The nurse pushed the wheelchair, while Adrian and Anne followed behind. ‘The Medical Centre is in Terminal 2. It’s not far.’ The young woman smiled over her shoulder at them. The moment they walked out into the crowded, noisy Arrivals Hall, Dave Parker appeared suddenly at their side. There wasn’t much flesh on the man, and so little on his face there was scarcely enough to even feed a smile. Maybe it was because of his height – an inch or two over six feet – but he always seemed to be looking down on those around him. A look that was complemented, quite successfully, by his air of smug satisfaction. He’d been with Africa Assist for the best part of 15 years, so he knew the ropes sufficiently well to follow Adrian without asking questions. As they walked, Adrian introduced him to Anne Chaffey. ‘This is James Balcombe’s right-hand man.’ It was his way of disowning the fellow.
Even at this late hour, there were people hurrying in every direction, or standing about aimlessly, looking lost. The small group headed for the underground walkway. A long pedestrian mover carried them between green, hospital-like walls, illuminated every few yards by an electric light. There was no one to be seen; everyone had suddenly disappeared. For one insane moment Adrian considered elbowing the young nurse to one side, grabbing the wheelchair and, with Anne and Dave in tow, making a run for it. He was sorely tempted.
When they reached the entrance to Terminal 2, they turned right and walked the dozen yards to the Queens Building: the Medical Centre was on the ground floor. The nurse ushered them into a small room, then disappeared through a door at the far end, saying, ‘Dr Kadwell won’t be a minute.’
Dave peered down at Mujtabaa. ‘So this is the unfortunate soul who has to walk to Trafalgar Square?’
‘There are a few – as you put it – unfortunate souls walking to Trafalgar Square,’ said Adrian curtly.
Dave turned to him. ‘Which is extremely noble-minded.’ He smiled. ‘But then I’m driving, so I would say that.’
Anne was watching Dave closely, as if uncertain how to take him. ‘He doesn’t look what I’d call conspicuously thin,’ he said to Adrian. ‘Do you think he’s going to stand out sufficiently for our purpose?’
Adrian wondered if he was going to have to put up with this kind of negativity for a whole week. ‘He’ll certainly stand out in this country. In his own country he doesn’t, but that’s because everyone there is thin.’ He didn’t bother to keep the supercilious tone out of his voice. ‘Also, you’re only seeing his face at the moment.’
Dave was looking at him critically, perhaps reflecting on the fact that the public-relations consultant was an endomorph, while he himself was an ectomorph. Adrian was annoyed with himself for having given James Balcombe’s man the opportunity to comment, but equally annoyed with himself for his barrel-shaped abdomen.
‘Do we know how much he understands what’s going on?’
‘We believe quite a bit, although he doesn’t say very much, so it can be hard to tell.’ Anne spoke as if she were still addressing the child who’d sat next to her on the plane.
Dave took a step forward and lifted one of Mujtabaa’s hands off his lap, clasping it briefly. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Dave.’ Mujtabaa didn’t move. Dave placed his hand back on his lap. The three of them stared at the Ethiopian in silence, then Dave said, ‘As you requested, Adrian, I’ve arranged a private lounge for us, when we leave here.’
Dr Kadwell appeared a few minutes later. He looked as if he were barely out of medical school, having the tired, haunted appearance of a student who works all day and night, and is permanently worried about making a wrong diagnosis. He strode into the room, walked straight across to the wheelchair, and bent down to examine Mujtabaa’s face. He was so objective, so separate, he could have been a lepidopterist studying a particularly interesting specimen in a display case. He straightened up and announced to the room, even though he was still staring with great concentration at the young man, ‘If everything goes well, this should take less than an hour.’ Only then did he turn and ask, ‘Do you wish to stay here or go and have a coffee?’
‘We’ll stay here, and I’d like Anne Chaffey to accompany you. She’s his nurse.’
‘There’s no need for that.’
Adrian was insistent. ‘This young man knows Anne, it will help him to relax. She’s also the only one able to communicate with him.’
Kadwell said nothing, but left the room with Mujtabaa and Anne.
‘I don’t trust that fellow.’
‘Is there anything he can do?’
Adrian imagined the worst scenario. ‘He could attempt to get him admitted to hospital.’
‘Would Mujtabaa pass a medical, do you think?’
‘Anne says he isn’t fit compared to a Westerner, but then it depends on the criteria you judge him by.’
‘He doesn’t look well to me.’
Adrian found his assistant’s lack of enthusiasm disheartening. He should surely have to defend himself from the doctor, not from his own assistant. ‘You have to take into account his background, his circumstances and the fact he’s severely malnourished. Obviously, he’s weak but, as far as Anne can tell, he’s not ill in the sense that he’s carrying any contagious or dangerous diseases.’
‘How about AIDS? Did you ask her about that?’
‘She said it’s difficult to tell, but she doesn’t believe so.’
‘That’s the big worry nowadays.’
‘People are just paranoid. Fixated. That’s all that is.’ He was becoming impatient. He began pacing up and down the small room.
‘I spoke to one of the Press guys before you got here, Adrian – part of the permanent media presence at the airport.’
He abruptly stopped pacing. ‘I told you not to speak to anyone until we arrived. What did you go and do that for?’
‘It was James’s idea.’
Adrian swore under his breath.
‘I played it down, just kind of mentioned it.’
‘How on earth can you just kind of mention something like this?’
‘I knew you were in the air, so I didn’t think much could go wrong.’ His smile looked vaguely victorious.
‘For Christ’s sake, Dave, just stick to what I tell you in future.’ He resumed pacing. He felt unnaturally tense; he needed to relax. ‘It’s not a good idea to speak to anyone until the press conference tomorrow morning, OK? We can build it up quickly from there.’ He shook his head. ‘What came over you?’
Dave’s smirk had disappeared; now he was sulking. ‘I told James what I was doing.’
‘You don’t answer to him over the next week – just me. Is that clear?’
‘Sure.’ This was said with seeming indifference, as if he had no intention of obeying such an instruction.
Adrian started to think about all the things that had to be organized, but he also knew there was nothing to be done until they could be sure they had Mujtabaa back in their care. He hated being dependent on someone else’s decision.
Eventually, Dr Kadwell came back into the room. His head was buried in a file, and he exuded an air of busy self-importance. He was alone.
‘Mr Burles, can you tell me why Mujtabaa is in this country?’
‘He’s helping Africa Assist raise money for famine relief.’
‘And how’s he doing that?’
Adrian briefly described what was planned, but avoided the details, trying to keep everything