Читать книгу Resisting Her English Doc - Annie Claydon, Annie Claydon - Страница 12

HE WAS DETERMINED. She’d give him that. Fleur had made him pay twenty dollars for a bright pink bag that most people donated ten for, and then subjected him to the indignity of carrying it into the hardware store, so that she’d have something to put her purchases into. She’d chatted to the proprietor, leaving Rick to loiter next to the counter.

He loitered well. Easy on the eye, meeting the other customers who came in and out of the store with a smile and a Good afternoon. Dressed in a dark jacket and scarf, he looked impeccable and Rick was seemingly unfazed by the fact that everyone already seemed to know who he was, and he had no idea who they were. He’d learn.

“I’ve got to go and pick up a cake for someone’s birthday.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket as they left the store. “Would you stay here with the bags while I pop across to get it?”

“Sure... Where do you have to pick the cake up from?”

“Over there, I imagine. Won’t be a minute.” He was already making his way down to the crossing, and Fleur sucked in a breath, ready to call after him. Maybe not. If someone else hadn’t told him already, maybe she’d just let Rick find out for himself.

He waited for the lights to change, even though there was only one car on the road, which wasn’t likely to hit him on account of it having stopped, to allow its occupant to have a conversation with someone on the sidewalk. No one had told him that either. Islanders only considered jaywalking an offence during the summer when the roads were busy, or if Sheriff Brady happened to be looking directly at them.

She sank down onto the bench outside the hardware store and watched as he entered Sunbeam Victuals and Delectables. Rick wound his way through the tables and chairs, speaking to the young man with blue dreadlocks behind the counter. The smile dropped from Rick’s face as Phoenix Flame Jones marched past him, flinging the door open, his outstretched arm inviting him to leave in no uncertain terms.

Rick hesitated for a moment, and then did as he was told. Forgetting all about the crossing, he walked straight across the road, frowning as he caught sight of Fleur laughing behind her gloved hand.

“That’ll be a dollar fine you owe Sheriff Brady for jaywalking...” She grinned up at him.

“Fair enough. Direct me to his office and I’ll go and pay it. Are we even now?”

“Even?” Not yet. But, then, he couldn’t know quite how much Fleur hadn’t wanted to come into town today.

“Yes. I get it, Fleur, you don’t need to spend your time here, you want to go back to Boston. So you sent me into the wrong cake shop.”

“It’s a bakery. And I didn’t send you anywhere.”

“No, and you didn’t tell me there were two bakeries either. Or that there was some kind of cake war going on, and I’d be invited to put the clinic’s high-fat, old-fashioned, unhealthy birthday cake where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Fleur tried to keep a straight face, and failed miserably. “That’s a little unfair. Fiona’s cakes are lovely, and a birthday cake’s allowed to be a little high fat. It’s only once a year, after all.”

“I didn’t get the chance to say that, before I was ordered out.” Rick turned, looking across the street to where Phoenix Flame was standing in the window of his vegan establishment, glowering at him. “I suppose I’m banned for life now.”

“Oh, don’t worry. If you go in and order a low-fat soya latte and a chia-seed muffin, they’ll forgive you. Everyone likes it when someone sees the error of their ways.”

“Don’t they just.” He raised an eyebrow, and a trickle of embarrassment ran down Fleur’s spine. Maybe he’d like it if she saw the error of her ways, but Rick wasn’t in possession of all the facts.

“Brady’s Bistro and Bakery is down there.” Fleur ignored the obvious dig, and pointed toward the other end of the row of shops.

“Brady’s...? Wait a minute, the sheriff owns a bakery?”

“It would be handy, wouldn’t it? You could pay your fine and pick up your cake at the same time. But, no, Fiona and Tom Brady own the bakery. Jim Brady is Tom’s younger brother and he’s the sheriff. See, I’m a mine of information, and all you have to do is ask.”

Rick rolled his eyes. Perhaps he was beginning to realize just how irritating it was to have someone be one step ahead of you all the time. He picked up the pink library bag, and turned, opening the passenger door of the car.

“Get in.”

A woman who seemed to know and be liked by everyone, but who preferred to stay away from the town and skulk in her hospital room. It was a mystery worthy of any self-respecting crime novel, and one that was baffling Rick. He drove the length of Main Street until he reached a shop with gleaming paintwork and a neat fifties-style sign.

“This is the one?” He maneuvered into a parking space outside.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure? Because you’re coming in with me this time.”

“Okay. I’ll get you a grilled cheese sandwich.” She grinned at him. “One of the official residence requirements for the island. One of Fiona Brady’s grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“One of many, I’m thinking...”

“Hundreds.”

Fleur managed to get out of the car without his help this time, walking slowly across the sidewalk toward Brady’s Bistro and Bakery. A young, red-haired girl rushed forward to open the door for her, moving chrome-topped tables and chairs out of the way to allow Fleur through to one of the booths against the wall.

“What will you have, Fleur?” Their smiling waitress obviously knew Fleur too.

“We’ll take two grilled cheese sandwiches please, Jess. Make sure the tea’s good and strong, my doctor friend needs it. He’s just been into the Sunbeam bakery and asked Phoenix Flame if he’s got the cake for the clinic.”

The red-haired girl giggled, her cheeks flushing. “I’ll get Aunt Fiona to put the cake in a box for you.”

Two cups and saucers, edged with fifties-style patterns, were set on the table, followed by napkins and cutlery. The sandwiches looked crisp and well filled, set on matching plates. Fleur picked up the teapot and poured the tea.

Now was as good a time as any to broach the subject. Fleur couldn’t get back to the hospital without him, so she was about as much of a captive audience as she was ever going to be. There were plenty of breakables around, but he was just going to have to take that risk.

“So...the island’s a great place. From what I’ve seen of it so far.”

She nodded. “It’s lovely.”

“But you want to get back to Boston.”

“Yes, I do.” Fleur’s attention was on her sandwich as she nibbled carefully at one corner so as not to burn her mouth.

“I can help you with that. But it’s not going to be as easy as you think.”

She looked up at him. “And how easy do I think it’s going to be? Since you seem to know everything.”

Rick knew enough. He knew all about having his life shattered, and making every mistake in the book as a result of that. And he knew how hard it had been to pick himself back up and put it all together again.

“You think that Boston’s just a ferry ride away. That all you have to do is wait out your time at the clinic.”

“I wouldn’t say I was waiting it out. You know full well that I’ve been to all my physio sessions, even if I do only get graded as three out of five for them.” She treated him to a little jut of her chin, before turning her attention back to her food.

“I want more than that.”

“Why?”

Good question. Rick had two answers, and he gave her the one that her doctor ought to give. Wanting to be the one who saw Fleur’s zest for life rekindle in her eyes wasn’t relevant.

“Because you’re capable of more. You’re not failing at anything, and that’s because you’re not trying hard enough.”

“What? You want me to fail?”

“Yes, I want you to fail. And then I want you to get back up again and again until you eventually succeed. Don’t tell me that you don’t know how to do that.”

She twisted her mouth. “I know how to do it. But that life’s over for me now.”

“No, it’s not. It’s just a different challenge. Even if you can’t perform on stage again, it doesn’t mean that you can’t dance a little, and lead an entirely normal life.”

Fleur’s snort told him all he needed to know. She wasn’t happy with a normal life, she wanted the extraordinary. And nothing less meant anything to her.

“All right. But I’m going to write a new treatment plan for you. It’s going to set the bar a lot higher, but if you can complete it, then you won’t just be able to walk onto that ferry, you’ll be able to run onto it.”

“And if walking onto it is enough for me?”

“Fine. Stick to the old treatment plan. Be a loser.”

He could see the mortification in her eyes. He wanted to comfort her, tell her that she was no loser, and that he’d been wrong to suggest she might be. Then the determined set of her jaw stopped him.

“You think you can shame me into doing your treatment plan? You can’t, because you don’t know me. But I’ll do it anyway, just to show you that you’re not always right.”

Tenderness pumped through his heart. Being the bad guy wasn’t as easy as Rick had thought, but it was getting the response he wanted. That was all that mattered. Fleur’s welfare was all that mattered.

“Nothing would make me happier, Fleur. For you to show me that I know nothing...”

She twisted her lips into a smile. “Okay. Don’t let up on me now. That’s really confusing.”

She started to drink her tea, her attention caught by a group of women entering the tea shop. They piled a mountain of thick winter jackets into the young waitress’s arms and pushed four tables together to accommodate them all.

One caught sight of Fleur, smiling and waving. Fleur gave a half-hearted wave back, seeming suddenly ill at ease. Then another of the women whispered something to the woman next to her, and Rick caught the mention of Fleur’s name.

So what? Fleur was back on the island again and that was sure to excite comment. Rick was under no illusions that his own name had been bandied back and forth up and down Main Street as well. But this felt different. The woman who had whispered to her companion was contorting her face into a look of frank disapproval.

“Stupid little liar... Mollie still blames her for all of it...” The woman’s mouth framed the words and she stabbed her finger onto the table in front of her as if to emphasize the point. Her companion nodded.

The words meant nothing to Rick, but Fleur had clearly heard them too and they meant a great deal to her. She moved across the bench seat, shrinking against the wall, out of range of the women’s stares. Rick opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Fleur refused to meet his gaze.

The chatter amongst the group of women rose and fell. Rick turned his attention to them again, and found that three of them were now looking straight at him and Fleur.

Defending her effectively was going to be problematic, since he had no idea what was going on here. But the look of mortification on Fleur’s face had cut him to the heart. She was here because he’d made her come. If Fleur couldn’t face these women, it was up to him to do it for her.

He smiled, returning their stares. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

Two of the women looked away quickly. One didn’t, but Rick could see that her cheeks were suddenly red with embarrassment. She nodded in his direction and then picked up the menu, as if it was the most important thing in the world and she had to study it immediately.

“I want to go.” Fleur’s voice was almost a whisper. When he turned to her, she forced a smile, clearly trying to cover her distress. “It’s getting noisy in here. It’ll be a waste of your time if I can’t hear you nagging me properly.”

Now wasn’t the time or the place to push. Jess was nowhere to be seen and Rick turned, signaling to a woman with a strawberry-blonde ponytail who’d appeared from the back of the shop with a large cake box and was walking toward them.

“Mrs. Brady...?”

“Call me Fiona.” It sounded a lot like an order. “Nice to see you, Fleur.”

Rick heard another quiet trill of conversation from the other table, and Fiona glanced over at the women, a couple of whom were beckoning to her, obviously ready to order. Ignoring them completely, she stationed herself between Fleur and the women, as if to shield her from them. It was clear that nothing much escaped the formidable Mrs. Brady, and Rick liked her already.

“You’re looking well, Fleur.”

“I’m better every day. Thanks, Fiona.”

“Good.” Fiona nodded and turned her attention to Rick. “I hear you thought you’d get your cake from that other place.” The name of the Sunbeam bakery clearly wasn’t spoken on these premises, and Fiona’s tone of mild rebuke was the same as if she’d been correcting an errant five-year-old.

“I’m new here.” Rick hoped that might excuse him. “These grilled sandwiches are delicious.”

“And the tea...?”

“Just right. Thank you.”

“Praise indeed, Fiona.” Fleur unexpectedly came to his rescue. “Impressing an Englishman with your tea.”

Fiona beamed beatifically. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, Doctor. I hope we’ll see you again soon. You too, Fleur.”

Fleur clearly knew how much the bill would be without asking, and she reached into her pocket and stuffed a couple of notes into Fiona’s hand. Then she started to get into her coat, obviously still in a hurry to leave. Fiona escorted her to the doorway, leaving Rick to follow with the cake.

Kissing Fleur’s cheek seemed like a clear statement of intent on Fiona’s part. She opened the door, waving as Fleur made her way across the sidewalk to the car. Rick thanked her, although he wasn’t entirely sure what for, and Fiona beamed at him, her face hardening into a no-nonsense look as she turned away. If a war of some kind had broken out in the bakery, Rick didn’t much fancy the women’s chances.

“Is there anywhere I can turn the car around?” Rick settled himself behind the steering wheel. Fleur was clutching her hands together on her lap, frowning. That might just be the thing that perturbed him the most. When he’d confronted Fleur, she’d hit back at him, but these women seemed to have got the better of her.

“Further up.” She turned the corners of her mouth down. “Or you could just keep going. The road from the clinic leads all around the island. That’s the trouble with this place—even if you think you’re going straight ahead, you end up right back where you started.”

They drove back to the clinic in silence. Fleur had just been starting to enjoy herself when the mothers’ meeting had convened at Brady’s. Ten pairs of eyes to scrutinize her. Ten tongues, which were just itching to run through Fleur’s scandalous moment one more time, and pass judgment on her.

She almost wished that Rick would come up with another of his challenges. Those she could deal with. It was the island that she couldn’t deal with, and which had sent her scurrying for cover again, like the defeated fifteen-year-old who had left promising herself she would never again call it home.

But Rick was silent too, perhaps understanding that she’d had enough. All she wanted to do was to curl up in her bed at the clinic, and forget about everything.

She was tired now, and she let herself lean on Rick’s arm as they entered the clinic and made their way back to her room. Fleur allowed him to help her off with her coat too, and submitted to his gentle flexing of her shoulder and leg, to check that their excursion hadn’t overstrained them and to relax the muscles.

“You did really well today.” When he murmured the words, they didn’t seem condescending, the way that they so often did when the other hospital staff had praised her efforts. But he was wrong. She was beaten, and somehow Rick seemed to know it.

“So you’re letting up on me now?”

“I’ll come and see how you’re doing tomorrow morning.” He flashed her a smile, picking up the TV remote and handing it to her. Fleur preferred it when he told her to get it herself.

Once he’d left the room, she switched the TV on, reaching for the fruit bowl next to her bed. A piece of paper was tucked in amongst the small, sweet oranges, and when Fleur unfolded it she saw that it was one of the leaflets that had been displayed prominently on Pamela’s desk.