“Yes, I do. I suppose we survived for a reason, I just don’t know what that is yet,” he said.
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “I feel like I’m supposed to do something important now. I just don’t know what it is. That’s why I came here. I wanted to see what they were doing at Saint Matthew’s. It’s very impressive. And I’m happy here,” she said simply.
“I think they’re doing very good work. I think you’re pretty impressive too, Ms. Vincent,” he said, smiling at her.
“And I think you’re a terrible photographer. I hope you’re a better writer,” she said tartly and he laughed.
“I’ll send you the article, and you can decide for yourself.” He was smiling, and didn’t look so sad.
“Thank you.” She smiled at him. “They’re going to shoot a documentary here in a couple of weeks, for French TV.”
“That’ll be good for the people here. It’ll validate them for fundraising,” he confirmed.
“I thought so too. I’d like to help them. They all work so hard.” He nodded. He was going to write a glowing article about Saint Matthew’s for just that reason. It was a labor of love, and helped so many people, even those who worked here.
He walked her to her room after dinner, and they had breakfast together the next morning, when they arrived in the dining room at the same time. They chatted a few other times, and two days later he left. He had other places to go in Africa, and other articles to write on spec. She said goodbye to him, and wished him luck. They both had a hard road ahead of them, to recover from what they’d been through. She was feeling better but she could tell that he was still struggling. She had seen it in his eyes. He promised again to send her the article when it came out. And then he left, and drove away. He was flying out in a day or two.
She spent the next two weeks helping Dick to get everything ready for the French TV production group. She thought of Patrick Weston a few times, and assumed she’d never see him again. They were fellow survivors passing in the night. There had been a connection, but opportunity and geography were against them. She didn’t give it more thought than that. He was an interesting person, and seemed like a nice man. And she hoped he would recover one day from all he’d lost. It was the best they could do now, with the hands fate had dealt them.
Chapter 17
When Olivier Berger and the French television production company arrived, it turned Saint Matthew’s upside down for a while. They followed all of them everywhere with their cameras, into the wards, the operating room, into the convent, and to the nearby villages. They interviewed all of them about what they were doing there, why they had come, why they stayed. They wanted the viewers to know everything about the people working there and what they were doing for the children of Angola, with the limited material and resources they had on hand, and the challenges they were facing, with active mines still in the ground.
They interviewed Dick Dennis extensively, and Véronique briefly, since she played the smallest role there and she was newly arrived. She said how much it meant to her to be there, and how it had changed her life, after the attack in Brussels. She said it was the first thing that had given new meaning to her life.
And knowing what they had done before, Véronique was sure that they would make a beautiful show out of it, and it would help everyone at Saint Matthew’s.
She and Dick talked about it before he left, after the TV people had gone back to Paris. He thanked her for making it happen. He was leaving in two days, and hated to go home. His heart was in Africa, with the children who needed his help.
“How long do you think you’ll stay?” he asked her. It touched him that her time there meant so much to her. It had done for her what he hoped it would and brought her back to life. An even more purposeful life than she’d had before, with deeper meaning.
“I’ll stay until I’m ready to go back to Paris,” she said quietly. “I’m not yet. I have no purpose there anymore, no reason to go back for now.” He nodded. He had understood that. She was healing here in Angola, and he was glad he had suggested she come.
The next doctor in the rotation had already arrived that day. Dick was handing over the relay to him, and filling him in on all their patients. He was another plastic surgeon, from London.
“I won’t be back here again till January,” he said to Véronique before he left. “Maybe you’ll still be here then.”