He hopped across the patterned carpet, still doing his belt up, and pulled the door open.
‘What’s the emergency?’
‘No emergency.’ Madeline smiled. Her hand was still hovering in the air, as if she was about to knock on his face. ‘Sorry to interrupt. You said to knock before I went downstairs.’
‘What time is it?’ he asked, flustered.
He was totally thrown now. She looked entirely different somehow in this light, with her round, beguiling eyes lined with kohl and a hint of green eyeshadow. His hand found his hair again, at the same time as the other started buttoning up his shirt.
‘Almost five thirty,’ she told him, with her gaze now fixed on his exposed chest. ‘Doesn’t the drinks thing start now?’
‘Yes, yes—sorry, I got caught up. There was an issue with the supplies being delivered to Saint Elena, and I’ve been on the phone trying to fix it.’
‘Is it sorted out?’
‘Almost. I did all I could.’
‘OK. Well, don’t worry, I’m sure we can sneak you in late without anyone noticing. It’s not like you’re a VIP or anything.’
Laughter burst from his mouth as he hurried back into the room to pull his shoes out of his suitcase. The dryness in her tone tickled him. He’d always found the British sense of humour quite fascinating.
He grabbed his key card and wallet, turned the bathroom light out and let his eyes travel over Madeline’s petite yet curvy figure as he walked towards the door again. She was wearing another dress, an emerald-green one this time, tied around her waist with a paler green belt. Her hair was up now, in a French braid draped over one shoulder, and her lips were glistening in a shade of burgundy.
‘Were you writing?’ he asked, for want of something to fill the silence.
‘In my room? A bit.’
He nodded. He’d fought the urge, on the journey, to ask her more about her books, aware that he’d perhaps been a little rude about her passion before. It was just that when Samantha had first mentioned a ghost-writer he’d imagined for some reason someone older, greyer, crinklier. Perhaps an avid cat-lover or crochet aficionado. He definitely hadn’t imagined...well. This.
He cleared his throat. ‘You look nice,’ he said.
‘Thank you—so do you.’
‘So, you recognise me OK without the Medical Extremes outfit?’ He smiled now.
‘You’re kind of hard to miss.’
‘Is that right? I thought I’d been watching my weight.’
It was Madeline’s turn to laugh now. ‘As if you need to. I meant you have presence.’
Ryan realised that her cheeks were redder than they had been five seconds ago. He hadn’t exactly intended to get himself dressed in front of her...but, then again, they were headed into the jungle. Tribal villages in the Amazon rainforest weren’t exactly renowned for their privacy.
He stepped past her, closing the door behind him, then put a hand to the small of her back as they walked towards the elevators, noting her shoes—summer wedges with green straps.
‘You’re a little better at walking in those,’ he said without thinking, pushing the button.
‘That tripping over in public thing? That was a one-off—don’t worry.’
‘I’d only be worried in the Amazon,’ he replied as the doors pinged and slid open. ‘Big black cables on the floor of the jungle have a nasty habit of not being cables.’
She raised an eyebrow questioningly.
‘Snakes,’ he explained, and she pulled a face that made him chuckle.
In the elevator, Ryan fixed his eyes on their reflections in the full-length mirror. She was at least a foot shorter than him; that was shorter than—He clenched his fist. This was ridiculous. Madeline was not her.
He was determined to count the differences.
Some of her expressions were similar, sure, but Madeline had bigger eyes, wide and unnervingly quizzical—even more so now, framed with make-up. Her hair, long and dark and shiny, was the same...but she was slimmer, perhaps. He didn’t know much about women’s sizes, but he knew when he could hold a waist with both hands without leaving too much room between his fingers.
The elevator doors swung open. The music in the hotel foyer took the edge off his discomfort slightly as he guided Madeline towards the restaurant, past a crowd of tourists in matching floral shorts, speaking hurried German.
‘I’m sure you’ve been briefed about this,’ he said, trying to regain an air of authority if only for his own peace of mind.
‘Not really.’
He frowned, looking down into her sea-green eyes, then cleared his throat again. ‘Well, this is basically a getting-to-know-you event for the new people joining us and the suppliers. We also have a new cameraman from here in Rio, and a local paramedic. It’s about building trust as a team before we get out there, you know? That’s when the real work starts.’
‘It’s a good idea,’ Madeline said. ‘So I’ll introduce myself as your ghost-writer?’
Ryan felt his brow crease. How had he forgotten her mission? He felt that tsunami again at the thoughts of having to regurgitate any of those moments he’d been trying his hardest to bury for so long—of seeing them laid bare on the pages of a book...a book he’d eventually see someday in a bargain bin, with the forgotten demons that would surely plague him for ever tossed aside by a reader who’d lapped them up and promptly let them go, in a way he never could.
His hand found his hair, swept it from his forehead. ‘About this memoir... We need everyone to feel secure in the fact that our attention is fully on the patients. Our work always takes priority.’
‘I know that.’
‘You’re there to write the memoir, of course, but we might need you to help out as a nurse from time to time—’
‘I’d really rather not be a nurse while I’m here,’ Madeline interrupted.
She paused halfway to the table, where he could see the team already waiting, chatting away. She looked nervous again now.
‘Ryan, with all due respect, I didn’t come here to—’
‘Madeline, I get your current role, believe me, but people will be needing you out there. Do you really think, after everything you’ve trained for, that you could actually walk away from someone in pain?’
She opened her mouth to respond, but shut it again quickly. Annoyance was flickering in her eyes. He was concerned that this wasn’t looking very professional; people were looking at them.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ he whispered in her ear, getting a whiff of
