Page 22 of A Helpin g Hand for the Village Nurse

‘I thought you were going to see Florence,’ Magnus cut in.

‘I can see her later. She’s not expecting me anyway so it doesn’t really matter what time I show up there.’

Ten minutes later, Ottilie was in the passenger seat of a Land Rover she could scarcely believe was still on the roads. There was more rust than metal, the exhaust backfired every few minutes and the suspension – even though one would expect that the roads were bumpy out here – was non-existent. Victor shouted conversation over the roar of the engine and gears that ground alarmingly as he changed them.

The experience wasn’t dissimilar to a ride she’d been on in the desert with Josh, where they’d been flung around in a buggy going up and down sand dunes on holiday in Egypt. It was one of the rare holidays they’d managed to get during their years together – one of them always seemed to be working when the other was off. From nowhere, Ottilie found herself giggling as they went over a particularly rough patch of road, and she was shaken from side to side like she was on a cheap fairground ride.

‘You all right?’ Victor asked, clearly not getting the joke.

‘Yes, it’s just a bit mad coming up here, isn’t it?’

‘Not the best roads, I’ll grant you. Old Banger can cope with it, though.’

‘Old Banger? That’s what you named your car?’

Victor grinned. ‘Well, that’s what she is, right? But you can keep your fancy cars; I wouldn’t swap her for anything.’

‘They do say if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’

‘She breaks almost every week, so that’s got nothing to do with it,’ Victor said with a chuckle. ‘Lucky I know a thing or two about fixing her.’

After another violent jolt that set Ottilie off again, a rambling house came into view. When she’d first seen it from a distance, it had appeared to be quite compact, but on closer inspection there seemed to be extensions coming off everywhere from the main building, and all of them looked as if they’d been added at different times and in different styles.

‘Is that yours?’ Ottilie asked. She wanted to find a compliment of some kind – people liked to be told their house was lovely – but nothing came to mind. It was…something. Messy, she’d call it, chaotic, perhaps a bit dated, but there was a certain homely charm to the net curtains in the windows, the floral linen swinging from the washing line and the array of old coal scuttles and sinks and tin baths and other oddities that had been set out in the front garden and filled with plants. As Victor pulled up outside the gate, Ottilie could also see a large vegetable patch and a gathering of fruit trees shading part of it. The house was set in grassland that stretched for miles, with rolling hills and low cloud a dramatic backdrop, and in a distant field she could see a collection of sheds.

‘Is that where the alpaca live?’ she asked, pointing to them as they got out of the car.

‘It is. We could pop up to see them later if you like.’

‘I’d love that!’ Ottilie said. ‘Never seen any up close before. Are they friendly?’

‘Good as gold. Even better if you’ve got a handful of oats for them.’

Ottilie’s gaze went out to the landscape again. It was then she noticed two more houses. They were next door to each other and looked small – though it was hard to tell at this distance. She recalled that Victor had gifted his married daughters some land. Were they his daughters’ houses then?

‘Corrine’s got the kettle on.’ Victor pushed open the gate and nodded for Ottilie to go through. ‘I recall you said you liked the odd cup of tea.’

‘More than the odd cup,’ Ottilie said. ‘I think I might need addiction services.’

‘You’ll fit in well with us then,’ Victor replied as he followed her to the front door. ‘Don’t bother knocking; door’s open. I’ve got to scrape my boots here or my life won’t be worth living, but you go on in.’

The front door opened directly into a large kitchen with a low ceiling and stone floors. It was filled with freestanding solid wooden cabinets – not a flatpack unit in sight – and a large scrubbed and whitewashed dining table took up the remaining space. Under the window was a cracked ceramic sink and an old-fashioned kettle with a whistle was sitting on a wide stove.

As Ottilie walked in, a lady came from another door and broke into a smile.

‘You must be the new nurse! Vic said he’d bring you over, but I didn’t expect you to be so fast!’

‘So you must be Corrine?’

The lady nodded, her smile spreading. ‘I am.’

If someone had asked Ottilie to pick out the woman married to Victor in a random line-up, this lady was the one she’d have gone for, no messing. Somehow, they seemed to suit each other. She was trim and petite, down-to-earth and practical in her dress, and she looked strong and capable despite her advanced years, just as Victor did. And she had such quick warmth and kindness in her eyes that Ottilie immediately loved her.

‘Ottilie…’ she said, breaking into a wide smile herself. ‘I do prefer it to Nurse.’

‘I can imagine!’ Corrine gestured to a seat. ‘Take a load off; kettle’s almost boiled. Do you like fruit cake? I’ve got the neck end of one in the cupboard somewhere…’

Without waiting for Ottilie to confirm whether she liked fruit cake or not, Corrine had pulled a tin that had once contained Christmas biscuits from one of the cupboards and opened it up. Inside, Ottilie could see a stout-looking slab of dense cake, heavy with fruit.

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