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‘So you had no choice in this day-trip?’
‘None at all. I’m sorry if it bruises your evidently swollen ego.’ She made sure not to sound remotely sorry.
It was galling, but he didn’t bite as she’d anticipated. Instead, something she might have taken to be amusement—had she not already known that Nikh
il didn’t have an amused bone in his body—tugged at his lips.
‘No doubt I can get my fragile ego massaged back into shape, if need be,’ he drawled.
Isla batted away a sharp stab of some emotion that she told herself couldn’t possibly have been jealousy.
‘No doubt you can,’ she muttered darkly. ‘Though you might watch what you pick up. I’ve just had to treat a rather nasty outbreak of genital warts and gonorrhoea that’s ripping through a good proportion of the crew.’
‘I’m aware, since all your reports ultimately come to me. But thank you for your concern.’
‘It isn’t concern.’ Isla narrowed her eyes.
‘Really? It sounded like concern.’
‘Well, it wasn’t.’
So much for trying to rile him; he was enjoying this far too much. But didn’t that beg the question, Why was she trying so hard to rile him?
‘I also happen to know that you’ve treated two heart attacks, a sprained ankle, a honeymooner’s unexpected pregnancy and multiple passengers with known allergies who happened to decide that the food in question looked just that bit too tempting to pass up. And that’s just amongst the passengers.’
‘Right... Well, then... I guess that’s you up to speed.’
Isla faltered, not sure what to say next, or even where to go. But then a shriek from the main excursion party a hundred metres or so ahead drew everyone’s attention as Isla and Nikhil raced to the passenger.
‘I’ve been bitten, I’ve been bitten...’ The man was already beginning to panic. ‘Is it a spider? I think I killed it, but it’s still in my shirt. Get it out. You’ve got to get it out.’
As Isla began dealing with the man, a couple of the locals came running over. There was no obvious sign of a bite but, sure enough, in the man’s shirt was a dead spider. As the two plantation workers peered at it, the passenger began to hyperventilate.
‘Oh, God, I’m going to die out here.’
‘No.’ One of the workers lifted his head with a smile. ‘Is not problem. Not bad spider.’
‘Irritado,’ the other added, making an itching action with his hands. ‘No es venenoso.’
A collective sigh went around the group. Most of them were clearly relieved, but a couple looked a little disappointed not to be treated to a more exciting show. Isla wasn’t surprised when Nikhil took charge, reclaiming all the passengers’ attention and getting the tour back on track as their guide moved them a little further from the action.
Isla crouched down carefully by her patient.
‘Are you known to be allergic, Mr...?’
‘Camberwell.’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘You’re sure it isn’t venomous? I feel sick. I think I’m going to die.’
‘Can we get him to shelter?’ Isla asked as Nikhil materialised by her side. ‘And maybe a chair, and some ice?’
He barely seemed to lift his hand before a couple of plantation workers hurried over, listening intently as he rattled off a few commands to them in Spanish. Firm, yet not imperious—typically Nikhil, as she was beginning to understand.
‘Sí, sí.’ The men made a chair with their hands and proceeded to carry the still overwrought Mr Camberwell from the plantation area to the processing plant.
Isla and Nikhil followed quickly.
‘I still want him checked over properly,’ Nikhil murmured.
‘Of course,’ she confirmed as the workers settled her patient onto a rickety chair.
