“She is out of theatre now, about an hour ago. “Françoise paused and I waited, once again holding my breath.

“She was very lucky. Docteur Rousseau worked through the night and I am told that he almost lost her.”

“She was so sick?” I asked, aghast.

“Yes. I think, in the accident, she had been severely damaged inside and coming to find you caused further injury and the existing damage to worsen, to the extent that Docteur Rousseau had difficulty finding where she was bleeding from. She lost much blood.”

I realised that, once again, Françoise was holding my hand.

“But she is all right now?” I pressed her.

“Well, the next few hours are important. The Docteur said that she actually died and he only just managed to revive her.”

“What time?” I asked, urgently.

“What time?” she replied, puzzled.

“What time did she die?” I was squeezing her hand firmly now.

“Does it matter?” she frowned.

“Yes, it does to me. Please tell me, please...”

“Well, I didn't ask but if it means so much to you I will try to find out.” She winced as I squeezed.

“Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was squeezing you so hard,” I apologised, releasing her hand immediately. “But, yes, it really is that important to me.”

She smiled.

“All right then, I will find out for you.”

As she stood and headed for the door I called her back.

“Can I see her, Françoise? Please?” I pleaded with her.

She looked at the pendant watch hanging from her starched apron.

“You have about two hours before your first visitor,” she said slowly, thinking. “I will see what can be done.”

“Thank you,” I said, “and thank you for being so kind to me.”

“You are welcome, it is my job, you know,” she replied as she turned away.

She paused momentarily and looked back, a wistful smile on her lips.

“Besides, I like you, you remind me of my daughters.” She turned away again and was gone.

Whilst she was away I looked at the croissant on the tray. I still was not hungry but in the light of all that had happened I decided it was wrong of me not to eat and maybe delay my own recovery.

Françoise returned just as I swallowed the last morsel.

“Ah, Bon! You are eating.” Her face lit up.

“I thought I should,” I told her.

“Oh yes, indeed you should. You need food inside you to help your own recovery” She confirmed my own thoughts.

“I have checked your friend's notes. Docteur Rousseau has entered 03:55 as the time her heart stopped and she revived five minutes later.” There was silence for a moment. “You have have gone quite pale! Are you all right Karen?” She looked concerned.

“When Doctor Harlow heard me shout out and stopped me from getting up to run after Jemima, I saw the clock on the wall. It was four a.m!”

Her eyes opened wide.

“My, my!” she exclaimed, “That is some coincidence!”

“Is it?” I said, slowly. “A coincidence? Maybe it is.”

“You don't think so?” she replied.

“Maybe, I don't know but maybe she came to see me as her body died and before her spirit moved on and maybe she left so suddenly because Doctor Rousseau pulled her back. "My head was spinning now. “Oh, I don't know what to think!”

“Well, whatever did happen, the Docteur kept her alive and now, only time will tell.”

“When can I see her?” I asked, without much real hope that it would be soon.

As I said it the door opened and a young nurse appeared pushing a wheelchair.

“I think now would be a good time, if you want to.” Françoise smiled sweetly.

“Oh yes, of course I do, thank you!” I exclaimed, and began to sit up.

“Oh, no, Karen, be patient!” she almost shouted at me although still smiling. “You must let us support you or you will burst those sutures again!”

She was right, I knew, so I relaxed and let the two of them help me into the chair which had an attachment to support my leg, keeping it straight out in front of me.

The wound felt quite sore now. Any movement felt as though it were trying to open again but Françoise and her nurse supported me until I was comfortable and the nurse followed the Matron, pushing me down the corridor and to the intensive care ward.

When I saw her a lump formed in my throat and tears welled in my eyes. Jemima looked so serene and beautiful and so vulnerable.

Beside her bed was a stand with a bag of blood hanging from it, the tube attached to a needle in her left arm.

Although she had fairly dark skin colouring, she looked pale.

I looked up at Françoise.

“Will she live?” I asked, blinking away the tears that still filled my eyes.

“I cannot say for sure but I think so,” she replied with a degree of confidence I felt was genuine and not just for my benefit. “Her heart rate is weak but steady. That is a good sign and her blood pressure is good too so I am hopeful.”

She rested her hand on my shoulder.

“She is in good hands here, you know.”

I put my hand on top of hers and nodded.

“I know,” I replied.

I looked up and back.

“Is she in a coma, Françoise?” I queried.

“Oh, no, just sleeping. The anaesthetic will not be out of her system yet and she has been given morphine. She will sleep for a while yet I imagine.” 

“May I stay awhile, please?” I pleaded.

Françoise smiled.

“Yes, but you must try not to disturb her.”

“I won't,” I promised.

Françoise smiled and squeezed my shoulder.

“You could talk to her though, quietly. Maybe she will sense your presence.”

I nodded agreement and the matron released her grip and left, taking the nurse with her.

“I will come back for you shortly,” was her final comment.

We were alone now, Jemima and I. She was lying on her back, covered with a single white cotton sheet which clung to every contour of her body but at that moment I didn't see that. All I saw was a very sick woman who had only just found herself and could be lost at any time.

I reached out and put my hand on top of hers which was lying on top of the sheet.

As soon as my hand touched hers her fingers moved. Just a tiny movement but enough to tell me she knew I was there.

I opened my mouth to speak but I had no idea what to say so I closed it again.

It seemed like forever before I opened it again but in reality, just five minutes had passed.

“You can't leave me now, Jemima, not after all we have been through.” Once again, a tear formed in my eye and rolled down my cheek. “You have so much to live for now, such a lot to learn together.”

Once again, that tiny movement in her fingers. It was all I needed to tell me she was going to be okay.

I didn't say any more but just sat, holding her hand until Françoise returned an hour later and wheeled me back to my room in silence.

Once back she manoeuvred the chair to my bedside but before she helped me out from the chair she spoke.

“I have something for you, Karen,” she said and pointed to the corner of the room by the sink.

My overnight bag! I was ecstatic. Fresh clothes!

“Oh, that is fantastic!” I exclaimed. “They must have recovered it from the wreckage.”

“I thought you would be pleased,” she beamed. “I imagine you would like a change of underclothing?”

“Oh yes I would, very much!” I was almost laughing now. I felt so grubby.

“Now, your first visit is booked for ten so we have less than an hour to get you presentable.” Françoise winked as she spoke. “I will help you wash,”

She closed the door and pulled the curtain partially around the bed then went to the basin in the corner and filled it with hot water.

As she turned back to face me she saw I was struggling to remove my underwear under my gown.

“No, Karen, wait!” she said, “I will help you,” and she walked quickly to me.

“Push down on the chair arms and lift your bottom. Do not use your leg at all.”

I did as I was told and placed my hands on each arm, pushing down and taking my weight on my arms alone.

Quickly but so gently, Françoise hooked her fingers into the waistband of my loose fitting knickers and pulled them down over my bottom and carefully over the thick bandage on my thigh.

As soon as they were clear I lowered myself back into the chair.

All of a sudden I became terribly self concious. I had never had a woman remove my underwear before and, even in this sterile situation, I found it incredibly sexy and erotic. Memories of last night's dream came flooding back and my face burned with fire from a heat deep within me.

If Françoise noticed she didn't say anything as she continued to draw my panties down and off my legs. I could feel the moisture forming between my legs and only half hoped that she didn't notice.

She put my knickers in a paper bag then went to the sink and generously lathered a cloth which she had previously placed in the hot water. I was trembling a little as she approached, uncertain of what to expect and my heart was pounding, my breathing becoming shallow and laboured.

She began at my feet, kneeling in front of me and taking my right foot in her hands. She washed it carefully, making sure that nothing was missed, carefully separating my toes and pressing her fingers in between.

When she was satisfied she began to work upwards, along my shin and around my calf until she reached my knee where she stopped then picked up the brilliant white towel from my bed and carefully dried what she had cleaned.

She went back to the sink, rinsed the cloth then returned and began, ever so carefully, to repeat the process with my right, damaged leg.

I relaxed and closed my eyes as she worked. I was beginning to feel so good inside now and I had stopped trembling, such was the care with which Françoise worked.

This time she did not stop at my knee but at the lower edge of the thick bandage then dried me with a gentleness I could not have believed possible.

Returning again from the sink she handed me the cloth.

“If you need any help, let me know and I will support your weight,” she said.

I was so disappointed that she didn't continue higher but I could not possibly show that and I took the warm, soapy cloth from her and carefully attended to myself.

The only help I needed was to wash beneath me and for that, she put both her arms beneath my armpits and lifted me expertly whilst I washed and then dried myself.

Finally, I was finished and I felt almost human again.

Françoise opened my suitcase and took out a pair of fresh, silk knickers which she helped me put on in the same way that she had helped me off with the old ones.

Again I raised my body as she pulled the soft smooth fabric over my bottom then adjusted them.

“Comfortable?” she asked. I nodded.

“Good. I will get some help and we will get you back into bed.”

Once comfortably settled I looked at the clock. Five minutes to ten. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for a busy day ahead.

Even so, I was not prepared for my first visitor. When he appeared at the doorway I could not contain myself.

“George!” I exclaimed. “How are you? Come in! Come in!”

“I am okay,” he replied. “More importantly, how are you? Did Jemima find you?”

“Yes, she did.” I lowered my eyes as I thought of her, motionless in the intensive care ward.

“Is something wrong?” He looked concerned.

“She almost died,” I told him “She should not have come.”

He sat on the chair beside my bed.

“I tried to stop her but she wouldn't listen. Said she had to know whether you were alright.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

“I don't blame you, George, she would have got here anyway... or died trying possibly.” I smiled, trying to tell him it wasn't his fault for lending her the money.

“I wanted to thank you before we got caught up in the press furore and investigation.”

“Thank me?” My eyes opened wide as I stared at him. “What for?”

“You and Mrs. Rana have shown me what a stupid arrogant man I was. I have learnt so much in these last few days.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“I am thirty-five years old, Miss Farmer, and until two days ago I thought that money was the only thing that mattered.”

“George, you don't have to...” Before I could say any more he put his hand up to stop me.

“Please,” he said, “Let me speak. I have been thinking about this ever since, well, you know.”

I nodded but said no more and let him continue.

“I am wealthy, very wealthy. I have far more money than I could ever spend and yet, all I wanted was more. More money and more power. I went through the war avoiding any sort of war service by living in America and making money by supplying the military with American equipment. I didn't do it to help us win, I did it purely for the money.”

I didn't try to stop him now. I realised he had experienced an epiphany and this was his way of bringing it out.

"When the engine caught fire two days ago, I was afraid. Suddenly, I was in a position where no amount of money as going to make the slightest difference and yet, I was still arrogant enough to try to belittle you.”

"George, this really isn't...” Again he stopped me.

“No, Miss Farmer, please.” He looked so small now. “After we crashed I was petrified, wanted to scream out. I could smell the fuel and expected to be burned alive but you were calm. I know you wanted me to try to open the door even though it was impossible because I needed to do something, anything, and you were right, Miss Farmer...”

“Karen. Please.” I interrupted.

“Karen,” he repeated, “You and Mrs. Rana showed me the right way to behave and without you, I may not have been here today. You are a very special lady.”

“George, that is very kind of you but...” Again he stopped me.

“No, Karen, I am serious. You taught me a huge lesson. In the future, I will always consider others. I shall be returning home today but you can be assured that the old George Manders died in the crash.”

There was silence for a moment while I studied his face. It was bright red but I could see he was sincere.

“Then the deaths of those eighteen people was not a complete waste then, George,” I told him. “Some good has come of it. What will you do now then?”

“When I get back I am going to resign from the boards of my companies and make some time for myself. I will take a short break and then decide. How long do you think you will be in here for?”

“A couple of days I suppose.” I replied.

“Well then, I will make sure that you are properly looked after when you get home,” he said.

I glared at him!

“George, no, please!” I exclaimed. “I will be fine. The Airline will take care of me.”

“Yes but, I can give you...”

“George, stop! Have you learned nothing?” He looked at me as if I had slapped him. “I don't need your money. I am grateful, of course I am but please think about what you told me.”

He looked down at the floor.

“I have a lot to learn, haven't I?” he said rather sheepishly.

“Yes, George, you do but you will be ok. You are a good man,deep down, and all you need is guidance.”

He sat silently, lost in his thoughts.

“How are the others?” I asked.

“All gone home,” he replied. “You and Mrs. Rana were the only serious injuries of the ten of us who survived.”

“Your wife will be pleased to see you, have you spoken to her?” I ventured to ask.

“I am not married,” he replied quietly. “I never wanted to be. I would use women and discard them for my own gratification. I had a lot of time to think over the last few hours. I have been a disgusting person.”

I reached over and took his hand.

“Well, George, now is the time to change. Treat women as equals instead of playthings and I have no doubt whatsoever that you will find someone special.”

“I hope so,” was all he said.

He got up to leave.

“Take care, Karen and I wish you a speedy recovery. If you need anything...” he smiled but didn't finish. I nodded my assent and, without another word, he was gone.

For the next few hours I was again kept busy with investigators questions and a visit from the airline director who assured me that I would have nothing to worry about and that as soon as I was able to leave hospital he would personally make arrangements to get me home. He told me it would be some time until they could be certain about what caused the engine fire but the investigators had said that the cause of the crash landing was likely to be a strong cross wind as the aeroplane touched down. Without a hydraulic system and only one engine it was unlikely that the pilots would have been able to prevent it hitting the ground hard.

He was the last to leave and, once he was gone, I lay back and rested for a while until, suddenly, two of the nurses came bustling through the door.

“Mademoiselle Farmer, ze Matron told us to get you, quickly. It is your friend, Madame Rana!”

To be continued...