had windows along one wall and a colorful abstract mural painted on another. She’d taken a seat at the table with the three college interns, who were bouncy and bubbly and eager to fill Ellie in on everything they felt she needed to know: “The market’s a great place to connect with the women—they’re always shopping and bartering. Whenever we see one with a kid, we go over and tell her about the clinic,” one of the girls informed Ellie.
“And we go into the school and give talks on hygiene and the importance of vaccinations.”
“A little sex ed, too,” the third girl said with a grin. “I’m planning to teach middle school, so I like doing the sex-ed stuff.” All three girls were from Georgetown University, they told Ellie, although their manner of speech indicated they heralded from different regions of the United States. One girl had a thick Southern drawl, another the flat intonations of the Midwest and the third, from central New Jersey, could have been a speech coach for the cast of The Sopranos.
Abruptly they nudged one another and fell silent. They were gazing past Ellie, and she twisted in her seat to find out what had caught their attention.
The brilliant doctor who performed magic had entered the room.
At least, she assumed that was the identity of the man walking toward their table, a plate heaped with steaming pork stew and rice balanced in one hand and a dark beer bottle in the other. He wore blue surgical scrubs and scuffed leather sneakers, and his lean body moved with a boneless grace. His wavy chestnut-brown hair was too long, tucked behind his ears to keep from spilling into his face, and his eyes had the permanent squint of someone who’d spent too much time staring at something bright and painful.
He was undeniably handsome. His weathered face, his economical physique, the sinuous muscles in his forearms and his smooth, elegant gait…Not that Ellie cared, but yes, she could understand how some women might find him appealing.
He circled the table and set his plate down in front of the empty chair facing Ellie. “Our new nurse, then?” he asked, his accent every bit as British as Rose’s.
She extended her right hand. “Eleanor Frost,” she introduced herself. “You must be Dr. Wesker.”
The college girls remained silent, gazing at him with adoration. He ignored them. “Eleanor Frost,” he echoed, unrolling the napkin that held his silverware and spreading the square of cloth across his lap. “Pleasure to meet you. Rose tells me you’re a school nurse. Good at mopping up bloody noses, I presume.”
“We get our share at my school,” she confirmed.
“We get our share here, too—although here, bloody noses can be a symptom of a multitude of other problems. Medicine is slightly different in this clinic than what you’re likely used to.” He eyed her speculatively. “You’re a bit more mature than most of our volunteers,” he added, shooting a meaningful glance at the college girls, who dissolved in laughter. “A little maturity should do us all some good.”
“Dr. Wesker,” one of the girls protested. “We’re very mature.”
“Terribly mature, yes.” He shot Ellie a smile. “Do you prefer to be called Nurse Frost or Sister Frost?”
“Ellie would be fine,” she said. His eyes, she noticed, were the same glinting color as his fork, a cool, metallic silver. She imagined they would be blinding if he ever opened them fully.
“Ellie it is, then. And you may call me Adrian. We don’t stand on ceremony here, as long as everyone recognizes that I am the boss and treats me with the proper deference.” He smiled again. Ellie smiled back.
The college girls dominated most of the dinner conversation, describing their most recent shopping expedition in downtown Kumasi. Once they’d all finished eating, Adrian filled two mugs with rich, dark coffee and ushered Ellie outside. The heat of the day had evaporated, and the evening air smelled like foliage and
“And we go into the school and give talks on hygiene and the importance of vaccinations.”
“A little sex ed, too,” the third girl said with a grin. “I’m planning to teach middle school, so I like doing the sex-ed stuff.” All three girls were from Georgetown University, they told Ellie, although their manner of speech indicated they heralded from different regions of the United States. One girl had a thick Southern drawl, another the flat intonations of the Midwest and the third, from central New Jersey, could have been a speech coach for the cast of The Sopranos.
Abruptly they nudged one another and fell silent. They were gazing past Ellie, and she twisted in her seat to find out what had caught their attention.
The brilliant doctor who performed magic had entered the room.
At least, she assumed that was the identity of the man walking toward their table, a plate heaped with steaming pork stew and rice balanced in one hand and a dark beer bottle in the other. He wore blue surgical scrubs and scuffed leather sneakers, and his lean body moved with a boneless grace. His wavy chestnut-brown hair was too long, tucked behind his ears to keep from spilling into his face, and his eyes had the permanent squint of someone who’d spent too much time staring at something bright and painful.
He was undeniably handsome. His weathered face, his economical physique, the sinuous muscles in his forearms and his smooth, elegant gait…Not that Ellie cared, but yes, she could understand how some women might find him appealing.
He circled the table and set his plate down in front of the empty chair facing Ellie. “Our new nurse, then?” he asked, his accent every bit as British as Rose’s.
She extended her right hand. “Eleanor Frost,” she introduced herself. “You must be Dr. Wesker.”
The college girls remained silent, gazing at him with adoration. He ignored them. “Eleanor Frost,” he echoed, unrolling the napkin that held his silverware and spreading the square of cloth across his lap. “Pleasure to meet you. Rose tells me you’re a school nurse. Good at mopping up bloody noses, I presume.”
“We get our share at my school,” she confirmed.
“We get our share here, too—although here, bloody noses can be a symptom of a multitude of other problems. Medicine is slightly different in this clinic than what you’re likely used to.” He eyed her speculatively. “You’re a bit more mature than most of our volunteers,” he added, shooting a meaningful glance at the college girls, who dissolved in laughter. “A little maturity should do us all some good.”
“Dr. Wesker,” one of the girls protested. “We’re very mature.”
“Terribly mature, yes.” He shot Ellie a smile. “Do you prefer to be called Nurse Frost or Sister Frost?”
“Ellie would be fine,” she said. His eyes, she noticed, were the same glinting color as his fork, a cool, metallic silver. She imagined they would be blinding if he ever opened them fully.
“Ellie it is, then. And you may call me Adrian. We don’t stand on ceremony here, as long as everyone recognizes that I am the boss and treats me with the proper deference.” He smiled again. Ellie smiled back.
The college girls dominated most of the dinner conversation, describing their most recent shopping expedition in downtown Kumasi. Once they’d all finished eating, Adrian filled two mugs with rich, dark coffee and ushered Ellie outside. The heat of the day had evaporated, and the evening air smelled like foliage and
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