The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,130

eyes. Someone was touching him and it made his skin burn. For a brief moment he saw a woman’s face – a slim face with dark intelligent eyes – not the woman in his dreams. She was trying to tell him something. But he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He surrendered once more to the heat and the darkness.

The next time Andrew awoke, an ancient man with a sweep of white hair, a weathered, crinkled face and huge beaky nose stared at him. He wondered if he might be dead.

‘You look like God,’ Andrew said in a cracked voice.

The man, dressed in a faded linen suit and clerical collar, bellowed with laughter. ‘I’ve been called many things, but never that.’

‘You’re Scottish.’ Andrew recognised the accent.

‘Aye.’ He smiled. ‘Name’s Alec Bannerman – but just call me Padre.’

Something about the name was familiar, but Andrew’s head felt too fuzzy to concentrate.

‘And we’re very pleased to see you’ve pulled through,’ said the old man. ‘I’ve been praying for God to spare you.’

‘Where am I?’

‘In the mission hospital at Taha. Your friend Grant brought you in. We thought we’d lost you but I told Mrs Desai that you Lomaxes are made of sterner stuff.’

Andrew realised he was lying in a single iron-framed bed with a curtain drawn around it. A woman appeared at the sound of their voices – the one he’d seen during his delirium.

‘This is Mrs Desai,’ said Bannerman. ‘She’s the ministering angel who saved your life.’

‘Along with my orderly, Malik,’ said the woman, scrutinising him with solemn brown eyes. ‘You’ve had a severe case of heatstroke. Luckily Malik spotted it when you brought in the typhoid cases.’

Following behind her, Andrew saw the moustachioed Pathan that he’d thought, in his delirium, had captured him.

‘Malik is helping me arrange for you to be brought to my house,’ said the padre. ‘You can recuperate there and free up a bed for another soldier.’ He rose to his feet and Andrew realised he must be as tall as he was.

Andrew was bemused and light-headed. It might be possible he was still hallucinating. But shortly afterwards he was helped onto his feet by Malik and another orderly and half-carried to a car outside. It was evening, and a welcome lick of breeze prickled his skin. To his delight, he saw his bearer Manek waiting for him with a kitbag of clothes and a cheerful ‘namaste’.

‘Your bearer has been lighting candles for you at the temple,’ said Bannerman.

To Andrew’s surprise, the old padre clambered into the driving seat. With Manek in the back, they set off at speed, driving out of the hospital compound and through the army cantonment towards the civilian lines. Andrew winced as the car bumped over the rutted road and only half-listened to Bannerman’s chatter about the army town.

As they drew up outside a whitewashed bungalow set back in a neat garden with a large mulberry tree, Andrew asked, ‘Why are you being so kind to me, sir?’

‘You’re a Lomax,’ said Bannerman, ‘and I consider myself a good friend of your family.’

Then Andrew remembered: this must be the friend his father had encouraged him to contact if he was stationed in Taha. Unwillingly, he recalled his mother’s harrowing tale of being kidnapped by tribesmen who’d mistaken her for Esmie. He’d been shocked the first time he’d been told the story fully. His father and Esmie had never done so, probably unwilling to admit the mistaken identity.

He closed his eyes in exhaustion. He didn’t want to be here – didn’t relish staying in Taha any longer than he had to. It was a place of terrible memories for his mother – one of great fear – and he was keen to go back to Razmak as soon as he could.

‘I can see you’re not up to having a chinwag this evening,’ said Bannerman. ‘You must go straight to bed and I’ll have my bearer send in a little supper. We can talk tomorrow.’

Andrew woke, wondering at first where he was. Through the mosquito net around his comfortable bed he could see a starkly furnished room bathed in soft dawn light from the unshuttered window, and he realised that he was at Bannerman’s home.

He lay for a moment, and then, realising that his pounding headache was finally gone and that he was hungry, he sat up and attempted to climb out of bed. On wobbly legs, he made it to the door and put on the silk dressing-gown that was hanging there on a hook.