The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,129
smelt the rain and felt Felicity’s warm hand in his. Or had it been Stella’s? The thought was disturbing. He had felt a flare of desire as he’d turned to face the woman whose hand he’d grasped.
Andrew was unsatisfied and ached with regret. Rolling onto his front, he tried to regain sleep. He wanted to get back to the part of the dream where he was with Felicity under the trees before the bullets began to fly. It was useless. He lay shivering, his mind filling with anxious thoughts about Felicity and his loved ones at home.
The Stella in his dream had looked like the twenty-year-old he’d last seen, but she would no longer be like that. He was now twenty-two, so he worked out that Stella would be twenty-nine. She’d sent him a card on his birthday with a puzzling message that he knew by heart.
I hope you can come to Gulmarg soon. We all long to see you and I have things to explain about your half-sister – things that might make you think more kindly of your father and Esmie. Take care of yourself, love from Stella.
Andrew sighed. What did she want to tell him? Yet it raised his spirits that she wanted to see him again. Was that just Stella being typically generous-hearted or did he mean something more to her than just the boss’s son?
Andrew dozed, his thoughts flitting incoherently between the past and dread of the days ahead.
The following night they reached the barracks at Razmak: a huddle of low-lying fortified stone dwellings. Within the expanded perimeter of the fort were rows of white army tents to accommodate the increased number of troops.
Razmak had a commanding view of the valley – a tributary of the Tank Zam River. McBain had told him it was bitterly cold with snow in winter but pleasantly green in spring where the lower slopes were cultivated by peasant farmers. But this was the peak of the hot season and the vegetation had shrivelled in the harsh sun and the river dried up.
They arrived to find an outbreak of enteric fever.
‘We thought it was a few cases of heatstroke,’ McBain told Andrew and John Grant, ‘but then the men got sicker with stomach problems and fever. The colonel wants them transferred to the hospital at Taha before it spreads any further. Sorry, lads, you’ll have to turn right around and escort the convoy back again.’
Andrew felt exhausted at the thought. He couldn’t shake off the malaise he was feeling; his muscles ached and his head still pounded. All he wanted to do was crawl into his bedroll again and sleep.
‘I’m not sure Lomax is up to it, Sir,’ said Grant. ‘He’s fatigued – maybe a touch of sunstroke himself. I suggest we leave him here for a few days.’
‘Lomax?’ McBain asked in concern.
Andrew drew himself up. He wasn’t going to shirk his duties just because of the heat. He’d lived in India for years and should be able to cope better than most of the Scottish soldiers toiling in the fierce sun for the first time.
‘I’m perfectly fine, sir,’ said Andrew. ‘I’ll go.’
‘I’d rather you did,’ said McBain. ‘The medical orderlies speak Urdu so we’ll need you to translate.’
The next day at dawn, when the convoy of patients set off back down the road to Taha, Andrew was with them.
The journey was a blur. Andrew felt as if his body was on fire, but even the setting sun brought little relief. At the end of the day he was glad that the Scotsman Grant was there to take charge. Andrew began to hallucinate; he saw giant birds with human faces. He remembered vomiting, and then he passed out.
Chapter 45
Andrew knew he was under attack – a turbaned Pathan leaned over him and muttered threats in Pashto – but he was too weak to defend himself. They had bound him up and although he struggled, he couldn’t get free. This was how he would die, in a remote corner of the frontier, far from family and friends. He would never get to tell her how much he loved her. Andrew couldn’t quite remember who it was he had been thinking of. The woman’s face kept swimming before his closed eyes, smiling but elusive.
Voices drifted over him. ‘. . . fighting for his life . . . Should we let his family know? . . . Temperature’s sky-high . . . Send for the padre . . .’