had returned to her side, obviously puzzled that she was still here in the hallway, and probably wondering if she was ever going to find her way to the jar in the kitchen that held the dog treats.
No answer. Maybe Dougal had that one right. He’d been abandoned too, and he knew the value of a warm hearth and a little kindness. Flora had found a home here, and she needed nothing else but her work.
‘We’re going to find you a home too, Dougal. Somewhere really nice with people who love you.’ Flora walked into the kitchen, opening the jar of dog treats and giving Dougal one, and then reaching for a bar of chocolate for herself.
Chocolate was a great deal more predictable in the gamut of feel-good experiences. Aksel might be blood-meltingly sexy, and far too beautiful for anyone’s peace of mind, but the few fleeting affairs she’d had since the break-up with Tom had shown Flora that desire and mistrust were awkward bedfellows. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and her body had lost its ability to respond. Sex had left her unsatisfied, and she’d given up on it.
If you could trust someone enough…
It was far too big an if. She’d kept the reason for her break-up with Tom a secret, knowing that it would hurt Alec and her parents beyond belief. They didn’t deserve that, and neither did she. It was better to accept that being alone wasn’t so bad and to channel all her energies into her work and being a part of the community here in Cluchlochry.
The next time she saw Aksel, she’d be prepared, and think of him only as a new neighbour and the father of one of the clinic’s patients. When it came to thoughtless pleasure, she had chocolate, which made Aksel Olson’s smile officially redundant.
AKSEL HAD WALKED the two miles to the clinic, with Kari trotting placidly beside him. It had done nothing to clear his head. Flora’s smile still seemed to follow him everywhere, like a fine mist of scent that had been mistakenly sprayed in his direction and clung to his clothes. He was unaware of it for minutes on end, and then suddenly it hit him again. Fleeting and ephemeral, and yet enough to make him catch his breath before the illusion was once again lost.
His feet scrunched on the curved gravel drive. Castle Heatherglen Clinic was a real castle, its weathered stone walls and slate roof blending almost organically with the backdrop of rolling countryside and snow-dappled mountains. The Laird, Charles Ross-Wylde had added a new chapter to its long history and transformed his home into a rehabilitation clinic that offered its patients the best medical care, and welcomed them with a warm heart.
The children’s unit was a little less grand than the rest of the building, and the sumptuous accommodation and sweeping staircases had been replaced by bright, comfortable rooms arranged around a well-equipped play area. Aksel had come prepared with a list of things that Mette might like to do, and suitable topics of conversation that might please her. But she seemed restless and bored today, not wanting to sit and listen while he read from her storybooks, and laying aside the toys he presented to her. Aksel’s heart ached for all that his daughter had been through.
The awkward silence was broken by a knock at the door. Mette ignored it, and Aksel called for whoever it was to come in. Maybe it was one of the play specialists, who were on duty every day, and who might help him amuse his daughter.
Mette looked up towards the door, an instinctive reaction, even though she couldn’t see anything that wasn’t within a few feet of her.
‘Hi, Mette. My name’s Flora. May I come and visit you for a little while?’ Flora glanced at Aksel and he wondered whether his relief at seeing her had shown on his face.
‘Flora’s our neighbour in the village, Mette.’ He volunteered the information in English, and Mette displayed no interest. Flora sat down on the floor next to them, close enough for Mette to be able to see her face.
‘I work here, at the clinic. I’m a physiotherapist.’ Mette’s head tilted enquiringly towards Flora at the sound of a word she didn’t know. ‘That means that I help people who are hurt to feel well again.’
‘Where do they hurt…?’ Mette frowned.
‘All sorts of places. Their arms might hurt, or their legs. Sometimes it’s their backs or their hips.’
Mette nodded sagely. She’d grown used to being surrounded by doctors and various other medical specialists, and while Aksel valued their kindness, it wasn’t what he wanted for his daughter.
‘Have you come to make me better?’
The question almost tore his heart out. No one could make Mette better, and he wondered how Flora could answer a question that left him lost for words.
‘No, sweetie. I’m sorry, but I can’t make your eyes better.’ Flora pulled a sad face, the look in her eyes seeming to match his own feelings exactly. ‘You have a doctor of your own to look after you. Dr Sinclair is very important around here, and he only looks after very important people…’
Flora leaned forward, imparting the information almost in a whisper, as if it were some kind of secret. She was making it sound as if Mette was someone special, not just a patient or a child who couldn’t be helped.
‘I’ve come because I heard that you were here, all the way from Norway. I’d like to be friends with you, if that’s all right?’
Maybe it was the smile that did it. Aksel wouldn’t be all that surprised, he’d already fallen victim to Flora’s smile. Mette moved a little closer to her, reaching out as if to feel the warmth of the sun.
‘I have a little something that I thought you might like…’ Flora produced a carrier bag from behind her back, giving a little shiver of excitement. Mette was hooked now, and she took the bag.
‘What is it?’ There was something inside, and Mette pulled out a parcel, wrapped in shiny paper that caught the light.
‘Open it up and see.’
Mette didn’t want to tear the wrappings and Flora waited patiently, guiding her fingers towards the clear tape that held it down. It peeled off easily, and Mette got the paper off in one piece, laying it carefully to one side, and started to inspect her gift.
A rag doll, with a brightly coloured dress and a wide smile stitched onto her face. Mette smiled, clutching the doll tightly to her chest.
‘Why don’t you show her to your dad?’
‘Papa, look.’ Mette held out the doll, and Aksel’s heart began to thump in his chest. It wasn’t the gift that had made Mette smile, but the way it had been given. The way it was wrapped so carefully, and the warmth of Flora’s manner.
‘It’s beautiful… Thank you, Flora.’
‘She’s beautiful, Papa,’ Mette corrected him.
‘Yes, of course. Sorry. What’s her name?’
Mette thought for a moment. ‘Annette.’ His daughter pronounced the name with a Norwegian inflection and Aksel repeated the English version for Flora.
‘That’s a lovely name. It sounds even better
