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.
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