and multicoloured—cyan blue, purple and pink streaks fell across her face. Her arms were layered with bangles and she had a red jewel in her belly button and she twirled and swirled and sashayed as she led the class in ‘undulation one’.
‘All right, Olly?’ his dad asked, staring at his son in amusement.
How can this woman be a GP? She doesn’t look like one.
But what was a GP supposed to look like? There was a shimmery wrap around her waist, tightly sheathing her perfectly curved bottom, and it tinkled and glimmered as she moved. Then, as she pointed her tiny feet, he noticed tattoos and nail polish and toe rings, before his eyes rose back up to her face to see large brown eyes, rosy cheeks and a cheeky smile.
Patrick leaned in closer to his son to whisper in his ear. ‘Close your mouth. You look like a hungry hippo.’
Olly did as he was told and swallowed hard. This wasn’t a GP. She looked like a pixie. An imp. Or a fairy. Yes, that was it—a fairy.
If she turns around I’ll see she’s got wings on her back.
But there were no wings. Just another tattoo. He couldn’t make out what it was from this distance …
And the hall was full! Here were people and patients that he knew well. People who suffered from arthritis and hip problems and knee problems. And here they all were, shaking their booty with the best of them, smiles plastered across their faces.
They must be off their meds.
Or their heads.
One of his patients, Mrs Macabee, noticed him from her position midway down the class. ‘Ooh, hello, Dr James! Fancy seeing you here! Are you joining us?’
He watched Mrs Macabee tilt her hip up and down, up and down. He blinked his head to clear the image, remembered what he was there for and then smiled politely. ‘Sorry, Mrs M, I don’t dance—and besides, I’m here on business.’ He had to raise his voice to be heard.
‘This is business?’ She laughed as she followed their new GP in her instructions.
He simply couldn’t believe it. Here was half the village, packing out the small hall—young and old, self-respect be damned, all kitted out with hip scarves and coin-edged skirts, shaking their backsides and waving their arms about.
The music was catchy, though, and he was unaware that his foot had been tapping to the beat until it suddenly stopped and everyone started clapping each other. Their new GP was thanking everyone for coming … patting herself down with a soft, pink towel.
There were lots of people fighting over each other to go to her and thank her for so much fun, the best time they’d had in ages, et cetera, et cetera.
Olly pursed his lips as he waited for everyone to file out after handing back their belly-dancing garb. He nodded hello at a lot of them.
His father looked bemused. ‘Why are you smiling so much?’ he asked his old man.
‘It’s the look on your face.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
Patrick laughed. ‘What’s right with it? You look like you’ve been sucking lemons.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
His father was being silly. Of course he didn’t look that way. Why would he? That would imply that he was jealous of this woman or something, wouldn’t it? And he had nothing to be jealous of! So she’d got the village out to an exercise class … So what?
The pixie came over, towelling her face dry. ‘Hi!’
She was still full of energy, it seemed, and appeared quite happy with the way the class had gone.
His father stepped forward to make the introductions. ‘Lula—this is my son, Oliver. Olly, this is Dr Lula Chance.’
He held out his hand to shake hers, aware of how much the bangles jingled as he did so. ‘Lula? That’s an odd name—where’s that from?’
‘It’s short for Louise. I prefer Lula. Like hula.’
He looked at her bare slim waist and womanly curves. ‘And do you?’ he asked, dragging his eyes back up to her face.
‘Do I what?’
He swallowed hard. ‘Hula?’
She beamed a dazzling smile in his direction and it was like being smacked in the gut.
‘I’ve been known to.’
She was patting her chest with the towel, attracting the attention of his gaze, and he had to fight really hard to keep his eyes on her face.
‘So you’re the guy with the list?’
Olly’s cheeks coloured—and not from the cold. ‘I am. Nothing’s private here, it would seem. Welcome to village life.’
Patrick laughed and laid a hand on Lula’s shoulder. ‘Well done, Lula! Getting everyone out like that! Your class seemed a success!’
She nodded, her blue, purple and pink fringe quivering around her face. ‘I hope so. The first class was free, to get people interested. The real test is in seeing if they come back and pay for it.’
‘The real test is making sure none of them have a heart attack. Have you got oxygen on standby?’ Olly asked.
Patrick laughed at his son. ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine. Now—to business. Have you moved in yet?’
‘My boxes are in the car. You’ve got the key to the cottage?’
Olly looked up, his sulk gone. ‘Which cottage?’
She frowned. ‘Erm … Moonrose Cottage, I think it’s called. Is that right, Patrick?’
Patrick? She’s calling him Patrick? What happened to Dr James?
‘Moonrose? You’re moving into Gran’s old cottage?’
His father looked at him sternly. ‘Yes, she is—and you’re going to help her.’ He handed over the key.
His dad knew how he felt about Moonrose Cottage! It might be his gran’s old place, but it was also where his own mother had grown up. The place had special memories. If they let it out to this pixie then God only knew what she’d fill it with. Parties, or raves, or something equally mad. Moonrose was a quiet, sedate house. Charming and conservative and quintessentially English.
‘But I’m on call.’
‘And Lula, here, has offered to be on call with you whilst you help her unpack.’ He grinned. ‘Isn’t that kind of her?’
Olly looked at Lula and raised an eyebrow at those large brown eyes twinkling madly at him and doing weird things to his stomach and other body parts.
‘It is. Thank
