Читать книгу Sleepless Nights - ANNE WEALE - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

SITTING at the back of the mini-bus, with a garland of fresh marigolds round her neck, Sarah studied the guide who had come to meet the thirteen trekkers and shepherd them through the chaos of touts and taxi-drivers waiting outside the airport building.

The guide had introduced herself as Sandy, a suitably androgynous name for someone who had a few female characteristics but whose general appearance and manner was more masculine than feminine. Sarah, who didn’t usually dislike people on sight, had felt an instinctive aversion to the woman who now was standing next to the driver and lecturing them with the aid of a microphone. Lecturing was the operative word.

Did she really expect them to take in all this stuff before they had caught up on their sleep? Sarah wondered. It would have made more sense to hand out a printed supplement to the bumph they’d already received. But perhaps Sandy liked the sound of her own voice and believed in making it clear from the outset that she was the boss of this outfit and they had better remember it.

Surreptitiously checking out her fellow-trekkers, Sarah felt her spirits sinking. She had expected a lively group of fit, mixed-age and mixed-sex adventurers. But even allowing for the fact that they’d just come off a thirteen-hour flight and were not at their best, without exception this lot were older, more out of condition and, to be blunt, duller than she had anticipated. Suburban was the label that sprang to mind when, in ones and twos, they had assembled round Sandy after reclaiming their baggage.

As provincial suburbia was where Sarah had spent her entire life, the last thing she wanted was to spend the next two weeks with people from the same unexciting background. Which of the other single women, she wondered, was to be her room-mate and tent-mate?

She found out half an hour later when the mini-bus entered the forecourt of a large hotel and numerous uniformed porters began unloading the baggage.

As each trekker stepped off the bus, Sandy re-checked who they were, gave them a name badge and, except in the case of the couples, told them who was their ‘Partner’. Sarah’s partner was Beatrice, a thin woman in her sixties whose pursed-lips smile was more like the grimace of someone who had just swallowed a spoonful of disgusting medicine.

The view from the window of their room made Sarah feel more cheerful. Beyond the rooftops of the city was part of the ring of mountains enclosing the Kathmandu valley, with glimpses of higher peaks in the background.

‘I can’t believe I’m really here at last,’ she said dreamily, leaning on the sill, enraptured.

When Beatrice didn’t respond, she looked over her shoulder. Her room-mate had started unpacking. Looking up for a moment, the older woman said, ‘I hope you’re a tidy person, Miss Anderson...or do you prefer to be called Ms?’ Her tone held a thread of sarcasm.

How to make friends and influence people! Sarah thought incredulously. Aloud, she said pleasantly, ‘I prefer to be called Sarah. I’m going to go down and order myself a stiff pick-me-up, leaving you to arrange your things in peace. As we seem to have only one key, perhaps when you’ve finished up here you’ll come and find me. See you later.’

Although the daylight was waning and it wouldn’t be long to sunset, she had her drink in the hotel’s well-kept garden. Even the five-star hotel was a bit disappointing, being international rather than Nepalese in style. She had hoped for somewhere with more character.

Wondering where Neal was staying, she remembered the note she’d attached to the inside cover of the notebook she’d bought for a travel diary. He had written his name, the name of his hotel and the telephone number, all in the neat capital letters of someone for whom accuracy was essential and facts were sacred... or should be, she thought.

Less than an hour ago she had been determined to steer clear of any more encounters with Neal. But now she had changed her mind. If, as it turned out, she was going to be stuck with Sandy, Beatrice and the rest, an evening with Neal would at least be an interesting send-off. In fact she could hardly wait for tomorrow morning to call him and fix it.

Soon after eight, while Beatrice was downstairs having breakfast, she rang him from the hotel bedroom.

‘Putting you through,’ said the operator.

‘Neal Kennedy.’ His voice sounded even deeper and more resonant on the telephone.

‘It’s Sarah. Good morning.’

‘Good morning. Had a good night?’

‘Fine,’ she said untruthfully. ‘And you?’

‘I woke up at four and read. It takes a couple of days for my body clock to adjust. Can we have dinner tonight?’

‘That would be lovely.’

‘I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. We’ll go for a drink at the Yak and Yeti beforehand.’

Sarah knew from her guide book that it was Kathmandu’s largest and smartest hotel. She said doubtfully, ‘I didn’t bring my little black dress.’

‘No problem. Rich locals and the world-tour crowd dress up, but climbers and serious trekkers don’t. They’re not into competitive dressing. Whatever you wear, you’ll look great.’

‘OK...if you say so. See you later. Goodbye.’ As she replaced the receiver, she felt a resurgence of the excitement she had expected to feel every day, every moment. But dinner and breakfast conversations with some of the others, and a night in a room with Beatrice, had quenched that expectation.

She was in the lobby, watching the comings and goings, when Neal strode through the entrance and went to the desk. She knew they would direct him to where she was sitting so she watched him for the few moments he had to wait for one of the desk clerks to be free.

He was wearing the same trousers he had travelled in but with a different shirt. Over his arm he had one of the warm light garments known as a fleece. Naomi had lent Sarah a canary-yellow fleece. Neal’s was dark blue with a coral-coloured collar.

He looked strikingly different from all the people in her trekking group. An almost tangible aura of vitality and virility emanated from his tall, upright figure. When, on the clerk’s instructions, he swung round and headed for where she was sitting, she felt the force of it even more strongly.

She was on her feet by the time he reached her. ‘Ready and waiting,’ he said approvingly. ‘I hate kicking my heels for half an hour. Let’s go, shall we?’

Preceding him out of the door, Sarah smiled at and thanked the saluting doorman.

‘Our transport’s outside the gate,’ said Neal. ‘These upmarket hotels don’t like cycle rickshaws lowering the tone of their entrances. What do you think of this place?’

‘I wouldn’t have chosen it. A guest house is more my style.’

That morning, on Sandy’s guided tour of the city, Sarah had seen many pedal-driven rickshaws weaving their way in and out of the chaotic traffic. The driver of the one waiting for them was a small thin man with grey hair who didn’t look as if he had the strength to pedal two large Europeans. She smiled at him. ‘Namaste.’

‘Namaste, madam.’ Beaming and bowing, he indicated a metal bar she could use as a step.

The rickshaw’s seat was quite high off the ground and designed for people of smaller proportions than Westerners. When Neal swung up beside her the whole vehicle swayed. It swayed even more alarmingly when, after pedalling a short distance, the driver changed traffic lanes to negotiate a busy roundabout. Glancing down, Sarah saw the wheel on her side wobbling as if at any moment it might fly off and send the rickshaw crashing under the wheels of the cars all around them. Perched on little more than a padded ledge, she had never felt more at risk.

Suddenly Neal shifted his position to put an arm round her shoulders and draw her against him. ‘Scary, isn’t it? The traffic gets worse every year.’

Leaning into the solid wall of his chest, with his hand firmly spread round her upper arm, she felt a lot more secure. Not exactly relaxed, but no longer unsafe. She liked him for pretending that holding her close made him feel better too. She felt it would take a lot more than Kathmandu traffic to scare him.

Presently the driver turned off the main road down a tree-shadowed side street. Soon this passed through a small shopping centre before arriving at the imposing entrance to the Yak and Yeti.

It was many times larger than the hotel where she was staying, with a palatial foyer giving glimpses of an arcade of elegant shops to the left, a restaurant on a mezzanine level and, to the right, a large bar.

His fingers light on her elbow, Neal steered her past the pianist playing background music to a table close to the windows overlooking the garden, its darkness illumined by lights outlining the shape of a temple-style pavilion and a free-form swimming pool.

‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked, handing her the drinks menu.

The bar offered various specialities ranging from an Everest Ice Fall to a Yak’s Tail and a Yeti’s Smile, but Sarah was wary of cocktails which might pack a lethal punch.

‘May I have a Campari and soda?’ she asked as a waiter approached.

Neal repeated her request and ordered a beer for himself.

‘So what have you been doing on your first day?’

‘This morning we had a tour, led by our guide, and this afternoon we were free to do our own thing. I think most of the group had naps. The average age has to be sixty...maybe sixty-five because two couples who’ve come together are in their seventies.’

‘Are they in good shape for their age?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m amazed they’ve all chosen this type of holiday. The rest of them are paying customers. I’m the only one who’s on a freebie. When Sandy announced at dinner last night that I’d won the trip as a prize there were a few beady looks...especially as the prize was given by Stars and Celebs magazine which specialises in scandals.’

‘How did that come about?’ Neal asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Someone who likes doing competitions thought the prize would appeal to me and filled in my name on the form. Actually the winner had a choice of three activity holidays. I could have gone snorkelling in the Cayman islands or skiing at Aspen, Colorado.’

‘Are you wishing you’d opted for one of those?’ he asked.

‘I don’t ski and I’m not very good in the water. This was the trip I wanted. The group may turn out to be more fun as I get to know them better.’

‘I shouldn’t bank on it,’ said Neal. ‘I’ve always found my first impressions are pretty near the mark. Is Sandy a man or a woman?’

‘A mannish woman.’

He frowned. ‘Has she put you in her tent?’

‘No, I’m sharing with Beatrice who seems to suspect me of being a radical feminist and who snores all night long. I don’t suppose it will keep me awake once we’re spending long, strenuous days out of doors, but it did last night.’

‘But she’s not likely to make a pass at you?’

‘Definitely not! I don’t think Sandy would either. She might put me on a charge for insubordination,’ Sarah said, smiling.

He was asking about the other members of the group when a woman’s voice exclaimed, ‘Neal...I didn’t know you were in town!’

He rose to his feet ‘Hello, Julia. How are you?’

‘Great...and you?’ As she asked, she offered her cheek.

She was almost as tall as he was, model-thin, with a cloud of red hair framing her angular face. Her brilliant blue-green eyes were her only claim to beauty, but she exuded personality.

Neal put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I’m fine...flew in yesterday. This is Sarah. We met on the plane.’

‘Hello.’ Julia offered her hand. Her grip was unexpectedly strong.

‘Will you join us?’ Neal asked.

‘Thanks, but I can’t. I’m just back from Lukla and still on duty. Tonight’s the end-of-trek booze-up. My lot will be down in a minute.’ She looked in the direction of the lobby. ‘I can see one of them now. How long are you here for?’

‘Till the start of the Everest Marathon.’

‘Oh, great...we can get together later. Bye for now.’ Her smile included Sarah. She strode away, booted and jeaned but with a clingy mohair sweater on her top half, its softness outlining a bosom as surprising as her handshake. Those voluptuous curves above the waist didn’t match the boyish hips and greyhound legs.

‘Julia’s an outdoor pursuits instructor and a trekking guide,’ said Neal. ‘A very tough lady indeed.’ His tone was admiring. ‘We met on a course about five or six years ago.’

‘What sort of course?’ Sarah asked.

‘We were learning how to handle four-wheel-drive vehicles in wilderness terrain. She was the only woman and by far the best driver. That didn’t go down too well with some of the guys,’ he added, with reminiscent amusement.

‘But it didn’t bother you?’

‘I have hang-ups like everyone else...but that isn’t one of them. If a woman handles a car better than I do, it doesn’t hurt my ego. When my parents go out together, it’s always my mother who drives. She enjoys it. My father doesn’t. The traditional demarcation lines have always been flexible in our family.’

How different from mine, Sarah thought, before shifting the conversation into a safer zone by asking if the course had been a preparation for an expedition.

‘In Julia’s case, yes. Not in mine. It just seemed a skill that might come in useful some time.’

When they left the bar, about half an hour later, they passed Julia and her group. They looked a much livelier lot than Sandy’s charges. Although she was talking as they passed, Julia appeared to sense that Neal was nearby. Without breaking off what she was saying, she looked round and waved to him.

The gesture left Sarah feeling that, although it might not apply now, at some stage in their acquaintance they had been close...very close.

‘Shall we walk to the restaurant? It’s not far if we take some short-cuts,’ Neal suggested.

He appeared to know the city like the back of his hand, steering her down dark alleys she would have avoided had she been on her own.

The restaurant was in one of the busy thoroughfares. A signboard Simply Shutters indicated its presence but, on her own, she might not have found the entrance which was through a shadowy passage and up a flight of stairs.

The interior of the place was in marked contrast to the somewhat seedy way in. Inside it was immaculate, the tables decorated with fresh flowers, the young waiters informally dressed in Lacoste shirts with long white aprons.

Neal and Sarah were welcomed by the proprietor, a good-looking Nepalese who spoke perfect English and made pleasant conversation while seeing them settled at their table.

His restaurant was small but stylish and the people already there, although foreigners, did not appear to be tourists but residents of Kathmandu, perhaps working at the various embassies or with foreign aid organisations.

The menu was written on a blackboard and Sarah chose the walnut and mushroom roast. Neal ordered Spanish pork.

‘How long have you been a vegetarian?’ he asked her.

‘I’m not...I just feel in the mood for walnuts and mushrooms.’

‘You had a vegetarian meal on the plane.’

‘How observant of you to notice. But I suppose that’s an essential qualification for a journalist. I ordered vegetarian meals when I booked my flight because somebody told me they’re usually more interesting than ordinary airline food.’ She wondered if this revealed she wasn’t as experienced a traveller as he assumed her to be.

‘Some people think the kosher meals are the best,’ he said. ‘A colleague of mine did a behind-the-scenes feature on the food preparation at Heathrow. The logistics are mind-bending. British Airways alone needs around twenty-five thousand meals for its long-haul flights.’

The reminder that he came from the world of newspapers, a far more exciting milieu than her own humdrum background, made Sarah wonder how long it would take him to suss out that she wasn’t the kind of sophisticated career woman he was used to.

Racking her brains to contribute something amusing to the conversation, she thanked her stars that she had a friend like Naomi who was good at telling jokes and anecdotes. Her own forte—if it could be called that—was listening rather than talking. But by borrowing from Naomi’s repertoire, she managed to make him laugh a couple of times.

Towards the end of the meal, when they had both eaten generous helpings of ginger and apple pudding and were finishing the white wine, he said, ‘Instead of spending another night listening to Beatrice’s snores, why not come back to my place? I don’t snore and the room I’ve been given is a double with a vast bed and its own roof garden where I had breakfast this morning.’

The suggestion took Sarah’s breath away. She had been propositioned before, but never so soon or so openly. The others had done it obliquely, testing the ground before they came to the point which, with two exceptions, had never actually been reached because she had made it clear she wasn’t interested.

This time she was interested, but it was too soon...much too soon. Some women might jump into bed with a man within thirty-six hours of meeting him. Some might do it even sooner. But sex to her could never be something trivial...a fleeting pleasure to be enjoyed and forgotten.

‘I’m sorry...no,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I wouldn’t have come if I’d realised that was what you expected.’ To her chagrin, she found herself blushing.

‘I didn’t expect it,’ he said easily. ‘It just seems a good idea. If you don’t agree, that’s OK. I wasn’t sure that you would. Women usually take longer to make up their mind about these things. Maybe you’re already spoken for.’

‘If I were, I wouldn’t be here, having dinner with you.’ After a pause, she added, ‘If that sounds very old-fashioned, that’s the way we are where I come from. Small-town, provincial England is several light years behind what goes on in London.’

‘Slightly behind...not that far,’ Neal answered dryly. ‘In big cities there are fewer people watching and gossiping. Small-town people tend to be more discreet, but they’re still human beings. My grandfather’s favourite axiom is “Love, lust and heartache are part of the human condition. Always have been, always will be.” He should know. He’s been around a long time.’

‘But it wasn’t the way it is now when he was a young man,’ said Sarah, remembering her father’s attitudes. And he had been decades younger than Neal’s grandfather.

Neal said, ‘Grandpa likes life the way it is now. There’s less hypocrisy. The whole set-up is less rigid.’

She was tempted to say, ‘My father thought it was too slack, that morals had gone down the drain.’ But that was an area of her life she didn’t want to expose to him.

The uncomfortable truth of the matter was that she would prefer to keep almost everything about herself under wraps, knowing that, if she laid all the facts on the line, he would disappear...fast.

Instead of coffee, she was having jasmine tea. Neal had asked for hot chocolate. Her tea was set before her with ceremonious precision by the waiter. She smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’

A few moments later Neal said quietly, ‘I like the way you relate to people...not treating them like robots.’ Before she could answer, he added, ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘We’re being taken to see a couple of temples.’

‘Are you free in the evening? We could do this again...at a different restaurant.’

‘I have to stay with the group. There’s a slide show and final briefing.’

‘You’d have more fun at Rumdoodles.’

‘What’s Rumdoodles?’

He lifted a mobile black eyebrow. ‘You haven’t been there? It’s a bar-cum-restaurant where climbers go to celebrate... the home of The Summiteers’ Club. The ceiling and walls are covered with cardboard cutouts of yetis’ feet signed by climbers and trekkers who’ve done expeditions together. The most famous signatures are Tenzing Norgay’s and Sir Edmund Hillary’s. I wonder who was the first to set foot on the summit of Everest...the Sherpa or the New Zealander? Not that it matters. It was a fantastic achievement.’

It occurred to her that, as well as being a well-known journalist, he might be an outstanding climber. He certainly had the physique for it.

‘Have you done it?’ she asked. ‘Climbed Everest, I mean?’

The planes of his face seemed to harden. His mouth became a grim line. For a moment he looked close to anger. ‘I’m not a mountaineer.’ The answer was clipped and curt. ‘There are too many people going up there, paying huge sums of money and putting others at risk in order to boast that they did it. The mountain is being degraded.’

She could see that although it was he who had brought up the subject, somehow her innocent question had touched him on a raw spot.

Or was it that, despite his seemingly amiable acceptance of her refusal to sleep with him, he was piqued that she wasn’t going to give him another chance to persuade her into bed with him?

Neal signalled to their waiter that he wished for the bill.

‘Please let me pay my share,’ said Sarah, before it arrived.

‘Certainly not You’re my guest,’ he said firmly, the reply accompanied by a smile that made her feel foolish for suggesting it.

Outside the restaurant a hopeful rickshaw driver was eager to be hired but Neal declined his inviting gestures.

‘We’ll walk back, if that’s all right with you,’ he said to Sarah.

‘It’s fine with me. Some exercise would be good after all that delicious food.’

Although it wasn’t late, already the streets were quieter with many shops closed or closing, giving the impression that before long everyone local would have retired for the night.

The byways through which he led her were even quieter. Suddenly, in a poorly lit lane with the brighter lights of a main road about fifty yards ahead, he put a hand on her arm and drew her to a halt.

‘We’re nearly back to your hotel. I’ll see you to the door but say goodnight here.’

Before she realised what he meant, she was in his arms being kissed.

It was a long time since her last kiss and it hadn’t been anything like this. The man had been only a little taller than she was and had spent most of his life in a car or behind a desk. She had not felt herself overpowered, as she did now, by a superior force which, even though it wasn’t trying to subdue her, made her feel disturbingly helpless.

Nor had the other man’s mouth taken possession of hers with the same confident assurance that his kiss would be welcome. He had not been sure of himself. Put off by his lack of confidence, she had pushed him away.

Neal didn’t give her the option of accepting or rejecting his kiss. He held her securely against him, one arm round her waist and his other hand cradling her head while he made it clear to them both that he wanted to make love to her... and knew that she wanted it too but wasn’t ready to admit it.

It was so long since she had experienced such feelings that Sarah had almost forgotten how it felt to be swept away by the overwhelming emotions surging through her body now. She was intensely conscious of the tall, strong frame of the man who was pressing her to him.

She had thought that desire was over for her. That never again would she feel the wild, wanton longings she had once felt, with such disastrous results. But now, long dormant but not dead, they sprang into eager life as she felt the hard wall of his chest against her breasts, and the muscular breadth of his shoulders under her wandering hands.

‘Are you sure you won’t change your mind?’

The question was a husky murmur as he released her lips to explore, with his, the smooth texture of her cheek.

‘Let me go, Neal...please.’

With the flat of her hands, she attempted to make space between them, and, surprisingly, succeeded.

He did as she asked, stepping back and dropping his arms. ‘If you insist...though I can’t think why,’ he said sardonically. ‘It isn’t what you really want. It certainly isn’t what I want.’

She combed her hair with her fingers, trying to ignore the tingling and throbbing inside her. ‘We’re strangers... we’ve only just met. You may not mind that. I do. Attraction isn’t enough for me. I need to know people... trust them...before I—’ She left the sentence unfinished.

‘Trust is instinctive, like attraction,’ he answered. ‘All the important reactions we feel in our bones before our brains get to work. But if you want to postpone the pleasures in store for us, that’s your privilege.’

‘Men can take the pleasures for granted. Women can’t,’ she retorted somewhat tartly, remembering a relationship that hadn’t worked out. She began to move on.

‘I can’t argue with that,’ he said dryly. ‘But I think you know in your bones that it wouldn’t be like that for us.’

‘My bones aren’t always reliable.’

‘Have you had many lovers?’

Like his proposition at the table, the question startled her. In her world people didn’t ask such things. They repressed their curiosity...and much else.

‘Hardly any compared with your tally, I should imagine.’

He caught hold of her hand. ‘What makes you think I’m a womaniser?’

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to disengage her fingers unless he chose to let her, she said crossly, ‘Because that’s the way you come over.’

‘Time isn’t on my side, Sarah,’ he said gently. ‘The slow approach isn’t practical in these circumstances. You’re leaving town the day after tomorrow. By the time you come back, I shan’t have much time left. It will be a month after that before I get back to the UK. Between now and then, anything could happen. My motto is “seize the day”.’

‘Mine is “look before you leap”...especially before you leap into bed with someone.’

‘Are you naturally cautious, or has life made you that way?’

‘Most people get more sensible as they get older.’

How old did he think she was? she wondered. She knew she looked younger than her age because a lot of people expressed surprise when they found out what it was. All the things she had been through hadn’t left their marks on her skin as they did to some women. The ash-blonde look didn’t hide any threads of grey like the colour rinses of some of her stressed-out contemporaries.

‘Were you ever not sensible?’ he asked, on a teasing note.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, her tone wry. ‘At seventeen I was as crazy as they come.’ Crazy to break free. Madly in love. ‘But that was a long time ago.’

They had come to the gateway to her hotel. Still holding her hand, he came with her to the building’s imposing entrance.

‘If you decide to skip the official programme tomorrow night, you know where to contact me.’

In full view of the uniformed doorman who had already opened the door and was saluting, Neal lifted her hand and brushed a light kiss on the back of it. ‘Goodnight, Sarah. I hope we’ll meet again.’

He said goodnight in Nepali to the doorman before turning and striding away, leaving her staring after him, halftempted to call him back.

But she didn’t and moments later, without looking round, Neal went out of the gate and disappeared.

Sarah spent the free morning before the group’s departure by air to Lukla wandering round town, grappling with the realisation that she didn’t really want to go. She wanted to see Neal again more than she wanted to do the trek. Perhaps she would have felt differently if the others in the group had been more congenial. But they weren’t, and she knew that situation wasn’t going to improve with closer acquaintance.

After a while she went into the garden behind Pilgrims Book House and ordered a pot of jasmine tea. There were not many people there that morning but presently another woman on her own wandered in and sat down not far from Sarah. She looked interesting and Sarah would have liked to start up a conversation but the other woman began writing postcards.

Some time later she rose and hurried in the direction of the lavatories, leaving her pack at the table. Either she was unusually casual about her belongings or her errand was urgent.

While she was gone, more people passed through the garden, either coming from the bookshop or going in by the back way. Sarah kept an eye on the pack. Perhaps there wasn’t a high risk that an opportunist thief would steal it, but such things did happen.

Suddenly the pack’s owner reappeared, very unsteady on her feet and covered with blood. She reeled back to her table and sank down, looking as if she might pass out at any moment.

At this point a waiter arrived with her order, took in the streams of blood and said worriedly, ‘Is there are a problem?’

‘Yes, there is,’ said Sarah, taking charge. ‘This lady needs medical attention. Please call a taxi...quickly.’ She bent over the injured woman, trying to determine how seriously she was hurt. ‘What happened? Can you tell me?’

‘I was sick...it made my head swim...I fell against something hard. I think I knocked myself out I’m not certain...’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after you,’ Sarah said reassuringly. Luckily, she had the address of a recommended clinic on a slip of paper in her passport. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Rose Jones.’ She burst into tears.

The clinic’s waiting room, leading off the reception area, was crowded with people when Sarah and Rose arrived. But, seeing the state Rose was in, the woman on duty at the desk quickly arranged for a colleague to show them to a room at the back of the premises.

‘The doctor won’t keep you long,’ said the second woman.

Rose, by now a bit more composed, sat down and closed her eyes. Sarah looked round the room. In the centre was a high examination couch. Everything was very clean and orderly. She knew that the clinic was staffed by foreign doctors and was famous for its research into the causes and treatment of the illness jokingly known as the Kathmandu Quickstep.

Moments later the door opened and Neal walked in. His left eyebrow shot up in surprise at the sight of Sarah. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘What are you doing here?’ she countered.

But already he’d switched his attention to Rose. ‘Hello...I’m Dr Kennedy. Let’s get you up on the couch and I’ll be taking a look while you tell me what happened.’

As he drew her to her feet and assisted her onto the couch, Sarah gaped at him in astonishment. He had told her he was a journalist, a staff writer on The Journal. He’d said nothing about being a doctor. Had he misled her deliberately? If so...why?