One Sunday in November

She remembered his words when, unable to sleep in the stifling heat, she pulled on a pair of slacks and a light cotton blouse. 'Wear something a little less intimidating if you ever decide to come again,' he had said. That was a month ago when he had walked with her back to the mission. She picked up her medical coat, let herself out and climbed slowly in the moonlight to the top of the little hill behind the hospital. Despite the lateness of the night, the rocks around her were warm from the searing temperature of the day before; and tomorrow, she knew, would be the same again. 'It'll rain soon,' he had said, but that was so long ago it seemed impossible. Day after day the sun had glared down on the parched earth below from a leaden and cloudless sky. It was the only Africa she knew - the green hills of her home were three months and five thousand miles away. 'It'll rain when the wind goes into the west?' he had said.

The full moon cast dark shadows around the boulders as she picked her way to the summit and there, the breeze she sought ruffled the dark hair that fringed her pale face. She moved her head from side to side testing the wind. 'It's in the west,' she whispered to herself. Moonlight glinted off the corrugated iron roofs of the little settlement below and cast a bright beam across the lagoon beyond. A dog barked in the distance and the faint smell of burning charcoal drifted up to her through the blackened rocks and leafless trees. 'You'll grow to love it,' he had said. A bush fire flickered along the far bank of the lagoon occasionally flaring up like a volcano sending a tower of flames and sparks into the air before dying back into a dancing ribbon of yellow light. 'The whole country's on fire,' she thought.

She strained her eyes along the banks of the lagoon searching for the little summerhouse. She knew exactly where it was, but couldn't see it hidden in the waterberry and mahogony trees. 'When it's hot I sleep down here,' he had said. She wondered if he was there now and listened to the faint rustle of the wind rearranging a little pile of dead leaves and burnt grass in the lee of the rock beside her. She had only been to the summerhouse once, almost exactly a month ago, she remembered.

Jupiter, the only star clearly visible in the bright night sky, hung low over the western horizon with the full moon, equidistant, above it. She looked at her watch - it was 3:57. A nightjar called and she remembered it from her previous visit to the summerhouse, but had forgotten its proper name. 'Some people call it the Litany Bird,' he had said. 'It only calls on bright nights.' It called again - 'Good Lord deliver us,' it said, in a clear, trilling voice. She repeated the words and crossed herself. The soft, warm wind replaced the smell of burning charcoal with the smell of grass smoke borne from the flames on the far side of the lagoon. For the first time she heard the little crackles and pops of the distant fire - the wind was getting stronger.

She knew she should not have gone on that occasion, but she could not resist the little note he had sent by office messenger. 'My malaria's better, but now I've got cholera, TB, typhoid and the plague,' it read. 'Please come and treat me.' She had gone to his summerhouse after mass - there was a full moon then as now.

The Litany bird continued its unceasing exhortations to the Almighty and she secretly damned it for its nagging persistence. She would not go again, she thought. It had been a very unprofessional lapse on the last occasion.

She remembered how his teasing banter had reminded her of medical school and how she had blushed to the roots of her hair when he'd touched her cheek with the back of his hand and how he'd said, 'So you're human after all?' But if she was never going back, why, she wondered had she dressed so deliberately in this manner? There were two opposing voices within her - one echoed the Litany bird and was safe and comforting - the other was new, exciting and confusing. She thought of her childhood, the death of her mother, the abuse of her father and her flight into caring, custodial exile from which there was no return.

The distant horizon had consumed Jupiter and the moon was following fast. She shivered, stood up and pulled her coat around her. For the first time, she felt deliciously cool. 'Perhaps it will be alright if I just call in for early morning tea,' she thought. The Litany bird disagreed, 'Good Lord deliver us,' it twittered.

Behind her the sky was suddenly pink, the moon hung on the western horizon and the Litany bird fell silent. She stood up and began to make her way down through the leafless trees, stopping here and there to listen to the new noises of the dawn. She heard the soft 'chink-chink-chink' of guineafowls and the distant boom of Hornbills. She didn't know what they were. 'He'll know,' she thought. It was as good a reason as any to go and see him. Her course was now set and it was not back to the mission station. There was nobody moving as she turned down the sandy track to his house and the first rays of the sun were brushing the tops of the trees as she crossed the lawn and knocked softly on the back door of the summerhouse. She was startled by the speed with which it was opened and she saw him standing, speechless with surprise in front of her, towel round his waist, white, frothy beard on his face and razor in his hand.

'I came for tea,' she said lamely for want of anything else to say.

He regained his composure. 'Come in,' he said, stepping back to let her in and a dog out, before shutting the door behind her. She saw the mirror hanging on the door and realised why he had been able to open it so quickly when she knocked.

'Do you make a habit of visiting people for tea at this time of day?' he asked, looking at his watch.

'It was too hot to sleep last night so I sat up on the hill and came down here at first light,' she said, removing her coat.

'I'm delighted,' he smiled. 'Why don't you go and make the tea while I finish shaving. Everything's over there on the table,' he pointed.

'Its your day off, isn't it?' he asked, with his back to her.

'Yes.'

'Then I'll be able to have you all to myself, all day.'

'Oh, no, I can't do that - I must get back after tea.'

Having placed the kettle on the gas ring, she looked around. His summerhouse was spacious and closed in on three sides, the fourth was open with a deck cantilevered over the water of the lagoon. A rack on one wall held fishing rods and a shotgun. There were two small easy chairs and a coffee table strewn with newspapers, magazines and books. A small settee was carelessly draped with a grey blanket and obviously doubled as a dog's bed. The rumpled sheets and pillows on the bed along one wall testified to its recent use. The floors were covered with reed mats and the whole place smelled of pipe tobacco. It had a casual, homely and lived-in feel to it.

He answered a scratch at the door and the dog came back. It looked up at its master as it passed him, made its way to the settee and jumped up. From its vantage point it eyed her suspiciously.

She went to the railing of the deck and looked out over the water at the smoke rising from the fire of the night before and listened to the soft crackling and popping of burning grass. Below her the tethered boats rocked and bumped together as little ripples scurried across the surface of the water. 'The wind's in the west,' she called.

'Yes, it should rain soon,' he said, walking over, drying his face. He was standing next to her now and she was acutely conscious of his proximity. 'It's been particularly hot this year - I'm not surprised you couldn't sleep last night in those little airless mission houses. It's not too bad in here; this place catches any little breeze that's going, particularly if the wind's in the west like last night. I covered myself with a wet towel and slept like a baby.'

'Does that work?' she asked, walking back to the tea table.

'Yes, but only if there's a breeze to evaporate the water on the towel - it wouldn't work very well in your little house.'

'Sugar?' she called.

'Yes please; two.'

She returned with two mugs of tea and stood next to him, balancing the mugs on the rail in front of them.

'How old are you?' he asked, quizzically.

'You mustn't ask a lady how old she is?'

'I thought you were an Irish peasant, not a lady,' he grinned. 'At least, that's what you told me last time.'

She pushed him with her elbow, but said nothing, surprised at how glad she was for the opportunity of touching him.

'How is it that you don't speak with an Irish accent?' he asked. 'You speak with the accent of an English county lady.'

'Not everyone from Ireland speaks with an Irish accent.'

'Irish peasants certainly do,' he replied. 'I think you're hiding something from me.'

'Maybe,' she smiled.

'You're a very beautiful woman,' he said, looking out over the water. 'That's one of the reasons nothing makes sense to me. Anyway, I'm glad you remembered to dress in civvies this time.'

'Have you fully recovered from your malaria?' she asked, changing the subject and feigning an Irish accent. She had first met him when she had treated him for malaria a week before the Independence celebrations, but on those visits Sister Bridget had always accompanied her.

'I said, you're a very beautiful woman,' he countered.

She did not reply, but leaned towards him and laid her head briefly on his bare shoulder.

'I'm going up river fishing this morning,' he said. 'Would you like to come along?'

She thought for a long time. 'No thanks, but while you're away would it be alright if I changed my mind and stayed here. I'd like to try to get some sleep using your wet towel method? I'm absolutely dog tired.'

'Sure,' he said. 'I'll miss your company, but if it means you'll be here when I come back, I'll have something to look forward to.'

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she watched him as he readied his fishing gear and filled a cold box with drinks. The dog jumped down and waited impatiently at the door, whining softly.

'Are you sure you won't come,' he asked from the door.

'No, thanks, I'd really like to get some sleep if I can.'

She heard the outboard engine start up and listened to it fading into the distance before picking up the damp towel from the floor. She wet it at the tap and wrung it out before removing her clothes. His system worked perfectly and in minutes she was asleep.

Three hours later when she woke, the towel was dry and the sheet on which she lay was wet with sweat. She dried herself off and wet the towel again. The breeze had died down and the air was hot and lifeless. Wrapping the wet towel around her, she took a Coke from the fridge and sat down in a chair to stare out across the shimmering lagoon. She thought of his words, 'You're hiding something from me,' and buried her face in her hands.

The sudden, sharp clicking of the corrugated iron roof startled her. A cloud had passed across the sun and the lagoon was suddenly plunged into shade. She stood up and walked over to the railing, wiping her face with the corner of the towel. Towering white thunder clouds were massing up behind the hill and far down the lagoon she could see the white bow-wave of his boat returning. She smiled, waited and watched as the boat nosed back into the bank below her. 'Any luck?' she called down when at last the engine cut.

'Enough to make two large portions of fish and chips for lunch,' he called back, proudly grinning from ear to ear.

He came in, still shirtless and lugging the cold box and fishing tackle. He opened the box, took out a fish and held it up for her to see. 'I got four like this,' he said.

'That's a super fish,' she said, plonking herself down in a chair, 'and thanks for the use of your bed, I slept really well for the first time in ages.'

'I know,' he said, laughing, 'I came back to see if you were awake about an hour ago.' He paused for effect. 'Your towel was on the floor so I picked it up and covered you.'

'You didn't,' she said. 'You're kidding me.'

'I'm not kidding,' he said with a wry smile. 'I'm now in a position to confirm to you that you are without doubt the most beautiful creature I have ever set eyes on.'

Kidding or not kidding, she blushed and turned her head away. The heat was oppressive and the unvarying screech of cicadas and a monotonous clink, clink, clink sound, now augmented the intermittent clicking of the corrugated iron roof.

'What makes that clinking noise?' she asked.

'It's a bird, a Tinker Barbet - it drives you crazy in the heat of the day.'

'Yes,' she said. 'That's what I was thinking, but it's a very apt name and I shall always associate it with you.'

'Why? I don't go clink, clink, clink.'

'No, but you're driving me crazy,' she chuckled, capping his earlier ambiguity with a better one of her own.

He took it the way she meant it, walked over to her chair and put his hands down to hers. She rose and melted into his enfolding arms driven by a primal force too strong to be resisted by pious thoughts alone. There was a distant rumble of thunder and the cicadas stopped screeching. He kissed her gently on her upturned forehead and she stood on tiptoes for more.

'You'd better get that wet towel off,' he said. 'It's going to rain and you'll be cold.'

'You'll have to look the other way while I change,' she said, looking up at him.

'Why?' he asked, unwrapping the towel from her and patting her playfully on the bottom. 'I've seen it all before.'

'Oh, you're impossible,' she said, spinning round and skipping over to the pile of clothes by the bed. She stooped down to pick up her pants and turned to face him. 'What part of me do you like best?' she asked holding out both arms with her pants dangling from one hand.

He was leaning over the rail and not looking at her. 'Your heart,' he replied.

She was angry that her defiant gesture had gone unnoticed and quickly struggled into her clothes before joining him at the rail. A flight of geese flew low over the darkening water of the lagoon and the reeds at the water's edge swayed in the freshening wind.

'If you'll gut and fillet the fish, I'll do some potatoes and make us some fish and chips.' she said, nudging up to him.

'OK,' he replied, kissing her on the cheek. 'The potatoes are in that box over by the tea table.'

He was back in ten minutes with the fish fillets and sat watching her working with the frying pan at the little gas ring.

'What are you thinking about?' she asked.

'I'm still wondering why somebody like you is here.'

'I'm a doctor.'

'You're a mission doctor; you could have been a doctor at a top London hospital or Belfast hospital if that's where you really come from.'

'I go where my order sends me,' she said, ladling fish onto a plate.

A peel of thunder boomed across the lagoon causing her to start and look out over the water. It was midday and the darkness of evening had descended over the land. The Tinker Barbet fell silent. In the gloom of the gathering storm an eerie silence engulfed the earth.

'Put the fish and chips on a piece of newspaper and bring it over here,' he said, from the rail where he stood.

There was another crackle and boom of thunder as she tore the middle pages from an old English newspaper lying on the table and dumped the fish and chips into the indentation she made with her fist.

She stood in front of him leaning back against his chest looking out at the gathering storm. He put out his hand, took a chip off the newspaper balanced on the rail in front of her and put it into her mouth. She smiled and nuzzled closer. The only light came from a narrow, bright band of sky sandwiched between the plains and the base of the purple-black clouds above. Tongues of black vapour curled down below the flat base of the cumulus to briefly touch the plains below before evaporating moments later. Shafts of lightning stabbed down from the clouds to the ground below and the rumble of thunder became continuous.

'It's awesome,' she whispered, as the rising wind blew her hair into his face. He brushed it aside and closed his arms around her.

'Can you smell the rain?' he asked.

'Yes, it's lovely, and the wind's so cool after so much heat.'

Curtains of rain on the horizon coalesced into a single wall of water racing towards them across the plains and the distant roar of rain mingled with the continuous rumble of thunder. Dead leaves, dust and burned grass flew through the air ahead of the rain. A pigeon, buffeted by the wind as it crossed the lagoon, dived for cover in the thick tangles of a waterberry tree. A single drop of rain crashed onto the corrugated iron roof as if someone had thrown a stone. Moments later it was followed by a second and a third.

'Come,' he said, taking her by the hand to the back door, which he opened before crouching down with his arm around her shoulder. Outside the door there was a patch of dusty ground worn bear by the tread of hundreds of feet. Huge raindrops were crashing into it, each one sent a little puff of dust floating away on the wind.

'I think that's what causes the special smell of the first rain,' he said.

The rising wind was buffeting the summer house as he led her to the bed against the wall where she shivered and snuggled down beneath the covers to avoid the fine, flying spray. She held up the corner of the cover for him to follow, aware that he was speaking to her, but unable to hear a word against the rolling thunder.

Hail stones bounced and skidded across the floor and gradually the roar of rain on the corrugated iron roof rose to a crescendo. A flash of lightning followed immediately by the crash and boom of thunder left her breathless in his arms. Minutes later a warm, tranquil peace returned as the storm flew on and bright sunshine returned to bathe the land. Wisps of mist rose from the water of the lagoon and the trees dripped onto the soggy leaf mass below.

'That was simply awesome,' she said, struggling to her feet. 'Is it always like that?'

'Only at the beginning of the season.'

Silently, they walked back to the mission through the crisp, cool air. He softly kissed her goodbye at the entrance to the avenue of towering Blue Gum trees that led up the mission compound and she walked on alone as if walking down the isle of a cathedral to a place where he could never go.

The bright moon was rising over the tree canopy when she left the church after evening mass and made her way back to her little whitewashed cottage. Flying ants fluttered against the light she had left on the table, their wings were strewn all over floor and their bodies crunched under her feet. She blew out the light and let herself out again into the moonlight.

Sitting amongst the rocks at the top of the hill, she smelt the freshness of the rain and heard the myriad sounds of the awakening insect world. Far in the distance she saw that the door of his summerhouse was open and light shone out onto the lawn behind. The little comfort she gained from knowing that he was so close was overwhelmed by the ferocious turmoil in her heart. She thought again of his words, 'You're hiding something from me,' and tears welled in her eyes. She thought of her flamboyant exposure, 'What part of me do you like best?' and his reply, 'Your heart.'

'Oh, why does it have to be like this?' she sobbed aloud. 'My heart's pledged and you can never have it. Thank you my friend for today and remember me with kindness - I can never return.'

In the bright moonlight, the sound of her sobbing mingled with the mocking call of the Litany bird and the door of the summerhouse closed.