tribal culture coexisted harmoniously side by side. 'I'd like a cardigan,' she said. 'Is there time to go back and get one?' 'Of course.' For a while, after her non-committal answer to his leading question, Jim had been very quiet. Now brown eyes looked thoughtfully down into green ones. He seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. Stacy was relieved when he smiled instead and took her arm. 'It does get cool quickly, and after the heat of the day, one feels the contrast keenly. Especially when one is not used to it.' Jim walked with her to her bungalow and waited while Stacy washed her hands and took a cardigan • from her suitcase. At the last minute she ran a comb through her hair and touched her eyelids with a smidgen of green shadow. When they reached the small whitewashed bungalow which served as a dining-room, Andre, Tessa and two of the tribal nurses were already eating. Tessa was talking, her beautiful eyes sparkling and her face alight with animation. Andre listened attentively. Neither of the two looked up as Stacy walked into the room, slightly behind Jim. There was only one table.

'Well, hello...' Stacy said awkwardly as she sat down on the chair Jim held for her. Two pairs of eyes swung round to her, regarding her coldly, and the animation had vanished from Tessa's eyes. 'Hello,' she returned in a voice which could only be described as glacial. 'I believe Jim showed you around.' 'Yes, he did.' Stacy forced herself to meet the gaze which, quite blatantly, took in the hair now coiled in the neat chignon. 'Good. Then tomorrow you will be ready to begin work.' Stacy did not miss the implication that if the journey had made her too tired to commence her duties, she had not been so tired that she could not explore the hospital. 'I'm looking forward to it,' she said smoothly, and bent her eyes to the plate of soup which had been put before her. As she began to eat, she thought that if it was possible she would find a way of avoiding this kind of contact in the future. Somehow she would have to find a way of having her meals without the disapproving company of Tessa and Andre. Perhaps she could gulp her food down in the minutes before they got here. Alternatively, she could eat when they had finished. But the thought of three meals a day in their hostile company was intolerable. Stacy was relieved that Jim seemed to have recovered his spirits. He spoke in a lively cheerful way: directing his conversation mainly at Stacy. As he drew her out, getting her to comment on her impressions, telling anecdotes and generally giving the impression that he considered her an interesting person to talk to, Stacy was grateful. It did not occur to her that Jim might be making a public show of his claim to her friendship. All she knew was that his

manner made it much easier for her to retain a measure of selfassurance and composure. She looked up once to find Andre's eyes upon her. She had been laughing at one of Jim's jokes, the sound of her laughter ringing clear and bell-like in the silence that came after the telling. The laughter stopped in her throat at the sight of Andre's expression. The rugged features were stern and stiff with what Stacy could only assume to be disapproval and dislike. The strong line of his jaw was tight, and the silvered threads of hair at his temples looked very white against the tan of his face. He looked in no way discomfited or embarrassed at the fact that she had caught him off guard. In fact, she was the first to drop her eyes. Jim had begun to tell another story, but as Stacy jabbed her fork a little too viciously into a piece of steak, her concentration wavered from his words. There was a creeping coldness inside her at the knowledge that Andre disliked her quite as much as he did. Dinner over, Stacy pleaded tiredness as her excuse when Jim suggested a walk. More than anything, she wanted to be alone for a while, to think, to sort out her feelings, to ponder over what had once been and which needed to be seen in its proper perspective before it would cease to torment her. Pleasantly she responded to the Matron's terse reminder that she was expected to be on duty at precisely seven-thirty the next morning. As cordially as she was able, she said goodnight to Andre, Tessa and the nurses, and then allowed Jim to walk with her to the little bungalow at the edge of the compound. She hoped that she would not have to argue with him when she reached her door, but, as if he understood her desire to be alone, he did not repeat his invitation to walk. 'Goodnight, Jim.' Through strained features she smiled up at him.

'Goodnight, Stacy.' He leaned forward and his lips touched her forehead, but he made no attempt to pull her towards him. 'Sweet dreams.' She closed the door behind him, relieved that she could at last let her face relax from its forced smile. With the closing of the door she was aware of the sudden stillness, the sense of being quite alone and far from home. Home had not been much, never more than the home of the person she was nursing. But it had been something she knew and understood even if she did hot find it very stimulating. This little bungalow was something else. It was just a tiny refuge in the midst of the wildness and vastness of the forests. Normally Stacy would have been enthralled by the sense of excitement and adventure, the thrill and uncertainty of the unknown. But at this moment all she felt was a numbing loneliness and depression. Andre! Who would have thought that he still had the power to dominate her thoughts, to influence her emotions to such an extent! Earlier in the day, when she had felt herself drawn to Jim, she had thought that at last she was free from the spectre which had haunted her for two years, forbidding her to enjoy the company of other men. She had hoped that the pain which had been with her for so long had vanished with the acceptance, finally, that what had once existed between them was over. She realised now that the hope had been based on an illusion. In agreeing to take Betty's place, she had thought that Diazinto and the change of scene might be the catalyst she needed to bring about the mental healing which had never occurred, even after her body had recovered from its injuries. Little had she realised that she would be forced into the company of the very man who was responsible for her painful emotions.

If she was nothing else, Stacy was a fighter. She would not let the situation get her down, she resolved all at once. Perhaps Andre's presence here might in fact achieve the very thing she had hoped for. It could well be that for two years she had been hankering for a phantom. The physical presence of the man might lay the phantom for all time. The first step was to let herself think, to force herself to remember. Only that way could she ever come to terms with herself and find the peace of mind she so desperately desired. It was not long after she finished her training that she met him. Andre de Vries, the handsome doctor who had every nurse at the hospital swooning for his favours. She had watched him go from one to another, like a bee tasting the pollen of a hundred pretty flowers. He had never bestowed his attention on any girl for long. That had not been his style. He was the prototype of the confirmed bachelor, sure of himself and of his attraction, enjoying the company of only the loveliest girls, passing on to the next one when he became bored, or when it seemed that the girl of the moment was foolish enough to think that his attentions were serious. By and large most girls had been content to let him play the game in his. own way. It had been a sign of status to be the girl of the moment in the life of Dr Andre de Vries. When his affections had waned, the particular girl would have gained enough glory to make her the immediate target of another goodlooking man. Stacy had watched and observed from a distance. It was said that Andre de Vries was interested only in the prettiest girls, the girls with the most perfect figures and the most attractive faces. In her own eyes Stacy was far from beautiful. True, she had nice hair and a good figure, and there were those who said her eyes were lovely, but she knew that she did not have the chocolate-box prettiness of the

nurses dated by Andre de Vries. In a way she was glad. She suspected that it would be all too easy to fall in love with the man. If she were to be discarded by him, she doubted she could get over it with the ease of her friends. She had been caught off guard when he had asked her out for the first time. By then she had left the hospital and was caring for Mr Allison. Inside herself she realised she was wrong to accept his invitation; even then she had realised that it would lead to eventual heartbreak. Yet, like the proverbial moth in its inability to resist flame, she had been unable to resist him. That she would fall in love with him had been inevitable from the beginning. It was not only that he was handsome, that he had the striking dark features and broad powerful build of an ancient stormgod. There was something about him which made him tower above any man she had known before;—or since. Sitting now in the growing darkness in the room on the edge of the forests, she was forced to acknowledge it. Andre, despite the changes in his outward appearance, was still possessed of the same aura of strength and power, of virility and sensualness, which he had always had. In a strange way these qualities seemed even more pronounced now than they had been two years ago. Yet time had wrought changes in the tall competent doctor. She had seen them at once, and wondered at their cause. At thirty-seven, Andre de Vries had an air of sureness and authority which he had not had in quite the same measure two years earlier. She did not remember that his face had been so spare, his expression so stern. It was not only that his hair had silvered at the temples, there was a new arrogance in his eyes, new lines about his mouth. While the virility had not gone, nor the sensual masculinity, the look of laughter and daring which had made him the darling of the nurses had been replaced by an expression of tautness and purpose. It was an expression which, in Stacy's eyes, only increased his stature and

appeal. Jim Howes had said that Andre had an interest in trachoma, and she could believe it. There was something about the lean and rugged features which indicated that dedication to his career had become more important than a rollicking social life. She wondered at the cause of the change, and inevitably her thoughts turned to Tessa Mantis. Had this woman, beautiful and competent and apparently equally dedicated, been responsible for the new expression of purpose? Stacy could not help the stab of feeling that shot through her, and she recognised the jealousy for what it was. With an effort she turned her mind back. For too long she had shied away from thinking about it, but until she let herself relive what had been she would not be free of its spell. For that time had been one of enchantment. It had lasted seven weeks, and during that time Andre de Vries had been her constant companion. They had spent all their free time together. He had wined and dined her at Johannesburg's most exciting night-spots, and often when he had brought her back to the nurse's home she had been drunk with happiness and music and fun. They had contrived to have the same week-ends free, and on Sundays had driven to the Vaal River where Andre had a boat. Closing her eyes, Stacy could see the boat-deck, bathed in sunshine. She would be stretched out on a towel in her bikini, while Andre was busy with the steering. Now and then he would come to her side, bringing her a cold drink. He would run a sure hand over her bare shoulders and down her back, dropping beside her to kiss her with lips warm from the sun. When he went back to the wheel she would watch him, glorying in the sight of the tanned muscular body. She had known it could not last, but she had not known that when it ended it would be quite so drastic.

From the beginning Stacy had understood that the relationship was only a temporary one. When they had been together more than a month her status had risen sharply in the eyes of all who knew her. A month was a long time for a girl to hold the attentions of Andre de Vries. Nobody knew that Stacy had fallen in love with Andre, and that while their time together had become; daily more precious, it was also a torment. For she knew that he must never guess at her feelings. If he did, he would end the relationship abruptly. It was so well known that Andre de Vries was a confirmed bachelor that any girl who let herself regard his attentions as serious turned out the inevitable loser. There was only one way to handle the situation, and that was to play the game as coolly as he did. And so Stacy set out to show that she was a liberated female, that she could enjoy a relationship without developing emotional hang ups. A bachelor girl who liked to enjoy herself. Lots of fun and laughter with no strings attached. This was the image she presented to Andre, while her real feelings, her true emotions were kept well hidden. It was a measure of her naiveté that she had not foreseen that the day would come when Andre would ask her to spend a whole weekend with him. As it was, the. invitation caught her off balance, for her worldliness was only a pose. It was not enough to prepare her to cope with the reality of the situation, and she did not know what to say. Andre seemed to take it for granted that she would come, and though it was not discussed, they both knew that the weekend would see a new step in their relationship. She did not need to ask Andre if there would be separate bedrooms—the answer was obvious. Outwardly Stacy remained composed and assured. Sure, she would go—if she could get away from Mr Allison that particular week-end. Inwardly she was shaken. This was the moment of truth, and she was not ready for it. She loved Andre. She hungered to be with him in the way that he wanted. But not as his

mistress, only as his wife. And that would never be. Andre's views were perfectly clear; she knew them not only from hearsay. Whenever she had told him there could be no strings attached, he had laughed and said he felt the same way. She had played the game as he had seemed to want it. But the game had taken a new turn, unexpected only to herself, and that, she realised now, was because she had been too innocent, a child playing with fire and out of its depth when the flames left the hearth. For days she went about in confusion, her mind constantly mulling over her problem. She even went so far as to write out the pros and cons of the matter, hoping that she would thus see it in better perspective. Her upbringing and her own sense of integrity told her it would be wrong to spend the week-end with Andre. But times had changed, she tried to tell herself. The era when a girl was condemned by society for sleeping with a man before marriage no longer existed. Most of her friends did it quite openly, so why couldn't she? But there was more to her dilemma than the problem of morality, and all of it centred around her love for Andre. If she consented to go, when the break-up came, as it inevitably must, for Andre de Vries sooner or later grew tired of even the most exciting girls, the attendant heartbreak would be even greater if she had let him make love to her fully. On the other hand, she sensed without asking that if she did not go her worldly image would be shattered. Andre would be contemptuous, and the relationship would be at an end. She loved him so much that the thought of a break-up brought with it physical pain. It was a pain that she felt that she could not cope with. Not yet. Not for a long time. Not until what was possibly only wild infatuation had abated.

And so, two days before the week-end, she made her decision. She told Andre that she could get Saturday and Sunday off. Great, he said, and then he told her where she should meet him. Stacy spent Friday night in a fever of sleeplessness. She was being ridiculous, she told herself passionately. Not one of her friends would be suffering her torments. She was living in the seventies, and her morality was outdated. But by the time morning came she knew that she could not change a lifetime of thinking. She would give anything to be Andre's wife, but she could not bring herself to be his mistress. She would have to let him know. She tried to phone him, but there was no answer. Perhaps he had been called out on an emergency in the early hours of the morning. Despairingly she tried the phone twice more. But in the end she had to accept it. She would have to go to meet him, to tell him face to face that she could not go through with it. Fatigue made her late that morning. Then came the phone call from Mr Allison's niece which delayed her. As she sped along the busy streets, her head aching, she tried to prepare herself for his reaction. He would be disbelieving at first, and then contemptuous. There was no question that their relationship would be ended. She Could only hope that when the moment came to say goodbye, she would have the strength not to cry. Vaguely she remembered the car bearing down on her. All else was blank. If there had been pain and suffering during the first week after the accident, her mind had mercifully relieved her of the memory. What she did remember was the let-down feeling when she was finally able to leave the hospital. There had been no word from Andre. He had not cared enough even to visit her. Coupled with the sadness she had felt at this proof that his feelings for her had never been anything but superficial, there had been a slight sense of relief.

Andre, the handsome fun-loving Andre, whose boast it had been that he chose his girl-friends only from the most attractive women, would be repelled by the ugliness caused by the accident. Though he would not be able to see her leg, hidden beneath the hospital covers, he would know of it. As a doctor, he would be able to visualise how it looked. More than anything, Stacy knew that she could not bear to endure his pity. Pity was the one thing she could not bear to see in him even now. Dislike, contempt, these emotions were easier to tolerate in the man she loved. For even now, after only two brief encounters with him, Stacy knew that the old feelings still persisted. Which was ridiculous! she told herself despairingly. It was impossible to love a man who had behaved with the shallowness of Andre de Vries. Sadly she knew that the next weeks would be hard to endure unless she managed to develop a shell of hardness and unconcern, even if that unconcern was as much a pretence as her worldliness had once been. The best thing would be to limit her contact with Andre as much as was possible. Obviously she could not avoid it altogether— the isolation and size of the hospital made it impossible. But she must limit the contact to professional matters. It was evident that Andre would be satisfied with her efforts and play along with them. It was quite clear that Tessa Mantis was the woman he was interested in. It seemed that for the first time in his life he felt an emotion which went deeper than the superficiality of mere enjoyment. As for Stacy herself, it was lucky that Jim Howes was so eager to be her friend. The sense of depression became so intense that she could not bear it. Now that it was dark there was something claustrophobic about the room. With its many personal touches it was a cosy room, but it was nevertheless the expression of Betty's personality. To Stacy, the bungalow assumed all at once the impersonality of a hotel room.

A walk was what she needed to clear her head. She took up the cardigan she had discarded on coming into the bungalow, and went outside.

CHAPTER FOUR IT was very dark, so dark that for a moment she hesitated, uncertain where she was walking. After a few moments her eyes became adjusted to the darkness, and she was able to identify the bungalows around her, and the low sprawling hospital building a little distance away. Slowly she began to walk. She had always loved being outdoors at night, but this was something beyond her experience. Behind curtained windows lights shone in the hospital and-in the bungalows, but beyond the compound, surrounding it on all sides, was the jungle. During the day it had had a brooding mysterious quality. At night it seemed ominous, dangerous, with a deeper blackness than the sky. From the direction of the hospital came the sound of muted talk, an occasional ring of laughter, probably the sounds of the relatives she had seen camped there earlier in the day, Stacy surmised. The scent of the wood-smoke from their fires was still discernible. But where Stacy walked, it was very quiet, there was no sign of the staff, of Jim or Andre or Tessa, and Stacy could only guess that they spent the evenings in their rooms, reading or writing letters, listening to the radio perhaps. The air was heavy with the mingled scent of the tropical flowers, and as her ears grew attuned to a silence not found in a city, Stacy became aware of the noises of the jungle. There was the high shrilling of the crickets, always, a sound in Africa at night, but added to this were unidentifiable shufflings in the trees. There was a barking sound somewhere to the left of her, one that did not belong to a dog. Could it be a baboon? There was the dull croaking of frogs, and suddenly out of the darkness came a low animal shriek. Stacy's blood chilled at the sound.

She had forgotten for a while how near Diazinto was to the Kruger National Park, the enormous sanctuary where wild beasts roamed at will, and where there were few fences to restrain them. It was probable that the jungle teemed with a wild-life of its own. Not lions perhaps, she tried to reassure herself, but baboons and buck and certainly leopards. Even further south, where civilization had made greater inroads in the bush, it was not unusual to read of a leopard killing a farmer's cattle. She shivered as she glanced at that blackness behind the comforting light of the nearest bungalows. It gave her an eerie feeling to think that in the dark mass of shifting shadows animals were hunting and being hunted, that a leopard could be yards away from where she stood. At a light rustling in the grass she spun around, her hand clapping her mouth to stifle the instinctive exclamation of fear. 'You're so frightened of me?' The voice was cool and mocking. 'Andre!' She drew a deep breath of relief. Much as she had not wanted to meet him, the tall figure was reassuring at a moment when she had feared that she was about to be attacked. 'Who did you think it was?' he asked politely. 'Jim, perhaps? If so, you'd have had no reason to be frightened.' Stacy tried to stem the shivering in her limbs, hating him for his sarcasm. 'I don't happen to be planning a rendezvous,' she said with asperity. 'And I can assure you, I'm not frightened of Jim. He's the friendliest person I've met here.' He laughed mirthlessly. 'Thank you, Stacy. The implication is not lost on me.'

'I didn't think it would be.' It sounded weak, she knew, but she was finding it difficult to summon the stinging reply he deserved. 'You haven't been exactly friendly since I got here.' 'You were expecting the red carpet treatment?' The note of mockery in his tone was new- It was one of the changes which the last two years seemed to have wrought in him. Or was it just that she had been too blinded by love to have noticed it before? 'Just common or garden friendliness,' she snapped back. 'We don't have time for the social amenities at Diazinto.' There was no apology in his voice. He laughed shortly. 'Why did you come here, Stacy?' 'To help Betty out.' She tried to keep her voice steady. More than anything, she did not want him to know how much he hurt her. 'You left the comforts of private nursing to help a friend? A noble gesture.' 'Why do you try to make it seem cheap?' As she blinked back tears in the darkness, she wondered what had happened to make Andre so bitter. 'Because it's utterly out of character.' It was said with contempt. 'What do you know of my character, Andre?' she demanded lowtoned, concealing the anger that was growing inside her. 'Enough, my dear, enough.' The endearment sounded derogatory. He was baiting her, trying to make her lose her temper. And then, when she had spoken impulsively, he would crush her with an icy arrogance.

'You look down on private nursing,' she said quietly. 'What do you really know about it, Andre?' 'Enough to know that it can be trying at times,' he acknowledged. 'But I also know that unless a patient is really ill, the life can be comfortable and relatively undemanding.' 'Meaning that I won't fit in at Diazinto.' It was a statement, not a question. 'Meaning that you'll find it a darn sight harder than anything you've encountered before.' 'And you don't think I'm up to it?' she asked tautly. 'No, my dear,' was the even rejoinder, 'I don't think you are.' Stacy drew a deep steadying breath. 'Then I'll have to prove you wrong.' She paused and said quietly, 'Strange how one never really knows people. I never saw you as loathsome before, Andre. And yet that hateful streak must have been present all the time.' 'Perhaps it was,' he returned equably. 'Just as your unreliability must have been part of your not very estimable character.' Stacy bit her lip. The suspicion that had been growing inside her was confirmed. The fact that she had not kept their appointment still rankled. To the sought-after Andre de Vries it must have been a new experience to be stood up by a date. For a moment she contemplated telling him what had really happened that day, how she had lain unconscious in an ambulance at the very moment when he had been waiting for her in the restaurant. The idea was tempting, very tempting in the sense that it might make her stay at Diazinto just a little more tolerable. It would be good to see Andre grovel.

In the same instant she knew that Andre de Vries would never grovel, not to anyone. He would apologise, yes, but he would not allow himself to feel humiliated because he had misjudged a situation simply because he had never been told the facts. But even an apology would not be worth his pity. Sarcasm, contempt, arrogance, these were qualities which she would have to find ways of dealing with. But pity was the one thing she could not tolerate, especially when it came from Andre de Vries. With this thought came another. It would be easy enough to leave Diazinto. Why stay in a place where she was not wanted? It would not be difficult to find an excuse to leave. But beneath Stacy's fragile exterior lay an underlying core of steel. She would not leave the hospital just because Andre and Tessa wanted to see her gone. She had promised Betty that she would take her place, and she would keep her word. Neither did she mind admitting to herself that it would give her a certain grim satisfaction to prove to Andre how far he had misjudged her. 'There's not much point in continuing with this line of conversation, Andre,' she said at last, and wondered at the control that kept her tone calm. 'Your insults won't drive me away.' By the light shining from one of the bungalows Stacy could see his face and the muscle that tightened in the rigid line of his jaw. Quite suddenly he smiled, a dangerous smile which brought tension to Stacy's nerve-stream. 'Insults, Stacy? That's a matter of semantics, surely. I'd have said truth was more to the point.' His eyes glittered mockingly. 'I agree that words won't drive you away, but other things might do the trick.'

'Such as?' she flung at him recklessly, and was sorry a moment later that she had risen to his bait. 'The heat, and the lack of civilised amenities,' he drawled. 'You're telling me something I didn't know?' she asked sarcastically. 'What about animals?' His voice was smooth and sleek as he grinned down at her. 'You never did like creepy-crawlies, did you, my sweet? You'll find lots of them here.' He chuckled mirthlessly as he noted the shudder she was unable to repress. 'And the animals of the wild. You heard the cry in the bush just before I came on the scene? That was a hyena.' 'You won't frighten me!' she flung at him. A hand shot out and gripped her arm in a vice of steel. 'Don't try to be clever, Stacy. Walking on the edge of the jungle at night isn't brave, it's just damn foolhardy.' 'You wouldn't care if a hyena attacked me,' she accused bitterly. 'You're wrong,' he said, and his tone was level. 'My time is at a premium. I can't waste precious time amputating an arm due to a totally unnecessary accident, when I could be doing something more constructive.' 'I'd heard you were a swine, Andre de Vries,' Stacy said blindly,' and you've just confirmed it. You're the most....' She got no further because the hand that still gripped her arm twisted her around. She was so close to him that she could not only see the fury in the chiselled mask of his face, but could also feel the hardness of his body against hers. An uncontrollable shiver shot through her.

'Let me go!' she hissed. 'Be careful, Stacy. I'm warning you.' 'Of animals?' she taunted, excitement mounting inside her. 'Of me. You'll push me just so far and no further. I took your nonsense once. Next time you'll get exactly what you're asking for.' 'It's easy to threaten when you have brute strength on your side.' She knew she was fanning the flames of his anger, but her inner excitement was goading her to dangerous extremes. Where his body touched hers she felt as if she had been pressed against an electric current. He pushed her from him so abruptly that she stumbled and fell. Panting a little from shock, she looked up at him. He towered above her, fierce and powerful and aggressively masculine. Even in the dim light she could see that he was angry in a manner she had never experienced. Wildly she wondered if he meant to hit her. He made no move towards her, but neither did he make any effort to help her up. Slowly, with all the dignity she could muster, Stacy got to her feet. She smoothed down her shirt and pushed back the strand of hair that had escaped the confines of the chignon. The actions gave her time to steady her heightened breathing and to regain a modicum of composure. 'I think I understand, Andre de Vries,' she said, when she could trust her voice. 'The battle lines have been drawn.' 'They've been drawn a long time, honey,' came the soft rejoinder. 'What hurt pride does to the male ego!' she said, with a brittle laugh.

He did not answer, but she heard the swift intake of breath and had the satisfaction of knowing that she had drawn blood. Emboldened by the victory, Stacy was able to speak quite firmly. 'I will not leave Diazinto. Nothing you can do or say will drive me away. I gave my word to Betty and I intend to keep it. I don't care what you think about me, Andre. And the same goes for your lady-friend.' 'If you're referring to Tessa,' Andre said levelly, 'I'd advise you to spare the insults.' 'Are you going to marry her, Andre?' The question was out before she knew it. 'That's my business.' There was warning in his tone. 'You'll be tied to an ice-maiden if you do.' What was it that drove her on heedlessly, unable to stop? 'Keep out of my business, Stacy.' Now his tone was edged with a terrible coldness. 'I'll be happy to.' Her voice held only a slight tremor. She was about to turn away when he stopped her. 'I must make one thing perfectly clear. You can expect no favours from me. You will do everything the other nurses do.' 'Naturally.' She smiled at him blandly. 'As long as that's understood. Don't use the heat or the primitive conditions as an excuse to get out of things. And if you run foul of Tessa, don't come crying to me.' 'I never have gone crying to you, Andre,' Stacy said very quietly, wondering at the depth of his hatred for her. 'I don't intend to start now.'

'Just one last thing we should get straight.' Andre's tone was so totally without expression that Stacy guessed instinctively what was coming. 'Leave Jim Howes alone.' 'Sorry, Andre.' She spoke flatly, and her lip curled. 'That area is beyond your jurisdiction.' 'Meaning that you intend to make a fool of Jim.' His voice was hard, and even in the dark she could see that his eyes held the glimmer of steel. 'Meaning that my personal relationships have absolutely nothing to do with you.' 'Wrong.' His lips were tight. 'When your flirtations can ruin the working ability of a colleague, then they're very much my business.' 'Don't you think Jim can take care of himself?' 'Not in this case. He's half the way to falling in love with you, and you're doing nothing to discourage him.' 'I like Jim,' she said saucily. 'Like!' He ground out the word. 'I'm warning you, Stacy—keep out of his way.' 'Don't try to dictate to me, Dr de Vries.' Recklessly she lashed out an arm. She did not mean her hand to hit his cheek. When it did, she said a little shakily, 'Sorry about that. But my personal life is my own. You can't tell me what to do.' 'We'll see about that.' The words came out raspingly. Before she could do anything to stop him he seized her again, and this time his arms were merciless bands of steel. 'You've been asking for this all evening, and now you're going to get what you deserve!'

'Leave me alone!' Her voice was shrill. 'No!' She opened her mouth, but his lips stifled her scream. His mouth crushed hers relentlessly, bruising her lips as he forced them apart. Her slender frame moulded against his long hard one, so tightly that it was an effort to breathe. She pummelled her fists against his body, in a vain attempt to get away. And all the time the blood pounded in her veins, so that she felt more alive than she had done for as long as she could remember. 'You are a swine!' she flung at him when he let her go at last. 'And you're a hellcat.' His teeth were strong and white in the darkness, and his eyes were wild. 'Don't do that again ever !' 'Only when I feel like it,' he said succinctly. 'And don't try to pretend that you didn't like it. Even you couldn't be outrageous enough to deny your responses.' 'I hate you, Andre de Vries,' she said softly, with as much venom as she could muster. 'I hate you more than anyone I know.' He laughed, and despite herself she shivered as her maddened senses reacted to the sensual quality of the sound. 'Don't be so dramatic. Who's talking about hate—or love? All we're talking about is physical reaction. Don't try .to kid yourself on yours, sweet.' Another wicked grin, and, without a word of farewell, he left her. Stacy watched him merge with the darkness, a tall lithe figure, powerful as the animals of the wild, confident and sure of himself.

For a time, while Andre had been with her, such was the dominant force of his personality that she had been aware of nothing else. Now, alone in the darkness, she heard for the first time the beating of the drums. It was a rhythmic sound, pulsating and earthy, carrying for miles through the still night air. The primitive throbbing, as basic as the pulsing of her own heartbeat, seemed to fan her excitement. She had put on a show of bravado when she had told Andre that she would stay at the hospital. It had been a matter of not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had frightened her away. Now she knew all at once that she wanted to stay—despite Andre. Or was it because of him? She could not be clear about her reason. But she did know that this place had a vital primeval quality which had been missing from her life until now. She would not leave it until Betty returned to take her rightful place, and nothing Andre could say or do would persuade her otherwise. A laughing cry sounded through the jungle, maniacal and ominous. The hyena again. Still borne on the tide of an enormous exhilaration, Stacy was not frightened by the sound. The animal was not after her. It would not leave the dark anonymity of the forest to venture into the compound, where lights signalled civilisation with all its adherent dangers. Still, it made sense not to stay quite so near to the edge of the trees. Smiling a little, she made her way towards Betty's bungalow, where the light, behind the windows signalled her own private sanctuary.

Stacy awoke when the first grey light of dawn crept through the sunfilter curtains. Still filled with the same exhilaration which had

gripped her the previous night, she hurried out of bed and ran to the window. It was still early, time for a stroll before breakfast and the commencement of her duties. She showered quickly, and slipped on a cherry-red shirt and a pair of jeans. She brushed her hair, and looked mischievously at her reflection in the mirror. What would Matron say if she could see her now? But this time was her own, and she meant to make the most of it. Lights shone in the hospital, but the remainder of the compound was silent and asleep. The air was crisp and fragrant, like freshly-corked champagne, and Stacy was glad that she had slipped back for her cardigan. Dew moistened the ground, and clung to twigs and bushes in silver cobwebs of delicate design. Birds called in the trees, and in a banana palm a few brightly coloured .parakeets squabbled noisily. A sudden movement caught Stacy's eye. She stood quite still, aware that she was being watched. And then she saw it. A klipspringer was poised on the edge of the jungle, its dainty body looking smooth and freshly-groomed, its pointed ears aquiver. It stayed quite motionless for a long moment, and then, with a graceful bound, it vanished in the tangle of undergrowth. There were sounds of other animals astir in the forests, and Stacy could only wonder at the abundance of wild-life that might be no more than yards away. A low trumpeting echoed through the stillness, and for a second her blood froze. Surely there could be no elephants so nearby? And then she remembered again the proximity of Diazinto to the Kruger Park. It seemed that noise could travel more miles than she had realised. She took a path that she had not seen before. It was bordered with frangipani and aloes, and was well tended enough to make her think

it must be used often. She came upon the swimming-pool quite suddenly. It was built into the rock, so that two of its walls were sheer rock-face. Enchanted, she looked into the water, grey and mysterious in the half-light. What bliss it would be to cool off in this pool after the heat of the day! Then her eyes clouded as she recalled the unsightly scars on her leg. For the most part she had learnt to live with her disfigurement. Though she did not like them, the curious looks directed her way when she went swimmings no longer made her as uncomfortable as they had done at the beginning. But here at Diazinto she could not swim. There was always the risk that André would see her leg. Andre, who could only look upon a woman as a desirable being if she had a perfect body. What did it matter what Andre thought? she tried to rationalise. He was lost to her. He had been lost even before the accident, when she had made the decision not to spend the week-end with him. Deep in thought, she did not hear the soft sound of footfalls in the thick damp grass. 'A wood-nymph,' a laughing voice remarked from behind her. And, as she spun round in alarm, 'Hello, Stacy.' 'Jim!' Relieved, she relaxed her face in a smile. 'You don't look a day older than fourteen. You're sure you're not putting us all on, pretending you're a grown woman?' Despite the jest in his words there was no lightness in the gaze that lingered on the long hair, damp where she had brushed against dew- drops, the soft pink cheeks and the sparkling emerald eyes. 'I'm all of twenty-three,' she said, a little breathless under the frankly admiring gaze. 'But you'll have to let my work prove that to you if you don't believe me.'

'I think I do believe you,' he said very softly. He came towards her, and an arm slid around her waist, drawing her near. 'You're all woman, aren't you, Stacy?' 'Yes, Jim, I suppose I am.' A warm flush stained her cheeks as she remembered the previous evening. Jim's proximity did not arouse in her the excitement that Andre's touch had provoked. She felt nothing more than a pleasurable sense of enjoyment in the fact that this very nice man found her attractive. Yet it bothered her that her mind raced back involuntarily to her response to Andre's brutal kisses. For some reason the memory was disconcerting. 'You seemed alarmed when you heard my voice.' His arm was still around her waist. 'Who did you think it was, Stacy?' 'Andre.' The answer came out before she had had time to think about it. She bit her lip, and saw that Jim's face had darkened. 'Why should Andre frighten you?' he asked quietly. 'I'm not frightened of him.' She injected into her tone a degree of firmness that was unnecessary. 'If it's not fear, then it must be something else.' The intelligent brown eyes were steady, penetrating. Stacy knew a moment of irritation that he would not let the matter alone. 'You said there was nothing between the pair of you.' 'There isn't.' The denial was swift. 'Then why the alarm when you thought it was André who'd surprised you?'

'I.. ..' She swallowed. 'I had a brush with Andre last night. He ... he wasn't very friendly -' 'Then there really isn't anything between you?' Jim was so nice, she wanted so much to like him. If only he would stop talking about Andre! She found his persistence discomforting. 'There's nothing, Jim.' She spoke steadily. On Andre's side nothing was left of what, for him, had in any event never been anything more than a flirtation. On her own side? She did not want to dwell on her own feelings, not even to herself. There was no future in a relationship that at best could never be more than one-sided. And when the other partner made his contempt and dislike as clear as Andre did, the sooner any remaining emotions were discarded the better. So, as far as she was concerned, what she said to Jim was the truth. 'I'm glad,' he said, and his breath was warm on her cheek. 'And I'm glad you've come to Diazinto. I want to get to know you better, Stacy.' 'I'd like that,' she said breathlessly. 'If I can manage to see that our free days coincide, will you come out with me? We could take a drive through the Kruger Park.' 'That would be super.' She smiled at him, thinking once again how very appealing he was. She was lucky to have Jim for a friend. His eyes and his tone suggested more than friendship, but this was only because there was a dearth of female company at Diazinto. It was not possible for a relationship to acquire depth in a short time, and once Betty came back to the hospital Stacy would leave. No doubt Jim would transfer his affections to the friendly, freckled girl.

Before she had time to protest he drew her to him. 'You're very lovely,' he said softly, one finger tracing the outline of her wide green eyes, then going up to smooth a tendril of hair from her forehead. She looked up at him, waiting for his mouth to descend to hers, and wondering how it was possible to remain so calm with one man, when another man, and not a very nice one at that, could set one's pulses racing in a frenzy of uncontrollable excitement. His lips touched hers, gently, then with a growing passion that lost nothing of its tenderness. Almost despairingly she willed herself to try to feel some emotion. If she could respond only to Andre then her future as a woman, sharing a life with another man in the future, was very bleak. She reached up and twined her arms around his neck. Jim's own arms loosened quite suddenly, and she stared at him, puzzled. He was looking at a point somewhere beyond her, and his nice sensitive face was wreathed in embarrassment. She tensed. Without looking around she understood the reason for Jim's unease. When the voice came, arrogant and contemptuous, she had to steel herself not to betray an embarrassment of her own. 'Sorry to break this up'—Andre sounded anything but sorry—'but you're wanted at the hospital, Jim. The child with the burn has taken a bad turn.' 'I was worried about that.' Stacy could not help the twinge of annoyance at the fact that Jim was mumbling. It was as if he had been discovered in some indecent display. He turned to Stacy, and his eyes were unhappy. 'Be seeing you.' All at once her annoyance was transferred to Andre. By what right did he presume to dictate to people with regard to their private

lives? It was not that he had said anything much, but the tone of his voice and the iciness in his face made his derision clear. 'Jim!' Stacy called to the younger man as he began to walk away. He stopped and turned, his face still troubled. 'I look forward to our outing in the Kruger Park,' she said defiantly, shooting him a dazzling smile. When Jim had gone, Stacy turned on Andre, emerald eyes blazing. 'Was it necessary to embarrass him?' 'You'd lay Jim's embarrassment at my door?' Andre asked mockingly. 'Yes.' Her voice quivered with anger. 'You're asking for more punishment, aren't you, Stacy?' His voice was lazy, but there was nothing lazy about the gaze that registered every detail of her appearance, moving from her eyes and lips to linger knowingly on the breasts that heaved beneath her thin blouse. Stacy was aware of the quickened beat of her pulse, as she met his gaze defiantly. 'Don't you dare touch me!' she hissed. 'You're quite safe.' His lips curved in a mirthless smile. 'If I wanted to touch you, you could do nothing to stop me. As it happens, I'm not in the mood right now to play games with a capricious child.'

CHAPTER FIVE SHE would have given breakfast a skip—the thought of sitting down with Andre and Tessa was nauseating—but the events of the morning had given her an appetite. She would not manage to get through the day if she did not eat. Besides, she thought angrily, she would not give Andre the satisfaction of thinking that his outrageous behaviour had succeeded in frightening her. She surveyed herself critically in the mirror. Even Tessa would be hard put to find fault with her immaculate appearance. Betty's white uniform fitted her well. As for her hair, the offending auburn mane was brushed securely back in its shining chignon. Andre and Tessa were already eating when Stacy entered the diningroom. Jim was not there. Stacy managed a polite smile. It would be an awkward meal. 'Good morning,' she said formally. 'Good morning, Sister,' Tessa Mantis returned equally formally. Coolly she took in Stacy's appearance, and Stacy saw her lips tighten fractionally. Really, this was absurd! The older woman was quite beautiful in her sterile way. Surely she could not see every newcomer as a threat? 'I hope you slept well:' Andre's tone was polite, but his eyes gleamed with malice. 'Thank you, I had two nightmares,' Stacy returned sweetly. 'What a shame that you didn't come to my rescue, Doctor.' 'You didn't scream?' His eyes were mocking. 'Something stopped me.' Her own tone was laced with sarcasm.

Tessa's ice-blue eyes narrowed in disapproval. 'Your frivolity is illtimed, Sister,' she snapped, 'Your shift begins in ten minutes.' 'I'll be ready,' Stacy promised sweetly, and saw Andre's eyes flick her impassively. No doubt he was annoyed that she had dared to answer back the woman he intended to marry. Perversely the thought gave her pleasure. For the rest of the day Stacy was so busy that she had no time to brood over Tessa and Andre. Mara, the lovely dark-skinned girl with the pretty smile, took her to the big airy room which was to be her ward, and explained her duties. On the previous day Stacy had received no more than a superficial and overall impression of the hospital. Now, as Mara talked in her lilting sing-song voice, she realised that the hospital was an extremely well run institution. Much as she did not like Tessa, she had to admire her competence, for it seemed that much of the planning and layout could be attributed to her. Yet for all its spotless efficiency, there were nevertheless great differences between Diazinto and a modern city hospital. There was a simple charm here which fascinated Stacy. Time spent in this place would be an experience in more than one way. Not only would she be living and working in a place totally different from anything she had ever known, but she would also be gaining experience in illnesses which, until now, had existed for her only in a textbook. She had never nursed patients with tropical sicknesses, nor had she had any contact with trachoma, the dreaded disease of the African bush. The ward in which she worked was filled mainly with trachoma patients, and although she had learned not to become emotionally involved with her patients, nevertheless her heart went out to these people, many, of whom were almost sightless. Most of all, she felt compassion for the children.

If Andre was interested in trachoma, as Jim had said, then she could only wish him luck in his endeavours. Already she realised that nothing should be spared to eliminate this disease. It was near the end of the day that she met Tessa. It was hot, an enervating heat which Stacy had not encountered before. Yesterday, perhaps because she had not been working, the heat had been bearable. Now, she felt tired and drained. Her shoulders drooped as she pushed a medicine trolley along the lino-floored corridor. In a few days, perhaps, she would grow accustomed to the heat and would regain her normal stamina, but at this moment she could only think longingly of a cool shower. At sight of the Matron, as crisply spruce as she had been earlier in the day, Stacy squared her aching shoulders and pushed a sweatdampened tendril of hair from her forehead. The Matron stopped. She did not speak as she took in every detail of Stacy's appearance, but her contempt was plain, and once more Stacy felt anger rising within her. Was Tessa Mantis a superwoman, or was she an ordinary human being, possessed of the usual mortal frailties? Why did she make no allowances for the fact that her new nurse had still to become acclimatised to the sapping heat of the Lowveld? 'I want to see you in my office,' Tessa ordered in a voice that was as cutting as her expression. 'Very well.' Stacy made her own voice cool. She went on with the medicine round, encouraging the older patients with kind words which she did not know if they understood, stopping to laugh with the children. And all the time she wondered what Tessa Mantis had to say. She felt certain she had done nothing for which the woman could fault her. Yet there had been something so forbidding in the coolly beautiful face. Sure as anything, Stacy thought grimly, Tessa Mantis would find something nasty to say.

So she was prepared when Tessa began her criticisms. She sat quietly as the expressionless voice recited her faults, wondering at the pettiness of this woman who was so obviously competent, but who vented her spite on a girl to whom she had taken an instant dislike, without even giving herself time to get to know her. For the things she criticised were trivialities. Stacy knew, without being told, that the woman was trying to rile her. It was an obvious tactic to drive her from Diazinto. What Tessa Mantis did not know was that Stacy would not be driven, and that she was determined to fight her unwarranted prejudices. She did not argue with the statements made by the older woman. In outward obedience she heard her out, and then murmured that she would do her best to rectify her mistakes. Evidently this was not what the Matron had anticipated. She bit her lip, and a slight flush stained the perfect face at Stacy's unexpected compliance. When Tessa had finished what she had to say, Stacy got to her feet and turned to the door. 'Just a minute, Sister.' The arrogant tone held an odd note which Stacy could not define. 'Matron?' She looked at her quietly, questioningly. 'About Dr de Vries. Your manner towards him is outrageous!' 'Outrageous?' Stacy was intrigued. 'In what way, Matron?' 'I don't think I need to spell it out to you, Sister. You take every opportunity to draw attention to yourself. You....' The icy voice acquired venom. 'You flirt with him.' 'That's not true, Matron,' Stacy burst out forgetting her intention to be calm. 'I don't even like Dr de Vries.'

Tessa did not repudiate the statement, but her expression indicated that she did not believe it. 'Stay away from Dr de Vries, Sister,' she ordered in a voice that was stark with warning. 'Your attitude embarrasses him.' She paused, as if for greater emphasis. 'As his future wife I am embarrassed by it too.' 'I just told you, Matron, Dr de Vries means nothing to me.' Stacy tried to control the spark of anger that flared inside her. This was the second time today that she had had to make the statement. 'May I go?' 'Certainly.' Stacy stood still for a moment, watching as the immaculate head was already bent over a report. A pen raced in tiny quick movements over the page. She had been dismissed from the Matron's presence. Tessa Mantis was taking a further opportunity to display her contempt. She had reached the door when Tessa, without lifting her head, ordered, 'Do something about your hair, Sister. I told you it must be kept neat. It's hanging all over your face in the most slatternly fashion.' So here too the battle lines were drawn, Stacy thought, as she made her way back to her room. Yesterday Tessa Mantis had made no secret of her dislike. Now she had gone a step further. She intended to marry Andre, and nobody was going to get in her way. Tessa was shrewd enough to realise that there had once been a relationship of a kind between Stacy and Andre. She was making it very clear that he was now her property, and that she would permit nobody to interfere with her intentions. Remembering the Andre of old, Stacy wondered what made Tessa so certain of her position. It was true that she had the beautiful face

and figure which Andre required in a woman, also, there would be few other girls in the vicinity who could claim Andre's interest. Tessa had seemed to get on well enough with Betty, probably because that girl, though pleasant and friendly, did not have the appearance to provide her with competition. But competition aside, what made Tessa so certain that Andre, that debonair bachelor who had vowed on more than one occasion that he would never allow himself to be 'hooked', would marry her? Did her certainty have something to do with the hospital? Tessa owned Diazinto, and Andre had made trachoma his speciality. Perhaps he did not want to leave here. Perhaps he wanted a share of the hospital, and saw his chance through its owner. The fact that he might love the cool and perfect Matron was something that Stacy was oddly loath to consider. And that was foolish, considering that she had decided, that she no longer loved him herself. Undeniably she was still attracted to him—it was hard not to be. But could one love a person as arrogant and as sure of himself as Andre? No, she told herself. Never. When she loved again, the man would be someone like Jim—intelligent but sensitive, considerate, capable of returning her love. Yet perhaps Andre did love Tessa. There was no knowing what went on in the hearts of men and women, much less understanding. Perhaps they were even well suited, he with his sureness and arrogance, she with her beauty and efficiency. Together they shared a mutual interest—the hospital. Perhaps that was enough to transcend any lack of mutual passion —for, try as she might, Stacy found it impossible to believe that there lurked in Tessa Mantis the smallest grain of passion for anything other than that which could promote her own self-interest. All in all, she thought wearily, they might make a go of things together. Let them have joy of each other! And yet, even while she

mentally washed her hands of their union, she was aware that the thought of Andre married to Tessa caused a dull ache in the region of her chest. It became Stacy's custom to rise very early each morning, so that she could walk about the lovely grounds of the hospital before it grew hot. She found that she did not tire of the beauty all around her. Each day the tropical garden thrilled her anew. She would marvel at the vitality of the hibiscus and the bougainvillaea, their scarlet and crimson and purple flowers making vivid splashes of colour against the greens of the surrounding jungle. She would bend to the delicate flower of the frangipani, and drink in its delicate perfume, and she would smile at the frenzied efforts of the jewel-like jays as they squabbled over crumbs on the ground. By the time she went in to the dining-room for her breakfast, the loveliness of the garden would have given her a measure of the courage she needed to face the unrelenting coolness of Tessa and the uncaring detachment of Andre. It was not enough that Jim was friendly and attentive. Even Jim's attentions seemed to wane in the face of the contempt and dislike that were like a wall of stone in the claustrophobic confines of the dining-room. Often she was drawn to the rock-walled pool, in its lovely setting amidst the flame-trees. Longingly she would look into the water, wishing that she could return to it in the heat of the day, to immerse her perspiring body in the cool water that was drawn from the mountain streams. She had been at Diazinto a little more than a week when she was again drawn to the pool. The early morning sun shafting through the flame-trees hit the water in a dazzle of tiny diamonds. It was already quite warm, bringing a promise of another hot day in the jungle. Stacy knelt down at the side of the pool and trailed a hand through the water. The iciness of the water made her catch her breath with

shock. And then she let out a little cry of delight. There was something deliciously appealing about this beautiful spot. 'You're going to swim?' The low voice knocked the joy from her, and she looked up breathlessly. She had not heard him come. It was the second time this had happened. It must be the soft earth that deadened his footfalls. 'Hello, Andre,' she said, and told herself that it was merely the suddenness of his appearance that caused her to sound so breathless. 'Well, are you?' He kicked off his rope sandals. Then, as if he did not care whether she watched him or not, he stripped off his shirt and shorts. The swimming-trunks were white, fitting closely to narrow hips and enhancing the bronze of broad shoulders and a muscular chest. His legs looked taut and very long as he towered above her, so close that she could see every one of the dark hairs curling on his muscled calves. 'So,' he said again, his tone lazy, as grey eyes flicked wide green ones. .'Are you coming in?' 'No.' It came out in a whisper. She could not tear her gaze from the compelling masculine figure, could not help remembering the feel of that body crushed against hers in the darkness just a few days ago. 'Scared of the cold?' His smile was derisive, a flash of white teeth in the lean tanned face. 'No.' She spoke defiantly.

'Then it must be me that you're scared of.' Another wicked flash of teeth. His gaze glittered. 'Don't flatter yourself,' she snapped at him, her breath coming in short spurts despite her defiance. 'You've changed, my dear.' There was no affection in the endearment. 'I don't remember you being quite so quick with your sarcasm in the old days. Looking back on it now, perhaps you were just being hypocritical.' 'That's the only change you notice in me?' She couldn't help her words. 'This reluctance to display your body.' His glance lingered with casual insolence over the soft feminine figure. 'Your bikini was once your favourite garment. I can't believe you've grown suddenly modest. If you don't want to show off your legs it must be that you've changed your tactics.' He laughed harshly. 'Is this game called "playing hard to get"?' Stacy flinched at the cruelty of the barb. He meant to hurt, but he did not know quite how well he succeeded. 'Draw your own conclusions,' she said bitterly. 'I couldn't be bothered,' came the light rejoinder as he walked to the edge of the pool. She watched him take the water in a neat dive, like an arrow hitting its target. He surfaced yards from the spot where he had entered the pool, then he began to swim, his powerful arms moving in long strong strokes that seemed effortless. As if mesmerised, she watched him. There was something so compelling about the strong bronzed body, that it was impossible to turn her eyes away. In a way that was almost primitive, Andre exuded a sense of male virility and sensualness. It made a heady

combination coupled with the power and strength and authority which enveloped him at all times. No wonder that the sight of the lithe male body struck an answering chord in Stacy. For the first time it occurred to her that Tessa, for all her outward coolness, might share the same feelings. Perhaps that girl wanted Andre as much for himself as for the contribution he could make to the hospital. Watching Andre, Stacy thought a stranger might have taken him for a man of the outdoors. It would need a closer appraisal, one that took in the intelligent eyes and the lean competent hands, to indicate that the man was a brilliant doctor. He reached the end of the pool, did a somersault turn in the manner of a champion swimmer, then swam back to her. His hair clung to his head in dark wet strips, and his glistening lips curved in an arrogant smile. 'Changed your mind?' 'No.' She tried to sound as aloof as he did, and hoped he did not hear the involuntary breathlessness. 'Suit yourself.' Without another word of persuasion he swam away, the lithe body cleaving the water with strokes that were deceptively easy. Stacy's stomach muscles were a tight knot of tension as she' forced herself to get to her feet. She must match his detachment with her own, no matter how much the effort cost her. One hint of her true feelings, and Andre's contempt would be merciless. As she went about her work that day, her mind kept reverting to the scene at the pool. It was useless to deny to herself that her every nerve had reacted violently to Andre's presence. For her own peace

of mind, however, she must ensure that she saw less of him. Not that she had gone out of her way at any stage to seek out his company. Quite the contrary. But she must be on her guard not to allow herself to be alone with the man. No matter how much she was drawn to the pool in the rocks, now that she knew that Andre swam there in the early mornings she would avoid the spot and walk elsewhere. There was Jim. She could spend her free time with him. What Andre had said about Jim falling in love with her was nonsense. True, he made no secret of the fact that he liked her, but Jim was a man of over thirty. If he was the marrying kind he would have settled down long ago. Obviously, like Andre, Jim was the kind of man who enjoyed the company of a woman but felt no need to bind himself to a lifelong commitment. She saw both doctors at intervals during the morning. Stacy was busy with the trachoma patients when Andre came into the ward. He motioned her to accompany him as he went from bed to bed, examining eyes, adjusting bandages, and saying a few words in a dialect which she did not understand. She had not known that Andre, like Jim, could make himself understood in the African languages of the district. Although she had steeled herself to remain indifferent to him, Stacy could not help being impressed with his manner. He was efficient and thorough, yet he was kind with it, and she noticed how each patient responded to him. Though these people who had lived in and around the forests had had so little contact with hospitals and Western- style medicine, they seemed to trust the tall broadshouldered doctor. In his white safari suit, with a stethoscope suspended from his neck, Andre was a different man from the bronzed pagan-like being who had mocked her from the water in the golden light of dawn. Now he

was all doctor, earnest, dedicated, totally unaffected by the nurse who stood quietly a little behind him, waiting for his instructions. When Jim did his rounds he smiled at her and stopped to say a few friendly words, but there was no chance to speak at length. Without meaning to, Stacy compared the two men. Though Jim was no less gentle than Andre, the patients did not seem to respond to him in quite the same way. True, they were glad to see him, but Stacy wondered if it was just her imagination that told her they did not warm to Jim with quite the same amount of trust and eagerness as they had shown Andre. At the thought she caught herself up angrily. Any comparison between the two men must be unfair. For one thing, Jim was younger than Andre. He was smaller and slighter and did not have the same physical impact. That made him no less clever or dedicated. She knew herself that what impressed a layman was outward appearances. For any man to compete with Andre, he would have to be a giant among men in more ways than one. But with that thought came another. Sadly she had to admit to herself that having loved Andre she would need a remarkable man to capture her heart again. It was a thought which gave her no comfort. She could not let her chance of future happiness be destroyed merely because she had once been in love with Andre de Vries. It was a love that lay in the past, she told herself firmly. A love that had never had a future. And wasn't it well known that a dead love was a thing that could never be revived? The important thing was to refrain from comparisons—and to keep out of Andre's way as much as she could. The others were already in the dining-room when Stacy came in for lunch. As usual Tessa was talking to Andre. Neither of the two

displayed more than a cursory acknowledgment of her presence. Only Jim was glad to see her. Though she expected no more from Andre and Tessa, their behaviour rankled. All at once the devil in Stacy got the better of her. At a momentary silence she turned to Jim and said brightly, 'I have a free day on Sunday. If your offer is still open, I'd love to make that outing to the Kruger Park.' She was talking to Jim, but it was Andre's reaction that she watched for. His mouth seemed to tighten, and a muscle flickered in the long line of his jaw. That he disapproved of the manner in which she had flouted his orders was apparent. Before Jim could answer, Tessa said enthusiastically, 'That sounds a good idea.' It was the first time Stacy had seen the woman smile at something she had said. Was she so eager to pair her off with Jim, ensuring that Andre was only for her? 'It is a good idea,' Jim agreed. He too was smiling, and Stacy felt a pang of remorse at the way she had deliberately taken this opportunity to put the question to him. It was true that she looked forward to visiting the Kruger Park. It was something she had always wanted to do. But her reason for choosing this particular moment to make the suggestion had nothing at all to do with the game sanctuary. All at once she felt ashamed. And then Jim's smile vanished, to be replaced by an expression of regret. 'I've just remembered— I'm on duty this Sunday.' 'I'm sure Andre wouldn't mind doing a swop.' Tessa's voice throbbed with a brittle vivacity. She shot a smile at Andre. 'Would you, darling?'

Stacy caught her breath at the unexpected use of the intimate endearment. She glanced at Andre, but he seemed not to think the word in any way amiss. 'I don't mind,' he said in a tone that was totally without expression. Momentarily his eyes moved over Stacy's face, in a look of arrogant contempt. Stacy felt her cheeks stain with red, and knew that this too was not lost on Andre. She lifted her head defiantly. 'That's fine, then,' she remarked gaily. 'I can't wait for Sunday, Jim.' As the afternoon wore on Stacy felt a great wave of tiredness creep over her. She had thought she had grown used to the heat of the Lowveld, but the last day or two had been even hotter than before. It was a humid heat, prickly and uncomfortable. Twice she went to her room to shower and to change into a fresh uniform, but each time it was not long before she felt as moist and prickly as before. She left the dining-room after the evening meal, and walked wearily to her room. For once she found nothing fascinating about the watching jungle. It seemed to close in on her, making the air hotter and unbearable. Longingly she thought of the swimming-pool. More than anything she craved a bathe. A few minutes in the cold mountain water would go a long way to restoring her spirits. But it was still too light.... She did not want to meet one of the staff and face the pity in their eyes when they saw the ugly scars on her leg. She did not want to meet Andre. ... She showered again and lay on her bed. It was so hot that minutes after the shower it was as if she had never had it. It was too hot to read, to write letters. She lay back with her eyes closed, listening to the beating of the drums and the animal sounds that came from the

jungle. Through the open window of her room wafted the scent of the tropical flowers. The perfume was stronger than ever in the heat, and she felt her head spin with the sweet headiness. The moment came when she could bear it no longer. Impulsively she went to her cupboard and fetched the bikini she had brought from Johannesburg. She had packed it before she had known that she would find Andre at Diazinto. As she walked to the pool she wondered why it had never occurred to her before to swim at night. In the dark her disfigurement would not be visible. A crescent moon hung in the sky, silvering the dark surface of the water. Stacy stood at the edge of the pool, thinking that it looked like a goblin watering place. A slight breeze stirred the water, making ripples of silver that plopped gently against the rock walls. Quickly she slipped off the slacks and shirt she had put on over the bikini, then she dived into the water. This was mountain water, normally icy, yet warmed by the day's sunshine, so that it was not so cold that Stacy could not swim. She did two lengths briskly, to accustom her body to the cold. Then she lay on her back and floated. This was utter bliss, she thought, looking at the moon and the milky brilliance of the stars. There was something exhilarating about the coolness of the water, buoyant and refreshing after the enervating heat of the day. The air buzzed with the sound of the crickets and once she heard the harsh cry she had heard on her first night at Diazinto. A hyena? If it was, it did not frighten her. The animal had business of its own in the jungle. It would not be interested in the solitary human enjoying the water of the rocky pool. She could have been the only person for miles around. The lights of the hospital and the bungalows of the compound did not penetrate to

this secluded spot. Stacy was filled with a sense of elation. Lying on her back, watching the stars, away from tension and frustration and duty, it was easy to feel as if she was quite alone on a floating portion of paradise. A single splash shattered her tranquillity. Her feet touched the bottom as she stood upright, her limbs suddenly rigid. She had not seen who it was who had taken the water, but with the instinct of an animal she knew it could be only one person. So neat were the powerful movements that there was hardly a sound as he swam the length of the pool. Perhaps he had not seen her in the dark, Stacy thought. She could get to the edge and be out before he was conscious of her presence. Her fingers were on the wall and she was looking for a foothold on the rocks, when two hands clasped her bare waist. She had not heard him swim up behind her. At his touch she became rigid, the breath knocked quite suddenly from her lungs. 'Where are you going?' His voice was low and disturbingly seductive. 'I've had enough.' She battled to keep her tone casual. 'Surely not.' His laugh was mocking. 'You looked as if you were enjoying yourself, lying on your back and looking at the moon.' 'I thought you hadn't seen me.' The words came out foolishly, and she wondered why she could never control what she said to him. 'Not see a water nymph?' He chuckled again, and there was something in the sound that set her pulses racing. A hand left her waist and touched the throbbing point at the base of her neck. 'You're as nervy as a gazelle. Why?'

'I'm n-not nervous!' she denied with a stammer. 'Liar. If I were Jim you wouldn't be frightened, would you, Stacy?' His voice was soft, and the more dangerous for it. 'Jim is a gentleman,' she said, as acidly as she could. 'Meaning that I'm a rogue?' He turned her to face him, and she saw the glint of his white teeth in a wolfish smile. 'I think I prefer that to being a gentleman.' 'You would,' she countered harshly. 'Let me go, Andre.' 'Why?' The hand had left her waist and was creeping up her back, causing sensations which made it difficult to think coherently. 'I .. . I'm cold.' 'You are?' He made no effort to release her. He was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her cheek. 'Let go of me, Andre.! She could not stand the tension provoked by his closeness another moment. 'No, Stacy.' 'I'm cold,' she pleaded again, a little desperately. 'That's easily remedied.' The tips of long lean fingers trailed along her throat with unmistakable meaning. 'No, damn you!' 'Hardly spoken like a lady,' he reproved her with mock chiding. 'Jim's gentlemanly manners must drive you up the wall with frustration.'

'What would you know about it?' she flung at him a little wildly, wishing that the sensual fingers would stop their movement, and knowing that she would be bereft if they did. 'Plenty.' His tone was a satisfied taunt. 'Don't kid yourself, my sweet. You know damn well what you want. It just so happens that I'm not averse to a bit of fun.' 'No!' She tried to twist away from him, but he was too quick for her, and too strong. There was nothing playful about the arms that pulled her to him, nothing tender in the lips that closed on hers, forcing them open so that he could explore her mouth with a sensual expertise that dizzied senses already maddened with his closeness. He was tall, very tall, and as he crushed her against him her feet left the floor of the pool. Now there was only sensation. The strong lips that tasted and teased; the tautness of long muscled thighs pressed against her own soft ones; the strong beat of his heart against her breasts, merging with the racing beats of her own heart. The hand that had been on her throat descended to her bikini, slid underneath it and curved around to cup a firm breast. She tried to push away from him, but his hand on the vulnerably intimate part of her femininity unleashed such a torrent of desire that she was fighting herself even more than she was fighting him. She had to force herself not to put her arms around his neck, to draw herself even closer to him in a moment that she wished that she could prolong for ever. She had never been kissed like this before, not even by Andre. He released her with a cruel abruptness. As her feet found the rocky floor of the pool she stared up at him in a daze. His face was a bleak mask of chiselled planes. His eyes, in the pale light of the moon, were like gleaming steel, and his mouth was hard. Only his

breathing, still slightly heightened, gave any indication that his own emotions had been in any way involved in what had just happened. 'What would Tessa say if she could see you now?' Stacy asked tautly. He seemed amused by the question. 'What should she say?' 'You wouldn't like her to think you have any feelings for me.' Every nerve willed him to tell her that it was true; that his desire for her had reawakened. 'Why should she think that?' The seductive voice was even. 'She'd know that love and sex don't necessarily go together, my dear Stacy.' A pain throbbed in her temple and she felt the blood drain from her cheeks. 'I hate you,' she said vehemently. 'I've never hated anyone as much as I hate you, Andre de Vries !' She was climbing out of the water when the lazy voice called her back. 'Enjoy your outing with Jim, Stacy. And keep your eyes skinned for game. Lions are scarce this time of the year. You may well be the only man-eater around.' Remembering her resolve of a moment ago, Stacy stifled her swift retort. She could argue with him, but it would achieve nothing. Shaking with anger, she towelled herself dry, and dragged her clothes over the wet bikini. Andre was swimming once more, the controlled effortless strokes indicating that he had already lost interest in her. The magic of the tropical night had vanished. As Stacy hurried through the darkness she was aware only of a wild and consuming anger. She had loved Andre once. Perhaps she would never stop loving him. Her unbridled response to his lovemaking filled her with

despair. But at the same time she had spoken the truth when she had said that she hated him. At that moment her hatred was as intense as the passion he had aroused in her. As she crept into bed she knew it would be a long while before she would sleep. Her body ached with the desire he had kindled in her, and her mind was in torment. How she would manage to endure the next few weeks in his presence she did not know, but more than ever she was determined that she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her run away. The windows were open, the netting across them a sufficient protection against the deadly insects of the jungle night. The curtains were open too, and as she stared into the darkness, Stacy was relieved that at least this encounter with Andre had happened at night. He had held her to him in the conviction that she was the girl he had once known, with the long slender legs he had so frankly admired. It had been too dark for him to see the disfigurement. She had endured his contempt, but she had been spared his pity.

CHAPTER SIX THE next few days were uneventful. Stacy moved in a continual state of tension, never knowing when she and Andre might be alone together. She was learning to anticipate his movements, getting to know his routine. At the times when she imagined that he was on his way to do his rounds she would try to find a way of absenting herself from the wards, leaving Mara to accompany him from one bed to the next. The pretty dark-skinned nurse never raised an objection, But Stacy sometimes wondered if she knew something of her feelings. There was no way in which Mara could really know what had happened. Nobody at Diazinto knew the truth of her earlier relationship with Andre. However, now and then she saw the nurse's eyes upon her, assessing her with something akin to compassion, and she wondered how much she guessed. She took to timing her presence in the dining- room, so that she was not forced to eat at the same table with Andre. In any event, much of her appetite had dwindled. When she came to meals it was for the sake of form, more than anything else, and because as a nurse she knew that she needed the nourishment. But she toyed with her food and did not taste what she ate. If Andre noticed that she was avoiding him, he did not comment. Now and then, when they did meet, it took all of Stacy's self-control to remain calm and detached. Andre himself was remote and aloof, keeping what he had to say to matters that pertained to the hospital. Stacy was glad. She was not ready to cope with anything else. Yet she could not help wondering at his attitude of utter unconcern. It was as if he had forgotten the abandoned passion they had shared in the dark waters of the pool. Or if he remembered, it meant nothing to him. As he had said, he had been in the mood for a bit of

fun, and that fun had left him unscathed. If only she could say as much for herself! It was only outwardly that Stacy was composed. Inwardly she felt raw and torn. The pain which abated a little during the two years since the accident now stirred inside her again in a searing agony. If Tessa was aware of the strain she gave no sign. She was as cool as ever, her manner towards Andre on the same possessive keel. Now and then, when she unbent enough to talk to Stacy about anything other than hospital matters, it was to encourage her friendship with Jim. Stacy felt satisfaction at the knowledge that the beautiful woman did not feel secure of her position. Tessa seemed to have everything— beauty and wealth and a hospital which Andre could presumably have as his own. Perhaps it was just as Jim had said, Tessa knew that she and Andre would be married, but she would not rest until the ring was on her finger. Only Jim was his friendly self, natural, pleasant, restful to be with. Jim might never be able to rouse her passions in the way that Andre could do. Somehow Stacy sensed already that this was so. But she could not help wondering whether it was necessary to react so violently to a man's physical presence. Perhaps, she reluctantly admitted to herself, she might be missing something if she remained for ever in the company of a man like Jim, but on the other hand, she would never be exposed to the terrible unhappiness she had experienced with Andre.

Sunday dawned a green and golden day. Jim was eager to leave Diazinto early so that they could spend as much time as possible in the Kruger Park. They did not breakfast at the hospital, but took with them a flask of coffee and a hamper of fruit and sandwiches to eat on the road.

The jungle looked brooding and mysterious in the dim light of dawn. The chill morning air rang with bird-song, and as they drove out of the hospital grounds a few monkeys made cheeky gestures from the gateposts. Enchanted, Stacy would have liked to stop a few minutes and watch them, but Jim did not want to waste time. There would be many more monkeys in the Reserve, he told her laughingly. The sun was lifting above the horizon as they emerged from the hinterland surrounding Diazinto and came on to the wide tarred road leading to the Kruger Park. The strains and tensions of the past few days were momentarily forgotten as Stacy looked through her window at the passing scenery. What a beautiful part of the country this was, she thought, and wondered why she had never come here before. They drove for miles through the timber-lands, the forests clinging to the slopes of the mountains in lush green rows. Stacy wound down her window, and took deep breaths of the crisp morning air, fragrant with the spicy aromas of eucalyptus and pine trees. Now and then, when they came to the top of a rise, or when there was a break in the forests, there would be a vista of high cliffs, rugged and grey, and here and there covered with mist. They emerged from the forests, and came into farmlands, maize and tobacco, and now and then citrus estates, with the fruit hanging heavy on the trees. There were cattle, fat and sleek, and goats scampering nimble-footed over rocky terrain. Jim did not want to stop to eat, and so Stacy handed him sandwiches as he drove, and took a few for herself. Once, when he stopped for petrol, she poured coffee from the flask into red plastic cups, and warmed her hands around the steaming cup as she drank.

And then they were at the gate of the Reserve. 'Last chance to get out of the car for a while,' said Jim, as he made for the thatchedroofed stone hut to pay the entrance fee. In response to the suggestion, Stacy left the station-wagon and strolled around a garden laid out with indigenous plants and shrubs. Aloes and cactus grew profusely in this sun-drenched place, and over the walls of the hut a honeysuckle trailed in golden glory. There were smooth lawns bordered with purple vygies, the dense succulent flowers making a spectacular display, and on the grass the vivid blue jays, which Stacy knew from the hospital, darted hither and thither in search of food. Next to the hut was a large clock, its hands pointing to the time when the gates opened in the morning and closed in the evening. Jim returned to the station-wagon with a disc, showing the head of a springbok, which he stuck inside the windscreen, and a paper bag for litter. 'They seem very organised here,' Stacy observed. 'They must be. If they didn't have strict basic rules the place would be a shambles. As it is, the Kruger Park is one of the tourist attractions of the world.' 'You've convinced me.' Stacy was smiling as they left the gate and took the road to Skukuza. Jim drove very slowly now. The official speed limit in the Reserve was twenty-five miles an hour, but, as he explained to her, even that was too fast if one did not want to miss seeing animals. They had gone about a mile when they crossed a dry river bed. On the eroded sand was a group of impala, the slender buck looking as dainty and sleek as if they had just had a bath. They made a lovely picture as they nibbled at the leaves of overhanging trees, while a

little apart, a male, the leader of the group, sniffed the air, alert for any sign of danger. Jim stopped the station-wagon and Stacy reached behind her for her camera. Holding it to her eyes, she was disappointed that she could not get a clear view of the animals in her lens. 'Could I get out?' she asked. 'Crazy girl!' Jim reached out a hand to ruffle her hair. 'Didn't you read the warning signs? You're not allowed out of the car till you get to camp.' 'But there's nothing dangerous around here,' she protested, wondering why his touch did not stir her. 'See how peacefully the impala are grazing... .' 'It's a deceptive peace.'-Jim's face was creased in the boyish smile she found so appealing. As he drove on he said, 'There could be a lion a foot from the road. But if it was lying behind a bush you wouldn't know it was there.' 'Andre said that lions are scarce this time of the year.' As she spoke, there came into her mind a vivid picture of the circumstances in which Andre had made the observation. She could see again the glittering wet body close to hers, could feel the maddened senses which had set her on fire despite the coldness of the mountain water swirling around her, and involuntarily her breathing quickened. For a few moments it was that picture which was the reality, not the windswept veld. 'Andre said that?'

Jim's voice jerked her back to her surroundings. At an unfamiliar note in his voice she turned. The smile had vanished, and there was a suggestion of strain in her face. 'Yes...' she said after a moment. 'What made him say it?' 'I ... I suppose we happened to talk about the outing ... and he made the remark...' Stacy tried to keep her annoyance from her own voice. She could not help being irritated at the fact that Jim was trying to pin her down in this way. 'I don't remember hearing the conversation.' Jim's pleasant voice had become remote. 'I must have been late for a meal.' 'The conversation didn't take place at meal-time,' Stacy said evenly, and wondered if Jim sensed her irritation. 'It didn't?' He turned to her quickly. 'Then where -' He stopped and bit his lip, and she saw the unhappy flush that spread suddenly beneath the faint tan. 'Forgive me, it isn't any of my business.' 'It isn't,' Stacy agreed lightly. 'But it's no secret either. We were swimming one evening, and Andre happened to touch on the subject.' 'You went swimming together!' It was an exclamation of outrage. 'No.' Stacy was finding it hard to remain civil in the face of this uncalled-for interrogation. 'I went swimming alone, and Andre happened to arrive at the pool at the same time. That's really all there was to it.' And then, as Jim seemed about to say more, she exclaimed brightly, 'Look! Isn't that something?'

A flicker of brown had caught her eye, a brown that was different from the corn-coloured grass of the bush veld. Her eyes followed the lines of the animal, going up the long neck and head of a giraffe. 'Oh, Jim, let's stop and look at this.' He drew up the station-wagon by the side of the road, and as if in unspoken agreement he did not mention Andre as he leaned over to Stacy's side to look out of her window. His arm was touching hers, and his breath fanned her cheek. It occurred to Stacy that his proximity did nothing to her senses. She did not react to his nearness, other than to enjoy the companionship of a very nice man. Except for the last few minutes, when his questions had made her uncomfortable, he was one of the most pleasant companions she had had in a long while. And at the same time she wondered how she would have reacted if Andre had been beside her now, in the same circumstances. Would she be able to concentrate on the scene outside her window, or would her heart be pounding so rapidly that she felt breathless? Really, she decided crossly, she was being ridiculous to keep comparing Jim with Andre. And if comparisons were in order, she must not forget to register the fact that Jim's personality made it easy for her to enjoy what they had come to see. There were no frenzied senses to impede her concentration. Willing herself to stop thinking of Andre, Stacy looked at the giraffe. There was something almost prehistoric about the animal, she thought, a quality that was coupled with an appealing dignity and graciousness. The giraffe had been nibbling at the leaves of a maroela tree, but now it turned to look at the occupants of the car. The great black eyes were liquid and aloof and disinterested. The thin wispy tail, incongruously small for an animal of this size, flicked slightly, and on the long neck sat several birds.

All at once Stacy's attention was caught by a slight movement in the long grass. 'Move forward a little,' she said to Jim. 'Just a foot or two -' And then, as they came to a halt once more: 'Oh, yes! Oh, Jim, here's another giraffe.' 'Its mate,' Jim said with quiet satisfaction. 'Good girl, Stacy. That was well spotted.' They watched as the two giraffes nibbled the leaves, and then, from out of the high underbush, came three smaller giraffes. 'Babies!' Stacy exclaimed in delight. The dignity of their elders was lacking in the three young animals. Friskily they loped through the scrub, and Stacy was enchanted with their peculiar lanky stride. They watched until the giraffes had left the roadside and wandered out of sight, then they drove on. Stacy found that it required much concentration to watch the bush for game, for they were now passing through a region that was more wooded than anything they had been through until now. The grass was long, and the trees grew close together. Even without animals she would have enjoyed the scenery. There was such an abundance of trees, maroelas and knobthorns, acacias and fever-trees, and now and then a tall tree with a Very strange-looking fruit, shaped like a sausage. When she remarked on it, Jim told her that the tree was named after its fruit—a sausage-tree. But not all the trees were tall and whole. Many were tossed on their sides, and were dry and dead- looking. There were some parts where the devastation was terrible. 'Elephants,' Jim said in reply to her question. 'They do a lot of damage around here. Look, Stacy, on the road in front of us ... See those heaps of dung? Those were left by elephants.' Stacy caught her breath in excitement. 'Really? Will we see them?'

'If we're lucky. But not the ones that left those mementoes. This is old stuff.' He chuckled cheerfully. 'To be at all interesting, the dung must be steaming.' Stacy smiled at him. 'You sound like an expert.' 'I am, honey.' They were driving along the Sabie River now. The vegetation had become far more lush. On the river side of the road, the trees were tall and thick and spreading, and by the river the reeds grew high and in such density that had there been animals in the undergrowth it would have been well-nigh impossible to spot them. Now and then, as the road wound near to the river, there were views of the water. It looked cool and fresh and tantalisingly inviting to the unwary person who did not know the fatal dangers that lurked there. Once, when a slip road left the tar, Jim drove down to the water. The sandy beach running along the river was pockmarked with the feet of a million animals who had come down to the water to drink. On the opposite bank there were a clump of rocks, smooth and grey and sun-drenched. 'Look...' Jim gestured. For a moment Stacy could not make out what he was showing her. It was only gradually, as her eyes grew accustomed to the sparkle of the sun on the rocks and the water, that she made out a long shape stretched out on a rock, as grey and as flat as the rock itself. 'A crocodile!' she breathed in disbelief. 'More than one,' he said quietly. It took her a little while, but then she saw that there were three of the dangerous reptiles. They lay in the sunshine, so motionless that

one could have thought them dead. Yet Stacy knew that if anything were to come within reach, be it a man or a young animal, there would be a mad flailing of the tail, a frenzied splashing of water, and the victim would be crushed between the vice-like jaws. It seemed incredible that cruelty and danger could exist side by side with beauty and serenity, but Stacy realised that here, as in other wild places of the world, only the law of the jungle reigned. The strong and the shrewd survived, and each had to look to himself for protection. And though it was hard to accept, there was a certain rightness in the scheme of things. For as Jim explained to her, if nature did not see to the culling of surplus animals in its own special way, an imbalance of animals or insects would create new and greater problems. Somewhere in all this there seemed to be an analogy to her own situation, Stacy thought, though she could not be clear in what way. And then the seriousness of her thoughts was shattered as three buck stepped out of the bush and on to the sandy bank. They came slowly, cautiously, as if to make certain that there were no hungry predators. When they were satisfied, they came to the water and began to drink. 'Water-buck,' Jim said. 'Those white rings around their rear ends are the distinguishing sign.' Leaving the spot by the water, they drove back on to the tar. There was a greater abundance of game near the river, and they were seeing buck and giraffe and monkeys with greater frequency. The mounds of elephant dung were also more abundant, though, as Stacy remarked with a wry smile, none had steam rising from them. They came to a clearing where wildebeest grazed side by side with zebra, a common friendship in the Reserve, Stacy learned. The

wildebeest were forlorn-looking beasts, with the unkempt appearance of people who had got out of bed without attending to their toilet. The zebra were a complete contrast. With their powerful black-and-white striped bodies, they were possessed of a shy and powerful magnificence. Stacy held her camera to her eye, knowing as she did so that no picture could ever quite capture the loveliness of the setting. Yet it did not matter that only part of it would be recorded on paper. This was something she would remember long after she had left this part of the world and gone back to Johannesburg. That time was no longer far away, yet at this moment, watching a scene that was wild and beautiful, the busy city which was her home might have existed in another world.

CHAPTER SEVEN SHE was putting the camera back in its case when Jim spoke. 'Stacy, I must ask you something...' She turned to him, caught by the troubled note in his voice. 'Yes ...?' 'Are you in love with Andre?' The unexpectedness of the question took her by surprise. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and for a moment she hid her eyes in confusion. 'We've discussed this before,' she murmured, concealing emerald eyes beneath long thick lashes, lest he see her confusion. 'I know.' Jim looked uncomfortable. 'But I can't help wondering.' He hesitated a moment before going on. 'This business about swimming together at night. ...' 'I told you, that was pure coincidence.' Stacy kept her voice low, trying to control a growing anger. 'But even if it hadn't been, what I choose to do is my own business, Jim.' 'Forget it.' The sensitive face was flushed and unhappy. 'It's just ... I wouldn't like to see you hurt, Stacy. Tessa Mantis has been after Andre a long time. She'll get him too.' 'Good luck to her,' Stacy said recklessly. She added more quietly, 'Tessa has no cause to worry. Andre has no interest in me. He doesn't even like me.' The brown eyes that studied the small oval face were still troubled. Stacy had spoken the truth when she said that Andre did not like her. What she had omitted was her own feelings. If Jim noticed the one-sidedness of the statement, he did not comment on it.

'Forget it,' he said ruefully, after a moment. 'Forgive me, Stacy. I guess I had no right to stick my neck out.' 'Of course you're forgiven,' she said warmly, and was gratified to see the unhappiness leave his face. 'You've given me a lovely day, Jim. It's something I'll always remember.' 'I'm glad. With luck we'll still see some of the big game.' As they drove on Stacy tried to analyse her feelings. Now that she felt calmer, it seemed irrational that she should have been quite so angry at Jim's words. He was only trying to help her, to protect her from an involvement which could hold no future. As such, she should be grateful to him. Glancing sideways, she saw that his eyes were scanning the bush on his side of the road, and she was able to study him unobserved. His features were clean-cut and pleasing, and his face held an undoubted refinement. Though he did not exude Andre's primitive power and virility, Jim's appearance was every bit as appealing. Helplessly she wondered why his nearness did nothing to her emotions, whereas Andre had only to look at her for her blood pressure to soar. For some reason, the very mention of Andre's name was enough to trigger off a reaction inside her, and perhaps it was this which had caused her anger a few minutes ago. Now that she could think rationally, she remembered that Jim was her only friend at Diazinto, the only person who had gone out of his way to show her kindness and consideration. Even today, he had done all he could to let her have a good time. The very least she could do in return, she thought remorsefully, was to be a pleasant and responsive companion. She began to talk lightheartedly, telling him of an incident which had taken place while she was nursing in Johannesburg. Jim

responded good- naturedly to her overture, and they chatted cheerfully together until they came to Skukuza. Skukuza, the main camp of the Kruger Park, was a sprawling expanse on the banks of the Sabie River. As they drove through the gates, Stacy was caught by the holiday atmosphere of the place. On all sides were bungalows, thatched and round and similar to her own bungalow at Diazinto. It was a camp with big shady trees, with lawns and flowers. Everywhere there were people. Men and women strolled about with cameras and binoculars hanging from their necks, and children played on the lawns, happy to be able to run around after hours of confinement in a motor-car. It seemed that the braaivleis, the traditional South African manner of eating, was the rule here. A delicious smell of wood-fire and cooking meat wafted through the air, and for the first time Stacy was aware that she was hungry. For a while Jim and Stacy also strolled along the river-frontage of the camp. The river was wide and very green, an unusual sight in a country where natural water was at a premium. A little to the right, a bridge spanned the water, the sun glinting on the steel so that it looked like silver. Below the bridge were big brown humps, which Stacy took to be rocks until Jim told her to look closer. It was only when one of the rocks shifted its position slightly, and a series of bubbles rose in the water beside it, that Stacy realised that she was watching a family of hippos. They walked back to the long low building which housed the restaurant. They sat down on the wide verandah facing the water, and Jim ordered cold drinks and a plate of sandwiches. At the fence people were gazing across the river searching the vast expanse of bush on the other side. Stacy followed the line of some pointing fingers, and saw three kudu making their leisurely way through a clump of trees. At the edge of the bush they looked about

cautiously, as the waterbuck had done, then stepped on to the sandbank where they bent their heads to the water. These were the king of the buck, Stacy thought, admiring the lovely curved horns, the muscled flanks and the thin white lines trailing gracefully along the heavy bodies. She was watching the kudu when her attention was caught by a cry of pain, and the nurse in her was immediately on the alert. Near the fence a woman was helping a little boy to his feet. Stacy remembered seeing the child running to and fro on the stone path. He must have fallen and hit his chin, for blood was pouring on to his T-shirt. Without pausing to think, Stacy leaped from her chair and ran to him. The child was screaming loudly, with pain and with fear, and the mother was clearly distraught. 'Let me see,' Stacy said, lifting him from her arms. 'I'm a nurse -' The child screamed even more loudly, but Stacy was able to examine the injury. It was not serious, but the skin was gaping and the gash would need attention. 'It's not too bad,' Stacy said gently. 'All that blood!' 'Chins do bleed profusely.' She tried to reassure the overwrought woman. 'But the gash must be cleaned, and I think your little boy needs a few stitches.' A small crowd had gathered. Jim had followed her, and Stacy was looking up at him for help, when a bystander said, 'There's a camp doctor, lady.' He gestured with his hand. 'Down there, beyond the huts.' 'But we can...' Stacy's words trailed away when she saw Jim shake his head imperceptibly. After a moment she said, a little

expressionlessly, 'I think you should take your little boy to the doctor. He'll know what to do.' The child was still crying as his mother took him away. The crowd dispersed. Most people went back to continue their search for game. Stacy and Jim returned to the verandah. Jim picked up his glass,, but Stacy found that she had lost her desire for her cold drink. She stared down at the table. 'Okay, Stacy, let's have it.' Jim's voice was cold. She looked up at him, questioningly. 'You're upset that I didn't attend to the child.' His eyes were distant, but a slight flush beneath the tan belied his composure. 'I... I didn't understand it,' Stacy admitted after a moment. 'The boy was in no danger. Sure, there was blood, but as you told the mother, chins do bleed.' 'He needed cleaning,' Stacy said deliberately. 'And he needed stitches.' 'Granted,' Jim shrugged. The brown eyes, normally so friendly, looked sullen, and the sensitive lips were tight. 'You think that I failed in my duty. Did it occur to you, Stacy, that I have no instruments with me? Had there been any danger I would have attended to the child immediately. But there is a doctor here.' 'That's true,' Stacy conceded. 'I just thought we could have rendered some first aid.' 'We came out for pleasure, honey.' He was watching her, the resentment still in his face. 'Let's keep it that way.'

'We'll do that,' she agreed. To please Jim, she struggled to finish her cold drink. But when he suggested that it was time to leave Skukuza she was not sorry. It was very hot as they drove slowly along the Sabie River. The sun was at its zenith, burning down on land and beast with scorching intensity. It seemed as if the animals were resting in whatever shade they could find, for there was little game near the roadside. Now and then they came across a few impala, ears pointed upward and tails aquiver as they grazed, but other than the buck they saw nothing. In contrast to their animated conversation earlier in the day, they now drove in silence. Stacy felt a sense of oppression weighing her down, and Jim was silent with thoughts of his own. All at once a movement caught Stacy's eye, the swaying motion of a thorn-bush. Normally she would have paid no attention, but this was the game reserve, and movement could mean animals. 'There could be something....' she told Jim. 'I'm not certain.' . The station-wagon drew to a halt, and Jim followed the line of her pointing finger. 'There,' she said, 'The bush behind the sausage- tree. Do you see it?' 'I think so...' He was uncertain. And then a moment later, with elation in his tone, 'Oh, yes! I think it's an elephant.' 'Really?' Stacy's expression was replaced by instant excitement. 'Yes! Look, Stacy, just above the bush.... Do you see a bit of grey?' And then she did see it. Not the whole shape of the beast, but the moving outline of a large waving grey object which could only be the ear of an elephant. For a few minutes they watched in silence.

Nothing could be seen except the movement of the bush, a movement so slight that Stacy was surprised that she had detected it. 'There could be two elephants,' Jim remarked after a while. 'It doesn't seem possible,' Stacy said wonderingly. 'Elephants are such enormous beasts. How could they stay hidden behind a couple of tiny bushes?' 'The bush is deceptive.' A boyish grin lit the face which had been glum since leaving Skukuza. 'Remember when I told you that it could be dangerous to get out of the car? This proves it. Only a trained warden or tracker can tell with any certainty whether there are animals around or not.' There was a loud splintering sound, and Stacy held her breath as a tall tree snapped and lurched to the ground. And then the elephant itself came into sight, massive, lumbering, ominous in its enormity. It looked at the car, ears flapping and trunk lifting. Stacy held her breath, wondering if it would charge. But no, it turned, curled its trunk around a slender tree, and lifted it effortlessly from the ground. She was surprised when Jim switched on the engine. 'We're going?' 'No. But it's as well to be careful. As a rule, elephants don't charge. But there's always the odd rogue. It's always a good idea to remain in front of an elephant. You don't want them to cut off your line of departure.' 'You sound as if you talk from experience.' Stacy was intrigued. 'I do. I had eight of these monsters advancing on me one time, and when I tried to move off I found the engine had stalled.'

'You lived to tell the tale.' She was glad that they were talking normally once more and without any strain. 'That's right.' He grinned at her. 'But it was the kind of lesson you don't like to learn twice.' They were still talking when the elephant began to move towards the road. It came slowly, bending its trunk to trees and bushes tender with young leaves. It was almost at the road when the underbush parted and another elephant came out of the bush. At the edge of the road the two great beasts stopped. With her camera ready, Stacy waited breathlessly for the moment when they would cross the road. And then, without any warning, another elephant emerged from the bush, and then another and another and yet another. They ambled over the road in a neat formation, mothers and fathers and children—elephants of all sizes. Reaching the other side of the road, they crashed through the undergrowth, and within seconds the entire herd was lost to sight in the tall dense reeds of the river. An approaching car sped by, its occupants unaware that only minutes before forty-five elephants had lumbered across the very spot over which they had just driven. All that was left to indicate that the herd had not been just a dream was a steaming mound of dung, and the distant sound of splashing water. 'That was fantastic!' Stacy turned to Jim in excitement as a low trumpeting reverberated through the veld. 'You enjoyed it?' The look that held the animated green eyes was disturbingly intense. 'So much!'

'You're very sweet...." His gaze dropped from her eyes to rest on her lips. Before she could stop him, his arm had gone around her and he was pulling her close. There was nothing brutal or punishing in the lips that touched hers, yet Stacy went rigid. The movement was completely instinctive. Jim lifted his head and looked down at her. His eyes were stormy. 'You don't want me to kiss you, do you?' She looked up at him wordlessly, not knowing what to say. He had gone out of his way to give her a nice day. It was not his fault that his touch meant nothing to her, that she did not even enjoy it very much. But she did not want to hurt him. She shook her head. 'It's just. 'Just what, Stacy?' His voice was hard, and she could not help noticing the petulant curve of his lips. 'The fact that I didn't attend to that kid back at Skukuza?' 'No.' She was relieved that he mistook the reason for her inability to enjoy his caresses. 'No, Jim.' 'Do you think I didn't notice your disapproval? I observe the Hippocratic Oath as well as the next man. But I am entitled to use my discretion. The child wasn't in any danger, and the camp doctor has all the facilities which I, as a tourist here, lack.' 'I know,' she murmured. Still he could not let it rest. He persisted, 'Because I'm a doctor, does that mean I'm not entitled to any free time? Do you have some romantic picture for the medical profession, Stacy? If you have, it's time you grew up. Six days a week I sweat it out in that primitive

hole that passes for a hospital. Surely on the seventh day I can enjoy myself, just like any other man.' 'It isn't that, Jim.' She looked at him numbly, wishing she could stop him from going on. She did not want him to know how much his words repelled her. She did not want him to destroy her illusions of him. True, he did not attract her physically, but she liked him as a friend, and until now had respected him as a person. She knew that it was only temper and hurt pride which were causing him to say things he didn't mean, and which he would later regret. At the same time, she knew that she herself would not be able to forget his words easily. Involuntarily, there came into her mind a picture of Andre, tall and stern and arrogant, bending over the bed of a near-blinded child, with a look on his face which seemed to exclude all worldly things from his consciousness. Without understanding the reason, she knew that for Andre medicine could never be something which demanded his time for six days only if the seventh day brought with it something which required his attention as a doctor. 'What is it, then?' The question jerked her back to the present, and she saw that Jim's face was flushed and unhappy. She looked at him speechlessly, unable to put her thoughts into words, knowing that the truth would wound him beyond the possibility of restoring their friendship. 'If it isn't what happened at Skukuza,' he went on relentlessly, 'then it can only be that you don't like me as a person.' 'That isn't true!' she burst out feelingly. 'I'm so fond of you, Jim. You must know that.' 'Fond?' The sensitive lips were compressed in a tight line. 'Fondness is a lukewarm emotion.' 'I don't agree.' She tried to keep her voice level.

'I think you're one of the nicest people I know.' 'Nice!' It was an expression of bitterness. 'Why does that word always set my teeth on edge? It's worse than "fond".' His eyes searched her face, and she tried to meet the confusion and unhappiness in his gaze. 'Is there someone else, Stacy?' 'No.' The shake of her head was too vehement. He laughed bitterly when she did not answer. 'If it is Andre, you're wasting your time, honey. Every woman falls for that Casanova. And in any event....' 'Jim,' Stacy interrupted him, knowing that she could not bear him to go on, 'please, don't spoil things. This is the loveliest day I've had for so long. 'Prove it,' he said deliberately, and drew her to him again. This time the gentleness was lacking from the kiss. There was passion in it, but it was a passion mixed with desperation. As if he wanted to punish her for her slights, there was hardness too, a kind of brutality which she had never associated with the gentle, sensitive Jim. Almost as if in atonement for hurting him, Stacy put her arms around his neck, and the action seemed to inflame him. He drew her even closer, forcing her lips open, and running his hands over her body in a kind of frenzied urgency. Stacy did nothing to stop him. She tried to respond to his lovemaking, tried to recapture the sense of dizzy elation she had experienced when Andre had kissed her. But in vain. All she could feel was sadness and revulsion. When he let her go his eyes were pools of unhappiness. He glanced down at her, his breathing jagged, his expression resentful. And then he looked away, as if he could not meet her gaze.

'It's no use,' he muttered. 'Jim -' She put her hand on his arm and felt him flinch. 'Jim, don't torture yourself.' 'You are torturing me,' he said unsteadily. 'Damn you, Stacy, I want you so badly!' 'But I ... I can't let go. Not like this - In a car ... in the daytime.' Wildly she tried to improvise. 'Someone could pass us. They'd see -' 'You're trying to say it would be different in other circumstances?' Stacy was shocked at the hope that flared in his eyes. 'I don't know,' she said, and hoped she was being honest, as much with Jim as with herself. 'I just don't know.' After a moment she whispered, 'Don't rush things, Jim.' She heard him take a long shuddering breath. He moved away from her, and turned the key in the ignition. His movements were deliberate, as if he was trying to control himself and present an outward picture of composure. But Stacy saw that his hands shook. 'All right, Stacy.' His voice was quiet. 'We'll give it time.' The engine sputtered into life. 'Shall we start back? We've a long way to go before it gets dark.'

CHAPTER EIGHT IT was three days later that Andre joined her while she was having breakfast. She had come to the dining-room a little earlier than the others, as much to avoid Jim as to avoid Andre and Tessa. The last few days had been even more strained and difficult than before. Besides the contempt of Andre and Tessa, there was now Jim's stiffness to contend with as well. Though he had tried to make light of what had happened, the sensitive face was troubled and unhappy, and sometimes, when his expression was unguarded, Stacy detected a sulkiness which sat uncomfortably on a person who was both a doctor and a grown-up. While she knew the reason for his un- happiness, and regretted her part in it, she could not help being irritated at the childishness with which Jim handled his emotions. She tried to rationalise, to tell herself that her irritation was totally unjustified, but the feeling persisted. The day after the outing in the Kruger Park Stacy wrote to Betty, asking her when she thought she would be able to return to Diazinto. Depending on Betty's reply, she would decide on her next step. Obviously she could not leave the hospital without first making certain that there would be a replacement. But neither would she stay here indefinitely. The accompanying tensions were intolerable. If Betty could not return soon, then Stacy would have to insist that steps were taken to find someone else. She was deep in thought when the tall figure slid into the chair opposite her. 'Andre...' She put down her fork and knife and started to get to her feet. 'Good morning. I ... I was just going.' 'It doesn't take much to put you off your food.' His tone was light and mocking.

'Wh—What?' Her voice was unsteady. 'You've eaten about a quarter of your breakfast.' 'I ... I'm not hungry.' 'I really do affect your appetite, don't I.' It was not a question. He grinned derisively, taking in the flush that had spread over her cheeks, the tremulous lips, and the hand that went nervously to smooth a non-existent tendril of hair from her forehead. 'Be a brave girl, Stacy. Eat up. I won't bite you.' 'I didn't think you would.' She managed to inject a measure of coolness into her own voice. 'No?' One elegant eyebrow rose sardonically, but she noticed that the expression in his eyes was bleak. 'Then why do you make such a point of avoiding me?' 'I don't avoid you.' She looked at her plate. 'Just because I happen to have had enough...' 'Who do you think you're kidding, Stacy?' His chuckle was low and so seductive that she felt her heart miss a beat. 'It's academic anyhow. You'll have to put up with me for a while.' 'What do you mean?' She looked up, caught by something in his tone. 'You and I are going on a trip, Stacy. Just the two of us.' The sensual mouth was curved in a smile, a smile which did not reach his eyes. 'I don't understand.' A pulse began to beat rapidly at the base of her throat, and from the direction of the dark eyes she saw that it did not pass unnoticed.

'I intend making a trip into the interior,' he informed her with relish. 'You're coming with me.' 'Oh no, I'm not,' came the quick retort. 'If you need company, take Tessa.' 'I would—if it was a pleasure trip.' The vibrant voice mocked her. 'It isn't a pleasure trip?' she asked uncertainly. 'We're going into the bush,' he told her crisply. 'Periodically I visit outlying villages to render medical aid to people who can't get to Diazinto.' 'Can you do much in a day?' It was not what she wanted to know, but she did not know how to voice the question uppermost in her mind. 'Who spoke of a day?' His gaze was enigmatic. With unnerving insolence it rested on her face, noting the panic in the wide emerald eyes, the pearls of moisture on her forehead which owed nothing at all to the heat. The gaze moved downward, quite deliberately, to the slender body beneath the white nurse's uniform, to the breasts which heaved in a fear-heightened breathing. 'You mean ... it will be more than one day?' The question came from a parched throat. 'Several.' The tone was one of satisfaction. 'I won't go!' She spoke defiantly. 'You will.' She shook her head violently. 'You can't force me.'

A gleam appeared in his eyes. 'Can't I? You know, Stacy, I'd take pleasure in doing just that.' 'You're a swine!' she flung at him desperately. A light flickered in the grey eyes. 'You've called me that before.' His tone was soft and dangerous. 'I'd advise you not to do it again.' He paused, the momentary silence heavy with an unspoken warning. 'As for force, much though I'd enjoy it, it's totally unnecessary. There is such a thing as orders, Sister Marlow.' The formality was a chilling taunt. The food on Stacy's plate remained untouched as she stared at Andre. The lean features were a chiselled mask of rugged lines, stern, merciless, and devastatingly primitive in their sensuality. Superseding her angry defiance came the thought of what it would be like to be quite alone with Andre, and her heart hammered so loudly that she wondered if he could hear it. Silence had followed his last words. Then he smiled. It was a smile which reached his eyes, lighting them not with warmth, but with an unholy gleam that was wicked and disturbing. Stacy knew that he guessed her feelings. She knew too that, like herself, he remembered not only his lovemaking in the dark waters of the swimming-pool and her own abandoned response, but also that occasion two years earlier when she had agreed to spend the week-end with him. At the time she had agreed to his proposition only because she loved him so desperately. He would never know why she had changed her mind at the last moment, and that only the accident had prevented her from telling him the reason. Stacy could only guess at Andre's thoughts on that day, when he had finally understood that she was not coming Impatiently she shook herself. All that was irrelevant. All that mattered now was that Andre should not imagine that what he had

once taken as her willingness to sleep with him should be construed as still being in existence. 'Why do you want me to come with you?' she asked at last, in a voice that was low and bitter. 'You know I hate you.' He was totally unmoved. 'Your sole role is that of nurse.' 'And the sleeping arrangements?' Now it had to be asked, but she wished she could control the breathlessness in her tone. Again that wickedly unnerving chuckle. 'All taken care of.' Which could be taken in more ways than one. But Stacy knew better than to go on with her questions. The man who sat opposite her at the table, his lean tanned form giving off an aura of authority and power and sheer compelling masculinity, would control any situation to suit his whims. In any open contest with him she would be the inevitable loser. Jim was upset when he heard of the trip. 'Be careful,' he warned Stacy when he realised that there was no way she could get out of it. 'Andre isn't an ogre.' Stacy grimaced, guessing that Andre would be amused if he could hear her defence of him. 'I don't trust the man.' Jim's eyes were troubled, and she noticed again the slight sulkiness about his mouth. 'I can take care of myself,' she said, her voice gentle to hide her irritation. 'I hope so.' 'This is a professional trip,' she reminded him. 'I'm a nurse, Jim, and Andre is a doctor.'

'You're a woman and he's a man, and you'll be together at night.' 'Nothing will happen. I don't even like Andre. If only you'd believe me!' Her voice was firm, but she wished that she herself could believe what she said. 'Besides, Andre can't stand me—he makes that quite clear.' When Jim was still not convinced, Stacy asked, 'What about Tessa? I wonder why she doesn't go on this trip with Andre?' 'Tessa?' Jim grinned. 'She wouldn't go on a trip like this. She knows there'll be insects and dirt. She wouldn't risk having her glamorous appearance spoilt with sweat and grime. And besides, why should she worry? Tessa knows where she stands with Andre.' Stacy wondered whether she only imagined the malice in Jim's tone. She couldn't help being annoyed that he cared more that she would be in Andre's company than that she herself would be exposed to the unpleasant aspects of the trip. 'You once said Tessa was jealous,' she remarked wryly. 'She's not jealous of you in particular.' Again that faint spark of malice. 'She's jealous of any attractive woman, Stacy. But not in these circumstances. Tessa knows that any liberties Andre might take would be for his amusement, nothing more.' He stopped when he saw Stacy's expression. When he continued his eyes were sober. 'But that doesn't stop me from worrying...." 'It's kind of you, but totally unnecessary.' Stacy wondered at the acidity in her tone. 'It's such a lovely evening, Jim. Shall we talk about something else?'

They left Diazinto before sunrise. Stacy sat beside Andre in the station-wagon, the same vehicle which Jim had used for their trip to the Kruger Park. It was still cool in the translucent grey light of predawn. On Andre's advice, Stacy did not wear her customary uniform—too awkward for walking through the bush, he had said. Instead she had donned a pair of denim jeans and a green cotton blouse. Looking at herself in the mirror, she had been pleased with the way the green enhanced the colour of her eyes. And then she had been Annoyed with herself. What on earth did it matter that she had made the best of herself? Andre had eyes only for Tessa. When he looked at Stacy at all, it was just to mock her, or to show his contempt. Obviously the recollection of what he could only think of as a rebuff on her part two years ago was still strong. It seemed that Andre was not the man to forget or to forgive. And even that did not matter, she tried to tell herself. There would have been no future for her with a man as arrogant and self-sufficient as Andre. He had seen in her only another girl who could provide him with entertainment for the brief span of a month or two. And her own personality, as she had found out when it was almost too late, did not allow for that kind of relationship. She stole a glance at him. His eyes were on the road, and in profile his face was stern and ruggedly masculine. The sleeves of the fawncoloured bush jacket were rolled up at the ends, to reveal tanned arms that were strong and muscular. He sat easily in the driving seat, lean hands holding the wheel with confident expertise. He had an uncompromising toughness which made him look utterly at home in the bushveld. For no reason at all, Stacy felt a lump form at the back of her throat. He turned to her quite suddenly, and caught off guard, she felt herself flush.

'Are you cold?' For once there was no mockery in his manner, though she knew that he was aware that she had been studying him. 'A little,' she admitted. 'There's a blanket at the back. Put it round you. Once the sun rises it will warm up very quickly.' Stacy turned, and found the gaily patterned Basuto blanket. Beside it, neatly packed, were the supplies Andre needed. There was nothing haphazard in the way he had organised this trip. There never would be anything haphazard about Andre's life, she reflected. There was a quiet sureness in his manner which made him the kind of person to inspire confidence, and for a moment she caught herself wondering what it would be like to be married to him. For once she did not dwell on his pride or his arrogance. Rather, she thought of his wisdom, his strength, and his ability to cope with awkward situations. She thought too of his almost aggressively virile masculinity, and felt her pulses quicken. And then, as she realised the utter futility of her thinking, she tried, very hard, to push the thought from her mind. 'Have we far to go?' She tried to talk in the clinical and matter-offact way of a nurse who had nothing more on her mind than her work. 'We're not going to any one place. We'll tie going to several villages,' he told her. His eyes left the road for a moment, and as he took in the blanket which she had wrapped around her, leaving only her head free, he grinned. 'You don't look more than ten years old right now. Perhaps I should have left you at Diazinto.' 'Oh, no! I'm glad I came!' The words came out entirely of their own volition. She glanced at him quickly, wondering what he would make of her unthinking admission.

He was smiling, a rare smile that lit his eyes with warmth. Stacy was reminded of the old Andre, the man she had loved so deeply that she had been almost prepared to sacrifice her principles because she did not want to lose him. 'I'm glad too,' he said softly, and Stacy ached with the desire to reach out and touch him. They drove on for a while in silence. Not a silence filled with strain or tension, but a comfortable friendly silence. There was a sense of Tightness in their being together and alone like this in the misty light of dawn. In one way it was not difficult to pretend that they had gone back in time, that they were the same Andre and Stacy of two years ago, absorbed in themselves and in the thrill of an exciting and stimulating relationship. But it was only in a superficial way that she could make the comparison, Stacy knew. Circumstances had changed, and she and Andre had changed with them. She was no longer the girl she had been two years ago. More than her leg had been affected in the accident. In her thinking, in her values, she was no longer the same girl she had been then. Andre too had changed. She had not been close enough to him in the weeks at Diazinto to be able to pinpoint the changes. But the lines about the mouth and eyes had not existed when she had known him first, and Stacy knew that only life and experiences had created them. When he married Tessa—a blade of pain twisted in her chest at the thought—he would change some more. A picture of Tessa appeared in Stacy's mind, the face that was so beautiful, so perfect in every respect, and yet so cold and untouchable with it all. Tessa, who was jealous of any attractive girl, how much did Tessa know about Stacy and her role in Andre's life? It had been obvious that first day, in Tessa's office, when Andre had come in so unexpectedly, that he and Stacy had met before. Had she questioned him later, and if she

had, how much had Andre told her? Did Tessa know of the planned week-end in the country, and how Andre had waited in vain for Stacy to come? Somehow Stacy knew that this was one thing Andre would have kept from her. If Tessa had learned of it, it was unlikely that she would have allowed Stacy to accompany him on this trip. 'Why didn't Tessa come With you?' She had not even known that she was going to ask the question. The moment the words were out, she would have given anything to take them back, for the companionable silence was destroyed. When Andre looked at her, she knew, even before he spoke, that his contempt had returned. 'I wouldn't have taken Tessa on a trip through the bush.' His voice was light, his smile derisive. 'This isn't going to be a pleasure jaunt, my sweet, I told you that once before.' As always, the use of the endearment was as mocking as his tone. Stacy drew the blanket more closely around her, to hide the quivering of her slender body. For a few minutes there had been such accord between them that she had forgotten to be on her guard. Her question had been unplanned. She had asked it without pondering the consequences. His reply, now that she thought of it, was totally what she should have expected. Naturally he wouldn't bring the woman he loved on this trip, with its attendant lack of comfort and possible hardship. Tessa was for coddling, for pampering. It was Stacy, the girl he held in contempt, who was suited for this particular purpose. If things were hard for her, or uncomfortable, it would not matter, because he had no feelings for her. She had known all along that this was the case, but the manner in which he had answered the question robbed her of any illusion which might have lingered in her mind that Andre had looked forward to her company.

'I only wondered,' she murmured, her tone brittle. She was shocked to feel tears pricking her eyelids. It would never do to cry. However mocking Andre had been until now, the sight of her tears would bring out in him a contempt that she would not be able to endure. Silently she .turned her head to the window, and stared out at the bushveld which was awakening to a new day.

The sun was high in the sky when they drew up at a village nestling in the lee of the mountains. The village consisted of kraals, the traditional homes of the Africans. The round clay huts were grouped in twos and threes. Chickens pecked at seeds on the ground, and great three-legged steel pots stood over open fires, with a strange and tasty aroma emerging from them. A young herdsman watched them getting out of the car, obviously fascinated with their presence, and reluctant to take the cows to the pasture. They had taken a few steps when more children arrived. They spilled from the kraals and came running to the car. The dark faces were alert and animated, eyes sparkling with vigour and mischief, smiles wide as they spoke to each other in a lively tongueclicking dialect. Andre spoke to them in their own language, but they seemed shy to answer him. In response to his question, there was a great deal of giggling and even more chattering among themselves. Then one lad, braver than the others, took a step forward, spoke a few words, and gestured in the direction of one of the kraals. Andre carried the cases which contained his instruments and medical supplies, as they walked towards the hut which the child had shown them. Adults were emerging from the kraals now. There were pretty young girls, looking not much older than children themselves, yet evidently they were already mothers, for some

carried babies on their backs secured with blankets tied around their waists in the traditional way in which Africans carry their infants. Several girls wore Western attire, skirts and dresses of bright cotton, and all were adorned with gaily-coloured beadwork of their own making; necklaces, bracelets and even pretty jewellery that fitted snugly around trim ankles. A woman, older than the others, and evidently in a position of some authority in the village, motioned Andre to one of the huts. Stacy followed him inside, carrying the lighter of the cases. When her eyes had become adjusted to the dimness of the hut, she saw that a table had been prepared for them, and two chairs had been set beside it. In one corner of the hut was a pile of mealies with the long green leaves still wrapped like wrinkled parchment around the cobs. In another corner was a mound of pumpkins. It was an incongruous setting for a surgery, yet Andre seemed oblivious of the fact as he began to set out his instruments. A queue formed outside the hut, and Stacy could hear talking and laughing and much tongue- clicking. Now and then a child peered curiously inside, only to be pushed aside by the woman who seemed to be the village spokesman. Stacy's personal tensions were forgotten as she grew absorbed in her work. One after another the villagers entered the hut to be examined, and Stacy began to understand why Andre had undertaken the trip. The village was too far from the hospital for its inhabitants to undertake the journey themselves. Yet there were people who were ill, and who needed a doctor's attention; there were others who needed inoculations or treatment of some nature. Stacy quickly grew used to Andre's method of working, and his attitude indicated that he was satisfied with her efforts. All traces of arrogance and mockery were gone. As one person after another entered the makeshift clinic, Andre was wholly a doctor.

Watching him, Stacy realised that he was dedicated to his profession in a manner which Jim was not. She remembered the injured child at Skukuza, and found it impossible to visualise Andre behaving as Jim had done. Whatever defects she might find in his personality, she could not fault him as a doctor. He worked quickly yet thoroughly, and Stacy could only admire the way in which he dealt with people who were frightened and bewildered. Somehow he managed to gain their confidence and trust. She had the feeling that they would have trusted him with their lives. And she knew, with a flash of self-revelation, that she would trust him with her own. Through a haze of something near shock she looked at him. Her feelings for Andre were not new, but she had not known that they ran quite so deep. Unaware of what was in her mind, Andre was bending over a small child, preparatory to giving it an injection. He spoke in a language which Stacy did not understand, but his voice was low and soothing, and the child, which had until seconds ago been wailing with fright, now seemed to relax. At .the moment when the needle pierced its arm, it gave a yelp of shock, then was calm again. Andre looked up, and for the first time became aware of Stacy's bemused gaze. He looked at her searchingly for a long moment, eyes narrowed and unreadable. Then he said crisply, 'Day-dreaming, Sister Marlow?' and Stacy pulled herself together and went back to what she had been doing. For the rest of the morning she did not allow herself to look Andre's way. Instead, she concentrated on the patients. As she watched them enter the hut, one after another in what seemed like a never- ending procession, her interest grew. For the first time she knew a feeling of real satisfaction that she had decided to take Betty's place at

Diazinto. This was nursing of a kind she could never have done in the city. It was an experience she would never forget. A boy was brought in with his arm in a makeshift sling. After Andre and the boy's father had conversed for a minute, Andre turned to Stacy and told her that the child had been attacked by a baboon which had mauled his arm. The boy's parents had taken him to a woman in a neighbouring village. The woman knew a great deal about the medicinal properties of herbs and roots, and she had attended to the wound. But the boy was still in pain, and now they had brought him to Andre. Stacy held her breath as she removed the ragged bandage, dreading what she would see. The arm needed attention, and even now Andre was getting ready to do what was necessary. But, strangely, the wound was clean and had not festered, and it was apparent that the boy would survive. A man came next, an elderly man, gnarled as the trees in the jungle, and very thin. His voice when he spoke to Andre was hoarse, and even beneath the dark skin Stacy could see that he had the flush of high fever. Andre examined him carefully. Then he called to the woman who had acted as spokesman. After speaking to her briefly, he told Stacy that the man was suffering from a tropical illness and that he wanted him isolated. As yet he was not certain of the exact nature of the illness, but he would take a sample of blood, which would give him the information he needed. The old man was frightened and querulous, but Andre's manner with him was as gentle as it had been with the children before him, and firm with it, so that the sick patient quietened and did as he was told. All morning people came and went in the mud hut. 'Tired?' Andre asked once. Stacy shook her head, smiling. It was the truth. Working

with him, as she had never done at Diazinto, gave her a feeling of exhilaration which transcended all tiredness. They stopped for a while to eat. Lunch consisted of a meal which had been cooked over a fire; meat, roasted with a spice which Stacy could not identify, and a mound of mealie-meal, a type of porridge made from the ground grains of maize. She watched to see how Andre ate it, with the gravy of the meat moistening the mealie-meal. When she copied him and took her first mouthful she found that it was delicious. 'Ever visited a kraal before?' He was watching her, amusement and approval in his eyes, and she felt a quick sensation of warmth surge through her system. 'No.' She shook her head. 'It's fascinating.' A few fowls squabbled over some grains not far from her feet, and beyond them children were watching her, round-eyed with interest. 'I'm glad I came,' Stacy said on impulse. She paused. 'I'll be leaving Diazinto soon.' 'You will?' She looked at him quickly, caught by the flatness in his voice. The amusement had left his eyes, and they were once more hooded and unreadable. 'Betty will be returning...' she said uncertainly. 'Of course. So, Stacy, you'll be returning to the city. What will you do there?' 'I'm not sure.'

'You'll become nurse-companion to some rich old lady.' His tone was loaded with sarcasm, and the grey eyes glinted with mockery. 'Will you entertain her with tales of your experiences in the wilds?' 'You bet I will!' She answered him defiantly, anger rising within her at this unwarranted provocation. She had no intention of letting him know that she would not be returning to private nursing, but that she had decided to branch out into something more stimulating and rewarding, some branch of nursing where she could be more, help than she had been heretofore. 'I'll tell her also about Diazinto's antisocial doctor and his rude behaviour which wouldn't be tolerated in any civilised place!' He caught her hand in a grip of steel, bringing her round to face him. 'I ought to punish you for. that,' he said very quietly. 'In your own inimitable caveman style?' She forced a scathing laugh, aware that his touch constricted her lungs, so that her breathing was ragged and uneven. 'Sorry, love, but I can't oblige.' He grinned wickedly, taunting her with his tone and with the sensualness of his touch. 'There are children watching, and I don't believe in corrupting the young.' 'You are the most arrogant man I've met!' Stacy burst out angrily, the colour high in her cheeks. 'And your taste runs to milksops,' he acknowledged, still with the same infuriating grin. 'Don't you dare call Jim a milksop!' Stacy hissed. 'Were we talking about Jim?' His expression was sardonic.

Stacy bit her lip. She had let him trap her. The dignified way out was to leave the matter alone. If she went on arguing she would be the inevitable loser. If only he would release her wrist. One thumb had begun a stroking movement, so sensual that it sent blood racing through her veins. Once more the memory of the moments she had spent in his arms was so vivid that she felt dizzy. A little desperately she wondered how long it would take her to settle down to a new life once she had left Diazinto. She knew, with a knowledge that gave her no happiness, that her feelings for Andre two years ago had been shallow compared with her feelings now. 'Well?' The question was seemingly casual. 'Were we talking about Jim?' 'Let's drop it, Andre.' Her own voice was low and bitter. 'This conversation is getting us nowhere. We don't converse on the same level, you and I. You wouldn't understand what I meant, not in a hundred years.' 'Don't flatter yourself that I'd spend that long trying.' There was only dryness in the quiet retort. And then, before she could think up an appropriate retort: 'We can continue this another time. Back to work now.' The procession of patients was beginning to thin out. Just as well, Stacy knew, for Andre still wanted to visit another village that day. He had finished attending to a woodcutter, whose head and neck bore deep abrasions from a falling tree, when a woman came forward, leading a boy by the hand. On her back was a sleeping baby, and clutching her skirt were two small children. The boy at her hand could have been twelve. His eyes were matted and Stacy knew suddenly that she was leading him because he was almost blind.

She watched as Andre examined the boy. He asked the mother a few questions, then cleaned the diseased eyes with sterile pads. His hands were as deft and gentle as they had been with all the other patients, but Stacy saw that his lips were tight, and she sensed that beneath the calm exterior there was a mounting fury. 'Trachoma?' she asked. 'Yes.' The monosyllable was clipped. 'Is it bad?' He lifted his head and looked at her, his face hard and bitter, and in his eyes was an expression of frustration she had not seen in them before. 'He's almost blind,' he said, in a tone that was so totally devoid of emotion that it stirred Stacy all the more. She knew, without being told, that he was keeping a tight rein on his feelings. Watching him, Stacy knew that it was not true that all doctors and nurses remained completely uninvolved with their patients. It was true that uninvolvement was important to the extent that emotion could hinder the efficiency of necessary treatment, or could even break the spirit of a young man or woman. But she realised suddenly that there were doctors and nurses who would always retain a sense of compassion and involvement. Though it would remain hidden beneath an objective exterior, the involvement would always be present. It would be involvement in the caring sense. Caring what happened to, people, Caring about disease and ways of eradicating it. In a way it was a feeling which could be equated with a caring for mankind. Perhaps it was a quality possessed only by truly great people. Instinctively Stacy knew that Andre was possessed of this quality, and that Jim was not. There were more victims of trachoma, both at this village and at the next one, half a mile down the river. In some cases the disease was

more advanced than in others. It seemed that Andre was well prepared. He handed out medicine, with firm and explicit instructions on how to apply it. It was late afternoon when the last patient left the hut where they had been working. While Stacy put away instruments, she wondered what would happen next. Andre had said nothing more about their sleeping arrangements, and she had not wanted to ask. Nor did she know how they would spend the evening. She was conscious of a fluttering sensation inside her, a combination of nervousness and anticipation. Anticipation of what? she asked herself impatiently. Another dose of sarcasm? Andre had left the hut for a while. He came back just as she was closing the last of the cases. 'I'm going for a walk,' he said brusquely. 'Want to come?' She hesitated. The sensible thing was to stay away from Andre, on a personal level, as much as she could. On the other hand, this was not Diazinto. She did not have a bungalow to which she could retire, and there was nobody with whom she could speak. If she did not go with Andre she would be completely at a loss. 'Yes,' she agreed, 'I'll come.' 'Took you long enough to decide. Come on, Stacy. I want to clear my head.'

CHAPTER NINE THEY took a trail that led to the river. The sun was setting and a stillness lay over the land. From the kraals behind them came the squawking of fowls and the chattering of people, but the land was so wooded that the sounds were muted by the trees. Reaching the river, they walked for a while beside the rippling water. The water was so clear that one could see every pebble on its bed. Yet Stacy knew that the appearance of cleanliness was deceptive. Only the unwary would bathe in a stream where the bilharzia parasite might lurk. At a clump of rocks they stopped, for the trail went no further. Stacy sat down, leaning back against the smooth surface of a rock. She hunched her chin on her bent knees, and watched Andre as he stood at the water's edge. He looked very tall, very strong, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His legs were slightly apart, and the muscles in his calves were taut. His tan was pronounced against the white of the safari suit, emphasising the look of competence and authority which was coupled with the ever-present aura of compelling masculinity. This was the way she must remember him, she thought. This was the picture she must keep of him in her mind when the time came for her to leave Diazinto—a tall lithe figure etched against the spectacular backdrop of an African sunset. There was something rigid about the man, something stiff and uncompromising. He bent suddenly, took up a pebble, and hurled it towards the water. She caught a glimpse of his face. It was stiff and angry. 'Andre -' She spoke his name tentatively.

He turned, his expression so remote that she had the feeling that he had forgotten her existence. 'Yes?' 'You're so angry.... Is it the trachoma?' 'Yes.' He looked into the sunset a moment longer, then turned brusquely and came to her. He did not sit down, but towered above her, a tall lean giant of a man, his mind occupied with a problem of humanity, his body exuding the potent virility of which he seemed unaware. 'You're thinking of the boy,' Stacy said. 'Will he lose his sight?' 'Very likely.' Grey eyes gleamed like jet in the rugged face. 'But I'm not thinking only of that boy. I'm thinking of all the other children who will lose their sight.' 'Tell me about it,' she invited. He continued to stand there, stiff and angry and somehow threatening, and for a second she wondered if he would talk to her. When he did sit down, it was with the lithe grace which was inherent in all his movements. 'You must have learned something about trachoma when you were training,' he said. 'A little.' 'Then you know that it's a conjunctival infection. But it's no ordinary infection. It's far more severe.' 'I thought it could be treated...'

'It can be, when the treatment begins early enough. The boy you saw today, and two of the others after him, are too far gone to be responsive to treatment.', 'What causes trachoma, Andre?' She was speaking quietly, clinically. As a nurse she was highly interested in diseases and their treatment. But as a woman she was delighting in this conversation with the man she loved. This was the first time in two years that she was able to speak to him without incurring mockery and derision. 'Unhygienic conditions. Poverty. Ignorance.' He was quiet a moment. Then he said, 'You must have seen the matted lashes, and the seepage from the eyes. Flies are attracted to the seepage, and they carry the disease to others.' Stacy shuddered. 'How horrible!' His eyes flicked over her. 'It is horrible,' he agreed quietly. 'Can anything be done?' 'Certainly.' His voice had lost some of its angry brusqueness, and his body was less rigid than it had been. Although his tone was still detached, it was as if talking helped him let off steam built up by an anger that was powerful, yet for all that, to some extent, helpless. He explained about antibiotics which were effective in combating the disease, and the necessity for people to understand that if trachoma were treated early it could be cured. He talked of the importance of alleviating ignorance, and the need to teach proper hygiene. The problem came alive in his telling, so that Stacy was gripped with the urgency and the desperation and the sheer awful reality of the disease. Closing her eyes, she could see herself, living in the bush, working at Andre's side, filling the daylight hours with

treating and teaching and finding ways of eliminating a dreaded scourge. This would be nursing in its highest form, higher than anything she had ever experienced. And at night there would be the joy of being with the man she loved, sharing not only the working hours, but the tenderness and intimacy of the time alone. And then she opened her eyes. For in this picture Andre had been her husband, and that was something which could never be. Soon now he would be married to Tessa. And even if Tessa would tolerate having her permanently at Diazinto, which was unlikely, she herself could not endure watching Andre with Tessa, or with any other woman for that matter. And yet this scene was something she would remember, Stacy thought with a kind of elation. Andre's was a dedication which was unpaid. Nor was it dictated by hours or duty. Here was a man who lived for his work in a way the Jim Howes's of the world could never understand. This was a man worth loving, and though she could never have his love in return, she hoped that when the pain of parting began to fade a little, her memories of Andre would sustain her. The sky was a brilliant mass of changing colour, vermilion and gold contrasting and blending in a masterpiece which no artist could hope to equal. However far Diazinto was from civilisation, this lonely clearing by the river was even further. Totally isolated, the river and the trees and the thorn bushes and the rocks made a picture that was as old as Africa itself. When the sun had vanished beneath the horizon, in a display as brief as it was spectacular, it grew chilly. A breeze came up, whipping the water into small waves which licked at the rocks and sent up little tongues of spray. Stacy shivered, and wrapped her arms around her chest for warmth.

'You're cold,' Andre observed. He got to his feet and held out his hand to her. 'Come.' She took his hand, and wondered if he felt the tingling that seemed to flow electrically from his body to hers. If he was aware of it, he did not show it. He kept her hand in his as they negotiated the rocky river-bank. The gesture was probably just one of help, but Stacy, her pulses racing at his touch, did not dwell on its motive. All that mattered was that for once there was complete accord between them, and she savoured every moment. They emerged from a clump of trees and saw the kraals in the cleft between two hills. Smoke rose from the cooking fires, and the sound of laughter carried through the still air. To the right, where another path made an approach to the round mud huts, a group of young girls came into sight, each with a bundle of firewood on her head. Their gait was sleek and graceful, and they walked as if they were unaware of the bundles they carried with such precision. It was a sight which was as much a part of Africa as the thorn-trees and the veld. Stacy never failed to be intrigued by the sense of balance which seemed to be inherent in all Africans. It seemed that the smallest child was able to carry a bundle on its head, and she had never seen one fall. There was magic in the cool air, in the time which seemed suspended between the day and the night; magic in the wonder of walking so close to Andre, his hand still holding hers; magic in the completeness of their understanding. She glanced up at him, marvelling how she had misjudged him in the past. The man she had taken to be primarily a playboy was a doctor who was more dedicated to his work than anyone she had known. His ability and dedication, coupled with the strength of his personality, made him stand out above all other men she had met in every way that mattered.

Perhaps it was the loveliness of her surroundings, - the lack of animosity in Andre, which caught her off guard. Quite without thinking, she observed, 'Jim told me that you were very interested in trachoma.' Andre looked down at her. The remoteness had vanished from his eyes. 'He did?' 'Yes...' She bit her lip. Without understanding where she had gone wrong, Stacy knew that she had brought the familiar arrogance dangerously near to the surface. 'What exactly did he say?' There was an odd expression in the rugged-featured face. 'Does it matter?' Stacy asked tautly. 'Let's just say I'm interested.' A lazy smile curved the corners of his mouth, but there was nothing lazy in the eyes that looked down at her. 'He said.. ..' She faltered. At the look in his face she lifted her head defiantly. 'He said that trachoma was a passion of yours.' 'He would.' The short laugh was jeering. 'And no doubt my monologue by the river confirmed what he said.' His arrogance was so unwarranted that it hurt. Not for anything would she admit how moved she had been by all he had told her. 'That's right,' she shot back bitingly. She turned her head and looked at the kraals, determined that he would not see the tears gathering behind her lids. A hand went out to grasp her chin, and he turned her round to face him. His strength was greater than hers, and she could not move

away. All she could do was conceal her eyes beneath lowered lids, and hope that the tears would not spill before he released her. 'I ought to punish you,' he said softly. 'Why?' For the moment she had the tears under control. A little provocatively she slanted a look at him, emerald eyes sparkling beneath long spiky lashes. He seemed to catch his breath momentarily and she thought she saw a muscle tense in his jaw. His eyes narrowed, sweeping her face with an audacious speculative gaze. 'For leading me on when you weren't at all interested.' His voice was bland. 'You are just a tease, Stacy.' 'I've never teased you, Andre,' she said demurely. 'Not half you haven't.' One hand caught at her hair, pulling her head back. 'Just as you tease Jim. Just as you probably tease every man you meet. I know a name for girls like you, Stacy.' 'Let me go!' She grated the words. 'When I'm ready to.' The hand that held her hair pulled her head further back, the other arm was around her, pulling her to him. There was nothing gentle in the gesture, just as there was nothing gentle in the lips that crushed down on hers, bruising them with their hardness. Despite the fact that he was only demonstrating his power over her, a wild tide of excitement raced through Stacy's system, swamping her senses, so that she felt quite dizzy.

She was about to wind her arms around his neck, when he straightened. Opening her eyes, she saw through a blur that his expression was one of taunting satisfaction. Passion changed in a moment to fury. 'I hate you!' she flung at him, her voice thick with loathing. 'Better that than the half-baked emotion which is supposed to pass for affection, which you dole out to Jim.' His teeth gleamed white and strong and wicked in the tanned face. 'I was never one for halfmeasures, Stacy.' And what was she supposed to answer to that? She stared at him defiantly, hating him for having had the last word once more, yet knowing that what he said was true. Jim had never inspired her love, could never do so. But nor had she ever hated him with the fury which swept through her right now. Even in the Game Reserve, when Jim had refused to look at the injured child, hatred had not been the emotion she had felt. There had been nothing stronger than disappointment, and a mild kind of contempt. 'Nothing to say?' Andre was watching her, with an amusement that further inflamed her. She shook her head blindly and he said, 'Then let's go back to the kraal. They like to eat before it gets dark.' She could have enjoyed this, Stacy thought a little later, as she sat on the ground eating supper—meat and beans and potatoes, and later, tea which was deliciously hot in the cool evening air, but a little too sweet. Children hovered around her, watching her curiously. They spoke to her in a language which she did not understand, and yet somehow she did understand what they wanted to convey, for the children had an appealing spontaneousness which transcended the barriers of language.

It grew dark quickly, and soon the sky was a brilliant mass of stars. She could have enjoyed it, could have added this to her reservoir of memories to cherish, if only there were not the tensions and frustrations which threatened to overcome her if she could not keep them at bay. When they had eaten, the people of the village put on an entertainment for Stacy and Andre. Enchanted, Stacy watched as a line of young girls danced to the beat of three cowhide drums. Their bodies were sleek and smooth in the firelight, and their movements were graceful. As they danced they sang. The voices were high and pure, and, though she did not understand the words of the songs it did not need Andre's undertone to tell her that these were love songs. There was something in the lilt and cadence of the young voices which told her that they could be nothing else. A lump formed in Stacy's throat, and the tears that had so recently hovered near the surface threatened once more on her lashes. There was something very poignant in the songs of these village girls. An unbearable poignancy, when the man she loved sat so close beside her that she could have reached out to touch him. It was not space which separated her from Andre, but something which could not be bridged. Dislike and an icy contempt. More than ever, Stacy hoped that Betty would soon return to Diazinto. She would never forget the time she had spent in the bushveld. The good times and the bad, the love and the happiness and the bleak despair. All would be imprinted for ever in her memory. But there was a limit to what she could endure emotionally. Loving Andre as she did, she could no longer bear to be where she must constantly see him, knowing that he was forever out of her reach.

The dancing and the singing came to an end as the fires began to die. Andre put out a hand to help her to her feet, and Stacy wondered again where she would sleep. As if he anticipated her question, he said levelly, 'Come along, Stacy. The kraal is ready for us.' 'Us?' she shot at him swiftly. 'Of course.' In the fading light she could see the sardonic smile sketching his lips. 'You don't... you can't mean...' 'At a loss for words?' He chuckled harshly. 'I do mean that you and I will be sharing a hut. It's taken for granted.' He took her hand and jerked her roughly along with him. 'And don't argue. Don't you see that we're being watched?' 'I suppose you'd lose face if a woman dared contradict you,' Stacy commented with jeering bitterness. He did not bother to deny it. 'Precisely.' The grip on her hand was tight. She could have stood her ground perhaps, but not for long, Stacy knew. Andre's strength was greater than hers. And dimly she recognised that her own piqued feelings must not be allowed to make him look small in the eyes of the people who trusted him. She would have to make a stand, but not now. In pretended docility she began to walk with him, and abruptly the grip on her hand loosened. The hut was set a little aside from the others. Stacy managed to enter before Andre. A kerosene lamp was suspended from a hook on a wall, its flickering light falling on the two sleeping-bags stretched out on piles of fresh straw.

Just inside the hut she turned. 'You're not coming in,' she declared forcibly. 'I thought we had this thing settled between us.' His tone was familiarly mocking. 'We have.' She kept her voice even, despite the quiver of fear and excitement which she could not control. 'Then move over.' He took a step into the hut. He was so close to her now that she could feel his body through the fabric of her clothes. 'Over my dead body!' she hissed. 'Then it will have to be over your live one.' Two hands like steel caught her waist and lifted her against him. She beat her fists against his chest, but he was quite unmoved as he carried her across the hut and dumped her down on her sleepingbag. She was still pummelling him as she felt the bag and the straw beneath her back. Looking up into the eyes of the man who was bending over her, she was conscious of an enormous excitement pounding through her veins, and also a terrible anger. 'Get out!' What began as a scream ended in a whimper as a strong hand was clamped over her mouth. 'Don't try that stunt again, Stacy.' His voice was heavy with warning. In the light of the lamp his face was a sculpture of implacable lines. His lips were rigid, and his eyes were unreadable. His jaw was tense, and a muscle worked in his throat. She stared up at him wide-eyed. 'Don't you know that I don't want you in here?'

'Do you really know what you want?' His voice was a taunt. 'I'll show you what we both want.' She tried to twist away as the strong mouth descended to hers, but he was too quick for her. As his lips forced hers open, his hands pulled her shirt away from her jeans, then slid beneath the shirt to her back. She felt his hands against her bare skin, warm and hard, exploring her back, then moving around to cup her breasts. He was lying against her now, the long male body hard and sure against her own soft curves, and she could feel the strong beat of his heart against her chest. All the fight drained from her as she was swept along on a tide of emotion which was stronger than anything she had ever known. There was just sensation now, and the wish to give herself to him as a woman gives herself to the man she loves. Without thinking what she was doing, she put her arms around his back to pull herself even closer to him. When he sat up suddenly and looked down at her, she could only stare back at him wordlessly, her body quivering with frustration and disappointment. 'So now you know what you want.' His voice was harsh. 'Don't try to deny it, Stacy, because it really doesn't matter. It just so happens that you're safe. I won't touch you again tonight.' Not another word passed between them. As if he did not care whether or not she watched him, Andre began to undress. He took off his shirt, and even in the weak light of the lamp his chest was broad and bronzed and muscled. Perhaps he would have undressed further—Stacy did not know. It was as if by his actions he was reducing her importance even further. She turned her head away, and stared into the darkest corner of the hut, trying to blink away her tears. She lay quite still on her sleeping-bag, where he had thrown her and then made love to her. She still did not know what to do.

Perhaps she should spend the night in her jeans and shirt. What she could not do was to undress with Andre's show of unconcern. They did not talk even when Andre, now clad only in pyjama trousers, slid into his sleeping-bag. There was not even a formal goodnight. Within minutes the sound of deep unhurried breathing told Stacy that Andre was sleeping. Only then did she get up. She took her own pyjamas from her duffel-bag, undressed quickly, and slipped into the sleeping-bag. For a long while she lay sleepless. At last she could allow the tears which she had suppressed for so long to roll down her cheeks. This too was an experience which she could have enjoyed if the circumstances had been different. The straw was soft and comfortable. The hut was warm and cosy. And from outside came the sounds of the African countryside—the singing of the crickets, the drum-beats, the lowing of cattle. Stacy raised herself on one elbow and looked across at the sleeping form of the man she loved. Andre had turned the lamp down, but there was still enough light to make out the strong features, calm now and relaxed, yet still retaining an inherent tautness even in repose. Dark hair fell across the high forehead, and his eyelashes were thick and long on the rugged cheeks. A deep longing welled in her to reach out and touch him. If she traced her fingers very gently over the lean features, he would never know. She leaned over and put out a hand, then pulled it back again, and willed herself to close her eyes. When Stacy woke up next morning, she was relieved to see that Andre's sleeping-bag was rolled up and that the hut was empty. She dressed quickly; then ran a comb through her hair. The sun was just rising and as she went outside she shivered in the early morning air. Already the cooking-fires were, burning, and children spilled out of

the huts, chattering and laughing. The veld was dun-coloured in the dim light, and the ground was moist underfoot. Andre stood beside one of the fires, a cup in his hands, the steam from hot tea rising in the chill air. She watched him for a moment, unobserved. He seemed to be preoccupied, for his brow was slightly furrowed and his eyes, grey and very dark in the half-light, seemed to gaze far out into the veld. In his immaculate safari-suit he looked tall and strong and supremely sure of himself. As always the sheer sensual virility of the man struck an answering chord in Stacy, and she was aware of the quickening of her pulses. At the same time memory flooded back, and she remembered, with almost shocking vividness, the scene in the hut the night before. Looking at the brown muscled arms, the long taut legs, she could feel them pressing once more against her own soft slenderness, could relive the excitement which had chased through her veins. Involuntarily she shivered. Andre turned and saw her. He looked refreshed, as if he had had a good night's sleep. Unlike herself, Stacy thought wryly, for even when she had eventually slept;, her dreams had been too chaotic for restfulness or peace of mind. 'You're awake early.' He grinned at her, his teeth a wicked flash of white in the lean face. 'Sleep well?' 'Very,' she said primly, and heard the deep- throated chuckle. 'Good.' His tone was deceptively mild and she knew that he was laughing at her. 'When you've eaten we can push on to the next village.' Breakfast was similar to the previous meals. There was mealie-meal, without gravy this time, but covered with milk and some sugar, and a cup of hot tea. Stacy would have liked to eat slowly, savouring the

freshness of the bushveld, the gaiety of the children, and the sight of the herdsmen leading their cattle and sheep out of the village and into the veld. But she sensed that Andre was keen to get going, and though she was not inclined to give in to his whims, neither was she in the mood for an argument. 'Today is going to be harder going than yesterday,' he warned when they had left the village behind them. 'In what way?' She turned to him, watching the hands that rested so easily on the wheel despite the bumpiness of the track. He seemed to handle the station-wagon with the same expertise with which he handled every other facet of his life. Including his women, she thought ruefully, and wondered if he knew that she had been on the point of giving in to him the night before. 'There'll be a lot of foot-slogging today. We'll be going through thick bush, places where the station-wagon can't take us.' His gaze rested on her face, searching the wide emerald eyes, noting the heightened breathing that quickened the pulse in her throat. Then the gaze dropped to the curvaceous slenderness beneath the scarlet blouse into which she had changed this morning. The gaze was deliberate and audacious, and Stacy realised that Andre knew everything. A slow flush warmed her soft cheeks, but she would not give him satisfaction of seeing her turn away in embarrassment. 'Think you can make it?' he asked. 'Why not?' She struggled to keep her voice detached. She saw a brief gleam light his eyes, but all he said was, 'Good. I don't have time for hindrances.' She did turn her head away after that. The man was insufferable! she thought angrily. All that she had ever read about love being blind

must be true. Why was it her lot to have fallen in love with a man who was not only more virile and masculine than any other person she knew, but who could also have no match in arrogance and ruthlessness? The going proved to be as rough as Andre had promised. It seemed that they were going to visit villages which were too far off the beaten track for a vehicle to get to them. As they left the stationwagon, and began to make their way through the bush, Stacy reflected that it would have needed a tank to bulldoze its way through the tangle of undergrowth. There was a track of sorts, but it was too narrow for two people to walk alongside each other. She wondered that Andre was able to find his way. The sun rose in the sky and it grew very hot. Stacy was conscious of the moist prickly feeling of her skin and wished for a breeze that would cool the perspiration. Now and then a thorny bush would tear at her arms, and though she had worn jeans partly to hide her scarred leg, she was glad of the protection they offered. Stopping once to catch her breath, she watched Andre walking on ahead of her. His strides were long and easy. In each hand he carried a case. Stacy knew these to be heavy, but there was nothing in the way he walked to suggest that he felt burdened by his load. On his back he carried a hamper and the two sleeping-bags, ingeniously slung together to keep them from slipping. There was something so natural and effortless in the way in which he made his way through the dense and thorny bush that Stacy thought he would have been as good a game-ranger or a conservationist as he was a doctor. They did not speak as they walked, but now and then he turned to see how she was managing. At these times she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. Not for the world would she let him know that she was finding the going harder than he did.

'Worse than you expected?' he asked once, his eyes flicking her damp hair and the breasts that heaved slightly with exertion. 'You warned me that it wouldn't be a pleasure trip,' she shot back at him. 'Sure.' For a moment there was a glimmer of an emotion in his face. If this man had been someone other than Andre, Stacy might have taken the expression for admiration of sorts. But this was Andre, and the gleam that came into his face could only be provoked by arrogance or malice. 'I understand now why you didn't bring Tessa.' Stacy couldn't resist the provocative murmur. She was treading on dangerous ground, but she didn't care. He laughed softly, his teeth very white in the lean brown face. The column of his throat rose strong and tanned from the collar of his safari-jacket, and a muscle rippled in his arm as he shifted the weight of a case. 'Tessa—here?' His eyes swept the thorny terrain, before returning to the flushed and defiant face. 'There are women who are not made for roughing it, Stacy.' 'Okay, you don't need to spell it out.' The words snapped out swiftly, and the emerald eyes sparkled with anger. 'Some things don't need spelling out.' Once again the audacious gaze rested on her face, taking in the hair that had escaped its neat chignon to fall loosely to her shoulders, the shining green eyes which were shot with gold where the sun touched them. The gaze lingered a moment on the tremulous lips, then moved, quite deliberately, downwards, over the feminine body that was at once curvaceous and slender.

When he looked up again she was trembling. Excitement or anger? She was not sure. All she knew was that Andre's compelling sensuality could set her pulses racing and the blood flowing faster through her veins. He had only to look at her in that lazy way for the memory of their lovemaking to flood back through her mind and her senses. Most humiliating of all, Andre seemed to know the extent of his power over her. 'Let's get moving.' His voice was devoid of expression as he shot her a last glance, then turned and resumed his easy stride through the undergrowth. Watching the tall lithe figure ahead of her, strong and powerful and utterly unconcerned with the emotions he had created in her, Stacy felt a new surge of fury. So some women were not made for roughing it! Only the best would ever be good enough for Tessa Mantis—Andre would see to that. The chilling woman who was to be his wife would never know what it was to walk behind him through a thorny tangle of bush. She would never be flushed and dirty and untidy. She would always be the epitome of an immaculate and unruffled beauty, enjoying her position as Matron and owner of the hospital, and delegating the rough work to her underlings. Till this moment Stacy had enjoyed much of the expedition. There had been something immensely satisfying in the thought that they were bringing care to people who needed it. She did not mind being dirty and hot if there was a prospect of cool water at the end of the day. In fact, were it not for the tensions and emotional strain provoked by her insufferable companion, she knew that this brief sojourn in the hinterland had given her more conscious happiness than she had known for a long time. The fact that she loved Andre, that his presence thrilled her even while it infuriated her, had had nothing to do with the basic enjoyment of this trip, she told herself.

But the insinuation that women like Tessa should be pampered because they were special, and that Stacy had been assigned to accompany him only because he did not consider her sufficiently to care whether the going was too rough, this insinuation was hurtful. No matter if it were true. What hurt was the fact that in Andre's eyes she was a nonentity who merited no consideration as woman.

CHAPTER TEN SHE was so preoccupied with her thoughts that her awareness of her surroundings faded, and she pushed her way through the bush without noticing where she was going. When Andre spoke she pulled up with a start. 'Still brooding?' She jerked her head up, and saw the mocking curve of his lips. 'If you're thinking of making a wax image of me to stick pins into, it will have to wait until later. You've work to do now, poppet.' Stacy stifled the retort which rose to her lips, knowing that it was inadequate, and turning her eyes away from the grey eyes which laughed at her with such disconcerting understanding, she looked instead at the place they had come to. This village was smaller than those of the previous day, and more isolated. A cluster of huts huddled together, as if for comfort, on the edge of a small clearing. There was something wild yet beautiful about this place. A clump of banana palms stood by a stream, bananas in near-ripe clusters high above the ground. Stacy saw mangoes, and avocadoes, and around the huts were patches of mealies. The walls of the huts were decorated with murals in geometric patterns, painted in colours that were primary and somehow primeval. She would have liked to take a walk and look around, but there was work to do. Already the first patients were lining up to see Andre. There was so much to do that Stacy had no more time for private thought. Once she had pushed Andre and Tessa from her mind, she grew absorbed in her work. There was a man who had had his arm almost severed while chopping down a tree. Fortunately it had happened just a short while before so that Andre was able to help him. There was a child who had been attacked by an eagle. The

villagers had beaten off the winged predator, but not before the child had been badly scratched. And here and there, during that busy day, there were cases of trachoma and malaria and bilharzia. Pausing once to push a damp tendril of hair from her forehead, Stacy thought that never before had she found so much satisfaction and fulfilment in her work. Without knowing why, she turned quite suddenly. Andre was watching her. There was an unreadable expression in his eyes, and for some reason her heart beat faster. As their eyes met he smiled. The whole thing lasted only a moment, then he bent to his patient once more. Resuming the cleaning of a wound on a child's arm, Stacy was filled with sudden and unaccountable happiness. They worked together swiftly and efficiently, and it was not often that Andre had to give orders. Stacy seemed to know just what he wanted her to do. It was as if they were a team which had worked together for years, so that they had got to know each other's pace and demands without the necessity for words. It was a strange feeling, one that was highly satisfying. For the remainder of the day there was no more strain between them. In the early afternoon they left the village for another one nearby. When all those needing attention had been seen to, Stacy watched as Andre conferred with the man who seemed to be the head of the kraal. She could not understand what was said, but after a few moments Andre turned to her and said mildly, 'It seems nothing has been prepared for us. Tonight we'll cook our own supper, Stacy.' 'And then...?' She hesitated, not wanting to destroy the wonderful harmony which had been between them all day, yet needing to know how she was going to spend the night.

'Ever slept in a station-wagon?' He was grinning, and for once, miraculously, there was no mockery in his eyes. 'Not that I can remember.' It was not hard to smile back at him. 'There's a first time for most things.' At the look he shot her, she felt the betraying flush stain her cheeks once more, and in an attempt to change the subject asked, 'You said we'd be cooking our supper...' 'We came prepared.' Andre led the way to the station-wagon. Stacy was not surprised to see the cool-box, with ice-packs keeping the boerewors refrigerated. Andre would not have been Andre if he had been caught unprepared. She had not felt so happy for a long while, she thought, as she watched him making a fire of wood and charcoal. She had not forgotten that he could never be hers, and that very soon now he would be getting married to Tessa. But these few days away from Diazinto were like moments suspended in time. Inevitably the time would come when she would say goodbye to Andre, probably with no prospect of ever seeing him again. But whatever lay ahead of her—and somehow she knew now that she herself would never marry, and that her career would have to become her whole life— there were some memories she would take with her wherever she went. Golden memories, like this hushed evening in the bushveld. It was a memory that neither Andre nor Tessa could take away from her. By the time the flames were ready the sun was beginning to set. It was growing chilly, and Stacy huddled close to the fire, enjoying its warmth. She did not offer to cook. It was an old South African custom that men did the braaiing of meat out of doors, and what was this if not a braaivleis?

'This is delicious,' she remarked, savouring the boerewors, tender and well spiced, and the hot mealies with the butter dripping down her fingers. 'I'm glad you like it.' That rare smile again, with no hint of mockery or derision. For a while they were silent, enjoying, their food and the lovely colours of the sunset. But for Stacy the greatest pleasure was the companionship. She stole a glance at Andre and wondered if he too was conscious of this silence which was one without strain, without the need to make conversation. A perfect golden togetherness. There was time for a short walk, and then it grew too dark to see the path, and Andre suggested that they make themselves comfortable in the station- wagon. Stacy had not realised that it would be quite so cold. As always the heat of the day made one forget that at night all the warmth vanished from the ground. She was shivering as she leaned back against her seat. Last night, in the hut, she had not noticed the cold. But the hut was built for all weathers, the station-wagon was not. An arm came around her shoulders, pulling her close, and instinctively she stiffened. Andre's laugh was low and sensual. 'I've no designs on you tonight. However, we must be close together for body warmth.' She did not answer as she forced herself to relax. There was no need for him to know that her emotion was not one of fear, but rather the incredible excitement with which she seemed always to react to his nearness. It was hard to sleep with the smell of his virile masculinity enveloping her nostrils, and the warm hardness of the long body

close against hers. Had she ever really known Andre? she wondered, as she lay against him in the darkness. That he was not the playboy with whom she had been infatuated was something she had understood for some time now. There remained the enigma that he had wanted her to come away with him for a casual week-end two years ago, but that was easily explained. A man did not need to be a playboy to want a good time. Listening to the steady breathing, feeling the rhythmic heartbeats against her back, Stacy wished that she could prolong for ever the magic of this night. Soon dawn would come, and it would be time to go back to Diazinto. There would be a return to routine, to the company of others. Was there any chance at all that the fragile bond which had been created today could continue to exist?

Diazinto seemed a busy bustling place after the wild loneliness of the past few days. Though she had expected this, Stacy had to reorientate herself to its own special pace. She wondered if Tessa had always been quite as efficient and antagonistic as she was now. Could it be that a new animosity had developed? If so, and if the cause was jealousy, it was totally unfounded, Stacy told herself wryly. Sure enough, there had been moments of intimacy between Andre and herself, but these had occurred only because of the circumstances in which they had found themselves. She meant nothing to Andre. He had made it clear that he had brought her on the expedition only because the going was too rough to subject the woman he loved to it. Jim too seemed to have changed. There was a new watchfulness, a kind of sullen wariness which had been missing before. Stacy noticed it almost immediately, and was saddened by it. It seemed a pity that Jim did not realise his worth as a person in his own right. For she did not doubt that he was jealous of Andre. There were

ways in which Jim could never hope to equal the older man. He did not have the same physical appeal, the same aura of male virility, the same magnetism. And yet Jim had qualities of his own. He was a good doctor, and could be very likeable as a person. It was a few days after the return to Diazinto that Jim came upon her as she was going for an early morning walk. 'Mind if I join you?' He smiled down at her with engaging boyishness. 'Of course not.' She smiled back at him, glad to see him. 'I just love this time of day, when the dew is still on the grass and the birds are singing.' 'I like it too.. ..' His voice trailed away, and he looked uncertain. 'Stacy, I want to talk to you.' She glanced up quickly, caught by something in his tone. The smile had vanished, and there was an anxious intensity in his eyes. She felt her stomach knot with tension. Whatever it is, don't say it, she thought. If you do, things will never be quite the same again. 'Betty is coming back soon,' he began. Stacy caught her breath. 'She is?' 'Her mother is better. She'll be here in another week or so.' 'How ... how do you know?' For some absurd reason her heart was pounding so violently that she could only stammer. Which was absurd, for she herself had written to Betty, asking when she could return. 'I was in the office when Tessa opened the letter.' Jim looked at her curiously. 'You seem upset.'

'Just surprised,' Stacy managed to assure him brightly. 'There's something else, too.' Jim paused. 'I'm leaving here.' 'Why?' She looked at him in astonishment. 'I've had enough of this place.' The sensitive face clouded. Brown eyes met green ones, then slid uneasily away. 'It's time for a change.' He looked so unhappy, so unsure of himself, that Stacy had to come to his rescue. 'Change is healthy,' she said reasonably. He turned to her eagerly. 'I knew you'd agree.' His hands came out, seizing hers. 'Come with me, Stacy.' 'No, Jim.' She saw him flinch, and was sorry. Jim had made it clear from the start that he liked her, and Andre had warned her... 'You don't understand ...'A note of appeal had crept into his tone. 'I want you to marry me, to come with me as my wife.' 'Jim.... Jim, I can't.' 'But....' The brown eyes were troubled and unhappy. 'You won't be staying on here after Betty returns.' 'I'll have to find another job.' Stacy could not help the twinge of annoyance at Jim's persistence. She forced herself to smile and to say as gently as she could, 'Jim ... Jim dear, you've done me a tremendous honour, but I can't marry you. You see -' 'Honour be damned !' His tone was violent. Without warning he gripped her shoulders, digging his fingers into the soft upper arms with an intensity which hurt. 'It's Andre!'

She looked at him wordlessly, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. 'It's been Andre all along. I've seen the way you look at him.' His face was sullen, and the fingers bit deeper. 'You've no chance with him, Stacy. He's going to marry Tessa.' 'I know that,' she whispered. 'Damn Andre de Vries!' It was said in a low tone, heavy with vengeance. 'I always knew there was something, right from the start...' He held her a little away from him, and the eyes that blazed down into hers were bright with anger. 'You'll get nowhere with him.' He pulled her roughly to him, crushing her lips beneath his. His slender frame was deceptive. Perhaps it was anger which lent him strength. For a long moment she was quite helpless in his grip, almost unable to breathe. Andre came upon them quite suddenly. Stacy was not aware of his presence until Jim let her go so abruptly that she almost fell. She was trembling as she looked from one man to other. Jim's face was flushed and defiant and somehow ashamed. Andre's face was a chiselled mask of stone, his lips rigid, his eyes cold and unreadable. 'Tessa needs you at the hospital.' Andre's tone was icy as he addressed Stacy. 'There's been an emergency.' Stacy waited a moment, wondering if Jim would make some protest at Andre's unjustified peremptoriness, but he said nothing. The defiance was still in his eyes, but he looked uneasy and not very sure of himself. All at once Stacy was swept with a fury which enveloped both men. Without a word she walked away from them, chin high and

shoulders unnaturally squared. She kept the stance as she walked along the shrub-lined path which led to the hospital. * Wearily Stacy left the ward. Her head ached, and her limbs were filled with a curious lethargy. She did not feel like eating, she thought, as she forced herself to walk in the direction of the diningroom. But her absence from the meal would cause criticism, and she did not feel strong enough to contend with it. She would not be able to do more than peck at her food, but perhaps a plate of warm soup would do her good This feeling had been creeping up on her for days. It must be fatigue, she decided a little irritably. She must be sure to have an early night. Perhaps the trip with Andre, and the emotional upset with Jim, had taken more out of her than she had realised. A good sleep was what she needed. Tomorrow she would feel better. In a few days Betty would be back at Diazinto, and Stacy would be able to leave the hospital. Tessa had made no move to ask her to stay on as an extra assistant, and even if she had, Stacy knew that she would have refused. The sooner she left this place, where she veered from one emotion to another, the better. She did not want to remain in Andre's presence. Seeing him every day, remote and cold again since he had caught her with Jim, was more than she could bear. Besides, as Jim had said, it was only a matter of time before Andre and Tessa were married. To watch them together, man and wife, to watch Andre with any woman who was his wife, was something Stacy knew she did not have the strength to endure. In two or three days Betty would be back. It was time for Stacy to start planning what she would do when she returned to Johannesburg. There was one job she could have if she wanted it. Hilary Lang had written, telling her about it—an elderly woman

with arthritis, who was going on an extended trip around the world and who wanted a nurse- companion. It sounded ideal. Stacy wondered why the prospect did not make her happier. Perhaps it was because she had decided to try something entirely different. She hoped that she would have the dining-room to herself, and her heart sank when she saw Tessa and Andre sitting together at a table with Mara. She was tempted to retreat, but that would have been too obvious. There was nothing for it but to go in and sit down. Tessa threw her a bright hard look as she sat down. Andre lifted his eyes a moment, surveyed her dispassionately, but said nothing. Only Mara said a friendly hello. Eating proved more of an ordeal than Stacy had expected. Even the soup was hard to get down. 'What's wrong, Stacy?' Andre's voice was quiet. She looked up quickly, to find him studying her. She wondered how long he had been watching her. 'Nothing.' Her voice was small. 'Are you feeling well?' The even tone precluded Stacy from feeling any warmth at his concern. He sounded just what he was—a doctor. 'I'm a little tired.' 'No wonder!' Tessa's tinkling laugh jarred Stay's nerves. 'Those late nights you've been keeping with Jim must be robbing you of your sleep.' Did she really believe what she said, or was Tessa trying to convince Andre of something? Stacy knew by now that nothing

would suit Tessa better than to have her neatly paired off with Jim, and out of Andre's way. Didn't the woman know that she had no cause for worry? Inexplicably the thought gave her a slight feeling of satisfaction. She looked up at Tessa. Her eyes were bright and glittered with a strange light. Stacy was about to say something when she caught Mara's eye. The pretty young nurse shook her head imperceptibly, as if in warning. 'I want to have a look at you after you've finished here,' Andre said, in the same quiet tone. 'That isn't necessary,' Stacy protested, and even through her lethargy she felt a slight quickening of her pulses. 'Aren't you being rather ridiculous, darling?' Tessa's tone was pitched high. 'There's nothing that sleep—or Jim—won't cure.' 'In my surgery, Stacy.' Andre's voice was level. It was an order, and even Tessa knew better than to contradict it. He took her temperature, looking at the thermometer without comment. Then he asked her to undress. When she hesitated, he said angrily, 'For God's sake, what's the matter with you? Raping sick women is not my scene.' Silently she slipped the uniform from her shoulders, making sure that it remained around the lower half of her body, so that he could not see her leg. The hands which examined her were expert and gentle. These same hands which had touched her body in the way of a lover were now purely the hands of a doctor. 'I want to take a sample of blood,' he said, when he had finished. 'There's nothing wrong with me, Andre.' She pulled the uniform over her shoulders and began to button it.

'That's something we'll have to find out.' She watched as he prepared a syringe. His touch was so gentle that she felt almost no pain at all as he drew blood from her arm. His voice was quite impersonal as he went on. 'To bed now, Stacy. No,'—as she was about to protest— 'I'm not in the mood for an argument.' And neither was she, Stacy realised, as she made her way back to her room and got into bed. A dreadful weakness seemed to have assailed her limbs. She felt so cold that she huddled beneath the blankets in a vain attempt to stop shivering. And then, a little later, she was so hot that she threw off all her coverings and gasped for air. Later she was never to remember much about her illness. There were vague images of someone bending over her, forcing liquid through her lips, smoothing her hot forehead with something cool and damp. There were vague memories of a familiar face with an unfamiliar voice. But the memories were blurred, disconnected, scenes merging together to form one insubstantial and unsatisfactory picture. And then, one morning, she awoke and opened her eyes, and she was able to focus on her surroundings. She tried to sit up, and fell back. Was it possible that she could be so weak? She was thirsty, so thirsty. She was not even conscious that she said the word 'water'. In a moment someone was at her side. A face was bending over her, smiling. It was a freckled face, friendly and infinitely reassuring. Stacy wrinkled her forehead. She had seen the face before.... And then it came to. her. 'Betty!' 'Hello, Stacy. You look better.

'I... How long have I been ill?' She was frowning. There were things she had to know, things that did not seem to fit. And for some reason the face of the girl beside her did not coincide with the image she only vaguely remembered. 'Quite a long time. How are you feeling, honey?' 'Weak.' 'No wonder!' Betty shook her head sympathetically as she brought a glass of water to the bed and helped Stacy to drink it. 'You've been pretty ill.' 'Betty...' There was something Stacy had to get clear in her mind. 'You've been nursing me all this time?' 'You don't remember, then?' The kind face was curious. 'Not enough.' 'Andre took care of you.' 'Andre!' The exclamation tore from a parched throat. 'All the time. He wouldn't let anyone go near you.' 'Because I was so contagious?' It was odd, this feeling of having to know .... 'No, Stacy, I don't think that was the reason.' An unreadable expression was in Betty's eyes. 'But now .,. you're here...'

'Because you seemed a little better. Andre was needed at the hospital.' She smiled down at Stacy. 'I'm going to call him. He'll want to know that you're awake at last.' 'No ... Betty, I ... I'm thirsty.' She was still thirsty. But overriding the need for water was the even greater need to think. For if Andre had nursed her, then he had seen her leg. ... 'So you've come back to us.' There was an enigmatic expression in the grey eyes that gazed down at her from a lean tanned face. He looked even taller than she had remembered him. And there was something else that she had not remembered—new lines about his eyes, worry lines. Surely those had not been there before... 'Isn't there some expression about the bad never dying young?' She attempted the well-worn joke, trying to still the quickened pulses. Even now, weak as she was, she was reacting as usual to his sensual maleness. 'What was wrong with me, Andre? Malaria?' 'No. Though I thought it might be that at first. You caught some tropical bug, but I think you're over it now.' 'And Betty's back, so you'll be rid of me.' She tried to speak brightly. 'I'll just remain another day or two to regain my strength, and then I'll be saying goodbye.' 'Like hell you will!' The words shot out violently. 'Wh-What do you mean?' A sensation of excitement flooded through her, then vanished. Evidently Tessa had decided she needed another nurse at Diazinto. Did it mean that Tessa and Andre were to be married soon, and that she would be relinquishing some of her duties?

'Stacy, I, think you have some explaining to do.' The eyes that gazed down at her were hard, uncompromising. His gaze lingered a moment on the pale face and the wide emerald eyes, then travelled down towards the lower part of her body, lying still beneath the blanket. Stacy swallowed hard. She knew exactly to what he referred. 'You ... I guess you mean my leg...' 'You've been in an accident.' His voice was flat. 'Yes.' 'And from the look of those scars it was some time ago.' He paused. Grey eyes held green ones, defying them to look away. 'Two years, Stacy?' 'Yes...' The word came out in a whisper. 'The day you were supposed to meet me?' This time she could only nod. 'I see.' For a while he was silent, his eyes hooded and unreadable. When he spoke again his voice was expressionless. 'Why didn't you tell me?' 'I couldn't. I was in hospital.' 'Afterwards, here at Diazinto.... You never said a word. You wouldn't swim. I thought you were being coy, but it wasn't that at all. You didn't want me to know about your leg.' He gazed down at her, anger in his eyes. 'Why, Stacy?' 'Because. .. ' She moistened her lips with her tongue. 'I didn't want you to pity me.'

'Pity!' 'You said once ... you said that you were only interested in girls with perfect bodies. A shudder ran through the hard frame, and she saw a muscle work in his jaw. 'I did say that,' he acknowledged quietly. 'But never to you. You could have heard it only by hearsay.' Andre had never made the statement to her directly, Stacy reflected. But he had said it to other girls, and she heard it from them. 'That's true,' she whispered. 'Andre, are you trying to say it ... it didn't apply to me?' 'Didn't you know that?' The question was aggressive. 'No. You never told me. ...' Her mind was in a whirl, trying to assimilate what he was saying, scared to hope, frightened to read more into his words than was there. 'How could I?' A tanned, lean-fingered hand reached for one of hers. 'You were the confirmed bachelor girl, remember? No strings attached.' 'Only because you seemed to want it that way and....' 'I think I understand.' His fingers began a gentle stroking movement. 'We were never on the same wavelength, were we, my darling?' She closed her eyes, wondering if she had dreamed the endearment, and the gentle sensual quality of the tone in which he had said it. 'Stacy....' She opened her eyes and looked at him. 'That week-end.... If you hadn't had the accident, would you have come with me?'

She looked at him for a long moment. Would she lose him, even now? But she had to be honest. Slowly she shook her head. 'No. I said I would, but then.... I couldn't go through with it.... I was on my way to tell you.' Another silence, a longer one this time. Then Andre put his hand in his pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. 'I've something to show you.' And as she looked at him curiously : 'Stacy darling, do you remember writing a letter?' 'No.' She shook her head, puzzled. 'It seems that you did. After the accident you were unconscious for a time. But once you surfaced, and you wrote a letter.' He paused, and looked at her searchingly. 'It doesn't come back to you?' 'No.' She had begun to tremble. 'You gave it to a nurse to post. She saw only the dazed way in which it was written. She thought the recipient would get an awful shock when he saw it, and so she decided not to send it.' 'Then how did you get it?' 'Sister Ellis is old and retired now and moving away from her home. She was clearing out her things when she found the letter.' A smile curved the corners of the strong mobile lips, a smile that softened the rugged features and brought a rare and wonderful warmth to the grey eyes. 'It was when the old nurse re-read the letter that she had second thoughts about it. She realised that the contents of the letter were more important than the way it was written. It took some time to catch up with me.' He paused. 'I received it three days ago.' 'May I see it?'

He did not release her hand as he read it. Scrawled over the page, drunkenly, almost illegibly, over and over again, were the words, 'I love you, Andre.' 'Stacy?' A hand took her chin and turned her face upwards. 'Are those sentiments still the same?' She looked back at him wordlessly. Her eyes were wide and very green. Tears welled beneath her lids and on her lashes, but it did not seem to matter. Her heart was in her eyes, making her nod superfluous. 'Darling!' He bent and gathered her close. 'So misunderstanding,' he groaned. 'And so much time wasted.'

much

Releasing her slightly, he looked down at her. 'I waited for you two years ago, never dreaming that you'd had an accident. I was only testing you when I pretended that we were going away together just for the week-end. It was to be our honeymoon, darling. I had the marriage licence in my pocket. I wasn't sure if you'd marry me, but I hoped I could talk you round.' 'That wouldn't have needed much doing.' Emerald eyes were radiant as she looked up at him, and she saw him catch his breath. Then a new thought struck her. 'Andre, if that was how you felt, why didn't you do anything about it when I didn't show up?' His lips tightened remorsefully. 'At first I was too angry. I'd had the offer of this job at Diazinto, which was effective right away. I had to leave almost immediately. At the time I'd hoped that you would be coming with me.' He was quiet a moment. 'At first I thought you'd lost interest in me. That by not turning up, you were showing me you no longer wanted the relationship to continue. Later, when my anger had cooled a little, I tried to make enquiries. Mr Allison had

died—did you know?—and nobody seemed to know where you were.' So it had been a circle of misunderstandings. And now wasn't it all too late? For now there was Tessa 'Andre,' Stacy began hesitantly, 'you said I wouldn't be leaving Diazinto.... Do you want me to stay on as an extra nurse?' He looked astonished for a moment. Then he cradled her to him, and kissed the tip of one ear. 'As my wife, my darling idiot.' 'But -' She pushed a little away from him. Her head was throbbing with happiness, but there was something she had to know. 'What about Tessa? I thought you'd be marrying her.' His laugh was deep-throated and seductive. 'Can you see me married to that woman? All Tessa ever wanted was to have me completely in her power, so that she'd always have me to run Diazinto for her.' He paused, and smiled. 'There's something you should know, darling. I've bought the hospital from Tessa.' 'You have?' she breathed incredulously. 'We'll run it on the same lines as now. But we'll also turn it into a research station for trachoma.' 'We, Andre?' The question was provocatively demure, as emerald eyes slid him a dancing glance from beneath long spiky lashes. 'You and me. You will marry me, darling?' 'It's what I've wanted all along, my darling,' she breathed joyfully. She was about to say more, to tell him what a wonderful team they would make, but his lips were on hers, and his arms held her so

tightly that she could hardly breathe, and she realised that there were some things that would never need to be said between them.