Plantation Doctor Read Free

invitation to enter the living - room. In a manner both simpering and nervous she gave her name.
    “I am wanting work,” she said. “I have been housekeeper for Mrs. Grayson for some years, and now since she and the master have gone I am without a proper home. Moses told me there was a new missus in the mission, so I come to offer myself.”
    Lyn did not know that Melia was a rare by-product of West Africa, but she judged her honest and painstaking.
    Regretfully she shook her head. “I’d like to help you, but I shall be leaving in a day or two. I’m going to Akasi.”
    “But wherever you go you must have a servant. I will go with you.”
    This would have suited Lyn very well, but to accept it seemed unfair to Melia. Mrs. Latimer might be capable of sending the woman back to Cape Bandu alone.
    “Where I’m going there are already servants,” she answered.
    The thin face drooped and the bony hands were clasped together. “I am white. I cannot much longer stand this place, and I have nowhere else to go. I shall not want much money — only a home and to work.”
    “Have you spoken to Dr. Sinclair?”
    The large dark eyes widened. “The doctor from Denton? I would not dare.”
    Impulsively Lyn said, “I’ll speak to him about it as soon as he comes back, and afterwards I’ll give Moses a message for you. Will that do?”
    Melia’s gratitude was pathetic; she smiled and dipped her head several times and murmured “Thank you” over and over again. After she had gone Lyn laughed at herself. What an idiot she was. As if she hadn’t a whale-size problem of her own on her hands, she’d taken on another’s! She wished the doctor would show up so that something could be settled.
    But the house remained tranquil. The boy served lunch on a tray — revolting brown beans splitting from their skins and tinned crayfish, both lukewarm and undisguised, and an uneatable substitute for bread. Lyn gave it up and went out to the veranda.

 
    CHAPTER TWO
    The outdoor heat at this hour of the day was concentrated and appalling. The whole vista shimmered and the sun’s glare upon the exotic garden hurt the eyes. The sea had withdrawn behind a thick milky mist; there was no caressing coastal breeze. To her ears came the muted roar of waves, the incessant humming of insects and the lazy chatter of unseen natives.
    Lyn stood there, conscious of all that was alien around her. Africa was untamed and magnetic. Her imagination began to paint frightening pictures. She would set out for that “hellish spot,” Akasi, and arrive to find Mrs. Latimer departed for somewhere even more sinister. She would travel on and get lost in the steaming swamps; no one would ever find her. One foolish fear crowded up on another like scenes from a jarring nightmare. S h e should never have consented to come to Africa. She wasn’t the type to look a lion in the eye and send him cowering to his lair. And darkness among those thick, vine-laced trees must be terrifying.
    Then suddenly the bad dream disintegrated. For the imperturbable Adrian Sinclair was advancing up the path, transforming Africa into a mere land with medical and social problems.
    “Come inside,” he said, barely looking at her. “I’ve been longer than I intended. The people had got to know I’d arrived, and they besi e ged the dispensary — the African loves med i cines and adhesive plaster, and a few of them were in bad shape. But I’ll fix your papers before I have lunch.”
    “What papers?”
    He tossed his helmet into a chair, went over to the plain wooden desk and bent over a notepad, pencil poised.
    “What are your Christian names?”
    “I’ve only one. Lynden.”
    He raised his head, glanced at her as if briefly weighing up the suitability of such a name. “Lynden Russell,” he stated.
    “That’s right. What are these papers?”
    “Just a formality. The Denton boats are equipped to accommodate a couple of passengers; the plantation employees use them for