She climbed in between the cool sheets and switched off the light. She lay in the darkness and watched the moon cast strange shadows on the ceiling.
She wasn’t going to think of Ben and she certainly wasn’t going to start thinking about Grant Kershaw. She wanted work to have a cathartic effect, leaving her at peace.
She hoped sleep would come quickly tonight. She badly wanted Monday to come.
‘THE HEAT hit Kate the moment she stepped from the aircraft. It was like a solid wall, and it made her gasp as it entered her lungs.
She managed to look cool and composed in an ice-pink cotton sun-dress with matching sandals. Her hair lay in a single plait down her back, woven with ribbon of the same pink as the dress.
Inside, however her stomach was churning. The flight from Perth to Port Dampland had been awful. She realised now that she should never have flown in the middle of the afternoon, when the fierce heat of the sun over the mountain ranges had created severe turbulence that, at times, had made her believe she had parted company with her stomach.
She reached the bottom of the aircraft steps and surveyed the scene around her. It was some of the most dramatic terrain she had ever seen. The earth was coloured a deep, dusty red and it seemed to stretch into infinity.
Behind a fence which bordered the runway stood a small wooden building whose front bore the legend ‘Dampland Airport’. The interior of the building awaited Kate with all its air conditioned coolness, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she handed her papers to the burly official.
‘G’day, love,’ he smiled as he extended the familiar Australian greeting. ‘Where are you headed?’
‘I start work at Dampland Hospital tomorrow. I’m a nurse,’ explained Kate.
‘A nurse, are you? Then you’ll be wanting Barney Ferguson. He’s the hospital porter, driver and almost anything else you can think of! He’s in his ute over there.’ He pointed out of the window to where an extraordinary vehicle sat parked on the side of the dusty road.
It was the size of a car and had a cab at the front with two seats. There, however, the resemblance ended, for the back consisted of a small trailer on wheels which contained a dusty fridge and, incongruously enough, a selection of plastic watering cans! The ute was coloured a vivid scarlet, and lovingly polished.
As Kate walked towards what she later learned was fondly called ‘Beaut’, its owner jumped out from behind the driving wheel and advanced towards her grinning from ear to ear.
Barney Ferguson was of indeterminate age, but although Kate hazarded a guess at around fifty, she wouldn’t have been at all suprised to hear that he was, in fact, almost seventy. He had periwinkle blue eyes in a creased face, tanned dark by the sun.
He doffed a battered old straw hat and took Kate’s one suitcase, placing it carefully in the back of the ute.
‘G’day, miss,’ he said, and shook her hand warmly. ‘Is that all the luggage you’ve got?’
‘Oh no,’ replied Kate, as she climbed into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt. ‘But I decided to wait and see what I really needed. My uncle and aunt live in Perth, so they can send the rest of my clothes down later.’
‘Good thinking,’ said the old man as he placed the key in the ignition. He started up the car, and drove off from the tiny airport in a cloud of dust.
‘Welcome to Port Dampland!’ he exclaimed, and waved one hand expressively at the window.
The stark landscape had a beauty all of its own, Kate decided. Here and there, the harshness of the scene was broken by vivid green clumps of soft feathery-looking grass.
‘That grass,’ said Barney, who had noticed her interest, ‘is spinifex. Don’t park yourself anywhere near it—it’s spikier than a porcupine’s back!’
‘I’ll try to remember,’ laughed Kate, leaning back and closing her eyes as the warm air blew in through the window.
Some five or so miles on, the homogeneity of the tableau was broken by the appearance of a long, low building, glittering in the distance.
‘That’s Dampland Hospital,’ said Barney. ‘It’s built near the airport, so they can ship off any really bad cases to Perth, if need be. I’ll take you straight to Sister Hetherington in theatres—she’s expecting you. She’ll probably take you to your digs.’
‘Thanks, Barney,’ said Kate, as they drove up towards the main entrance of the hospital.
It was a strange building for a hospital, certainly to the English-trained Kate’s eyes—used to the tall, imposing walls of St. Jude’s, which had been built in the last century. Australian architecture was entirely practical, to withstand extremes of climate, that much she knew.
The building was on three floors only, lack of available space not being a problem in the vast open reaches of the Gibson Desert. It was raised very slightly from the ground—a necessary step to discourage the various spiders and insects. Finally, the ward section of the hospital was surrounded by a veranda, whose purpose was not just to provide welcome shade from the fierce sun, but to enable patients to sit outside in the evenings, while convalescing.
Kate collected her suitcase from the back of the ute and, thanking Barney again, walked through the swing doors into the main reception area, which felt positively chilly compared with the temperature outside. Oh, the marvels of science! thought Kate, uttering a fervent thanks to whoever had invented air-conditioning. She made her way to the reception desk and asked the young nursing auxiliary to please let Sister Hetherington know that Staff Nurse Carpenter had arrived.
The girl picked up an internal phone and relayed the message. ‘Take a seat,’ she said to Kate. ‘Sister Hetherington’ll be right with you.’
Kate wandered slowly around the room, which was filled with huge exotic greenery. She stopped in front of a painting—a brilliant landscape in vibrant colours, which seemed perfectly to capture the raw excitement of the Australian bush. She gazed at it, so enraptured that she did not hear the sound of footsteps behind her.
‘Pro Hart,’ said an amused voice.
Kate spun round and found herself looking at an attractive, grinning man she’d never seen before with fair hair and a slightly dishevelled appearance.
‘I’m sorry?’ she stammered.
‘Pro Hart - it’s the name of the artist,’ he explained.
‘I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve never heard of him, or is it a her?’ asked Kate ruefully.
‘Then you can’t possibly be an Aussie!’ laughed the young man. He wore a white coat with a stethoscope just protruding from one pocket, which marked him out as a doctor, as opposed to one of the many other white coat wearers in a hospital. He held out his hand to her. ‘Hi, I’m Craig Anderson,’ he said. ‘The hardest working physician this side of the Hammersley Ranges! And to whom do I have the pleasure of talking?’
‘Nurse Carpenter, I presume?’ interrupted another voice before Kate had a chance to reply.
A young woman, not much older than Kate, stood before her. She was smiling politely, but her brown eyes glittered in a less than friendly fashion. She was wearing a simple white nursing frock, and not one hair was visible beneath a neat matching cap. A name-badge identified her as ‘Sister T. Hetherington.’
‘Please don’t let us keep you, Dr. Anderson,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to get to know Nurse Carpenter properly,’ She laid some emphasis on the last word and Craig Anderson looked slightly disconcerted.
‘Sure, Sister. Look, I must be getting along.’ At that moment his bleep shrilled loudly, and the