Page 55 of A Helpin g Hand for the Village Nurse

Lavender frowned. ‘I’m not getting that – everyone knows we close at lunch.’

Fliss gave a vague shrug and reached for some salad dressing, and Ottilie was about to load her plate with greens when it rang again.

Lavender’s frown deepened and she folded her arms tight.

‘Absolutely not. They can come back when surgery restarts.’

‘It might be a delivery or something?’ Ottilie suggested.

‘We’re not expecting one.’

It dinged a third time and Ottilie got up. ‘I’ll see who it is.’

‘No, I’d better—’ Lavender cut in, perhaps worried that Ottilie going to do her job might make her look bad, but Ottilie smiled tightly.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell them to bog off for you.’

At the door was a woman in overalls holding a bouquet. ‘This is the surgery, isn’t it?’

Ottilie would have thought it obvious from the sign on the door where they were standing, but she simply nodded.

‘Great.’ The woman handed the flowers over. ‘See ya.’

A few seconds later the delivery van had gone and Ottilie was still standing on the doorstep holding the flowers. Someone’s been lucky, she thought, wondering if Fliss or Lavender were celebrating some anniversary or event that they’d neglected to mention. But as she took the flowers inside and began to look for a card, she quickly realised that the flowers weren’t meant for Fliss or Lavender – they were for her. The message on the card was neatly typed. Clearly the order had been phoned in or placed online, the shop transcribing their words for them.

To Ottilie

Please accept my apologies for what I said. It was totally out of order.

Heath

Putting the card back, she swept into the kitchen and dumped the bouquet in the sink.

‘Who’s the lucky girl?’ Lavender asked, going to look.

Ottilie snatched the card out from the flowers again and put it in her pocket. ‘Me, but they’re not wanted.’ She looked at Lavender. ‘Take them home if you like.’

‘Why would you not want them?’ Lavender asked, her curiosity clearly in overdrive. ‘Who are they from? An unwelcome secret admirer? A not-so-secret admirer?’

‘An arse,’ Ottilie replied shortly. ‘Someone who thinks a bunch of wilted flowers will put the most hurtful thing anyone’s ever said—’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why I even care.’

‘Put them out in reception if Ottilie doesn’t want them,’ Fliss said, obviously just as curious but with more tact than Lavender. ‘It’ll brighten the place up a bit.’

Ottilie sat down to resume her lunch, though her appetite was gone. What was wrong with that man? She didn’t have a clue what to make of him; she only knew he seemed to blow hot and cold and didn’t have a consistent opinion about anything or anyone. One thing was certain: she wasn’t going to mention this to Florence – there was no need to give her ideas. She only hoped that Lavender wouldn’t either. Fliss wouldn’t gossip, but Lavender might let it slip.

Ottilie could outright ask her not to tell anyone, but then that might be counterproductive, because if Lavender thought there was some drama there, some story to tell, she might be more tempted to tell it. Besides, she didn’t want to discuss it with Lavender or Fliss. She didn’t want to have to repeat the thing Heath had accused her of. She didn’t want to think about it, but it was more than that; a part of her was afraid that others did think it and by bringing it to their attention she might somehow force them to examine the idea further. And they might come to the same conclusion that Heath had done.

It was silly, like her fears about Josh’s attacker coming for her were silly, and yet she was held hostage by these things that she knew weren’t true, that she knew wouldn’t happen, unable to shake the notion that in some way, however unlikely, they would.

‘By the way,’ Lavender said, paying Ottilie closer attention than her next sentence would suggest, ‘Magnus asked me to ask you what you fancy for the next film-club screening. He said it was your turn to choose and you haven’t DM’d him. He says anything as long as it’s in the rules and something he can get hold of easily enough.’

‘Um…’ Ottilie stabbed a quartered tomato. ‘I’ll have to think. When does he need to know by?’

‘End of the week I should think.’

‘Fine,’ Ottilie said, her mind a whirl of thoughts, and not one of them dedicated to choosing a movie for film club.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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