would let her get close to the child, she had no idea.
Neither could she think about it right now for Khalifa, who had exited the plane before her, was talking to the driver of the big vehicle, talking anxiously, then taking out his mobile and pacing back and forth as he spoke to someone.
He glanced towards her, shook his head, then ended the conversation.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, moving to stand in front of her, ‘but there’s an emergency at the hospital and I’m needed there. I would have liked to take you to the palace and see you settled in, but I will have to go directly to the hospital and then my driver will take you from there.’
Palace?
Maybe she’d misheard.
Setting that aside, she hurried to assure him she’d be all right.
‘What kind of emergency?’ she asked as she slid into the car.
Khalifa was in the front seat and turned to look at her.
‘A pregnant woman with a meningioma in the occipital region of her brain. It must be a fast-growing one as the first sign she had was the loss of vision in one eye. Given her condition, we can’t use drugs, or radiotherapy so—’
‘How pregnant is she?’ Liz’s brain switched into work mode.
‘Thirty-four weeks.’
‘And the surgeon needs to get into the back of her skull.’ Liz was thinking out loud. ‘At thirty-four weeks you could take the baby—give the mother some betamethasone to accelerate foetal lung maturation, then do a Caesar. We can provide care for a thirty-four-week neonate.’
‘We?’ Khalifa queried, a slight smile lurking on his lips.
‘I’ll be there. I’ll come in with you. What’s the point of bringing me all this way to loll around in some palace when a baby might need my help?’
‘But you can’t—You’ve just got off a plane.’
‘And if you say it’s because I’m pregnant I’ll probably hit you.’ Liz interrupted his faltering arguments. ‘This is what I do, Khalifa. And if you’re removing a tumour from this poor woman’s brain, the last thing she’ll need is to wake up and find you’ve sent her baby off to some hospital miles and miles away.’
Liz hoped she’d made her point, but when Khalifa did respond it was with a question of his own.
‘You understand I’ll be doing the operation? You know I’m a surgeon with special interest in tumours of the brain?’
Liz grinned at him.
‘Do you really think any woman would go off with a man to a strange country without at least checking him out on the internet?’
He returned her smile.
‘You’d be surprised,’ he said, ‘at how many women would do just that.’
‘Not this one,’ Liz assured him. ‘You’d told me you’d studied medicine, but hadn’t talked much about your surgery or said whether you were still practising. I must admit it was reassuring that as a doctor you’d at least understand what is needed in any hospital unit. The fights I’ve had with bureaucrats who think the setting-up and staffing within a hospital are all about getting the numbers right and meeting something they invariably call the bottom line.’
Khalifa nodded.
‘These men exist in my life as well, but at least I have the power to cut off their heads if they annoy me.’
The lurking smile told her he was joking, and she smiled back as she said, ‘I’d better remember that, hadn’t I? I don’t think my head would look too good raised on a pike outside this palace you talk of.’
She hesitated, then, aware she was showing her ignorance or possibly naivety, added, ‘Is it really a palace? And, anyway, I don’t need to stay with you. Surely there are staff quarters at the hospital.’
His smile broadened and warmth rushed from her curling toes to the top of her head, revealing itself, she was sure, in a rich blush.
‘You will stay with me. The place is big enough for dozens of visitors—welcoming strangers and taking them in is part of our culture. And while not a palace in the style of a western fairy-tale, as the home of the ruler, it
Neither could she think about it right now for Khalifa, who had exited the plane before her, was talking to the driver of the big vehicle, talking anxiously, then taking out his mobile and pacing back and forth as he spoke to someone.
He glanced towards her, shook his head, then ended the conversation.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, moving to stand in front of her, ‘but there’s an emergency at the hospital and I’m needed there. I would have liked to take you to the palace and see you settled in, but I will have to go directly to the hospital and then my driver will take you from there.’
Palace?
Maybe she’d misheard.
Setting that aside, she hurried to assure him she’d be all right.
‘What kind of emergency?’ she asked as she slid into the car.
Khalifa was in the front seat and turned to look at her.
‘A pregnant woman with a meningioma in the occipital region of her brain. It must be a fast-growing one as the first sign she had was the loss of vision in one eye. Given her condition, we can’t use drugs, or radiotherapy so—’
‘How pregnant is she?’ Liz’s brain switched into work mode.
‘Thirty-four weeks.’
‘And the surgeon needs to get into the back of her skull.’ Liz was thinking out loud. ‘At thirty-four weeks you could take the baby—give the mother some betamethasone to accelerate foetal lung maturation, then do a Caesar. We can provide care for a thirty-four-week neonate.’
‘We?’ Khalifa queried, a slight smile lurking on his lips.
‘I’ll be there. I’ll come in with you. What’s the point of bringing me all this way to loll around in some palace when a baby might need my help?’
‘But you can’t—You’ve just got off a plane.’
‘And if you say it’s because I’m pregnant I’ll probably hit you.’ Liz interrupted his faltering arguments. ‘This is what I do, Khalifa. And if you’re removing a tumour from this poor woman’s brain, the last thing she’ll need is to wake up and find you’ve sent her baby off to some hospital miles and miles away.’
Liz hoped she’d made her point, but when Khalifa did respond it was with a question of his own.
‘You understand I’ll be doing the operation? You know I’m a surgeon with special interest in tumours of the brain?’
Liz grinned at him.
‘Do you really think any woman would go off with a man to a strange country without at least checking him out on the internet?’
He returned her smile.
‘You’d be surprised,’ he said, ‘at how many women would do just that.’
‘Not this one,’ Liz assured him. ‘You’d told me you’d studied medicine, but hadn’t talked much about your surgery or said whether you were still practising. I must admit it was reassuring that as a doctor you’d at least understand what is needed in any hospital unit. The fights I’ve had with bureaucrats who think the setting-up and staffing within a hospital are all about getting the numbers right and meeting something they invariably call the bottom line.’
Khalifa nodded.
‘These men exist in my life as well, but at least I have the power to cut off their heads if they annoy me.’
The lurking smile told her he was joking, and she smiled back as she said, ‘I’d better remember that, hadn’t I? I don’t think my head would look too good raised on a pike outside this palace you talk of.’
She hesitated, then, aware she was showing her ignorance or possibly naivety, added, ‘Is it really a palace? And, anyway, I don’t need to stay with you. Surely there are staff quarters at the hospital.’
His smile broadened and warmth rushed from her curling toes to the top of her head, revealing itself, she was sure, in a rich blush.
‘You will stay with me. The place is big enough for dozens of visitors—welcoming strangers and taking them in is part of our culture. And while not a palace in the style of a western fairy-tale, as the home of the ruler, it
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