Viola was finishing typing up her notes on her latest appointment, when a knock came to her office door.
"Yes?"
Fenton stuck his head in.
"Do you have a moment?" he asked in his usual grumpy tone, and Viola gave him a nod and invited him to sit with a wave of her hand. "I have an aggro to discuss with you," he said, taking the chair on the other side of her desk. "Of the professional nature."
Viola pressed her lips hiding a smile. Only Alan Fenton could have an 'aggro of the professional nature.'
"How can I help you, Alan?"
"I have a patient who's been skipping their appointments. The bloodwork has come back, and it worries me." He made an annoyed noise in his throat. He was twirling a pen in his fingers, in an uncharacteristic nervous way. "And I'd ask you to take over the patient, especially considering your– well, gender, really. Except there's a possible conflict of interest here."
Viola's mind worked fast.
"Is the patient female?" she asked, and Fenton nodded.
"And that's why I'd love to ask you to take over," he said. "There are certain aspects that I'm sure she would be more willing to discuss with a female doctor. But also, she's–"
"A Holyoake," Viola finished his sentence, and his eyes flew up to her in surprise. "It's not that hard to guess, Alan." Viola paused, gathering her thoughts. "I understand you can't divulge anything without breaking the confidentiality, but I think we can speak more openly, considering how small this village is."
He chuckled. "I reckon you're right." He pushed his hand in his short sandy coloured hair and scratched his head. "It's Semra Holyoake. She had her physical a couple of months ago, and the results aren't good. And there are certain– symptoms, I think, she's hiding. And I'm hoping she'd open up to you," he said, "as a woman, and also, as–"
"Family?" Viola offered.
"Former family," he said and gave her a meaningful look. "I'm under the impression there are issues between her and the rest of the Holyoakes. They're bloody mafia, when it comes to family matters," he growled and rubbed his forehead. "You know it better than anyone. They close ranks. 'You touch one, you touch us all' sort of rubbish. And apparently, they all treat Sam Holyoake as the victim and shun her. So, I reckon since you aren't their favourite either, you two could chat."
"Alan," Viola said softly, "I can see the logic behind your thinking, but I have to tell you I do have rather cordial relationships with the Holyoakes."
"But it's just because you're so civil and– classy," Fenton dismissed. Viola gave him an amused look. "There's no way they can actually treat you poorly," he scoffed. "But you divorced their first-born, the apple of Mable Holyoake's eye, Mr. Rhys Hard Arse Holyoake, and you now have the nerve to saunter around their village, eat in their pub, and dance at their festivals. Any other woman would feel very uncomfortable in your position. They just don't dare snubbing you."
Keeping her face calm and schooled in the expression of polite interest, Viola marvelled at how differently people tended to see the same situation: she felt she was welcome back in Fleckney Fields and appreciated by the Holyoakes, while in the eyes of others she was here to almost 'stick it to the family,' it seemed. On the other hand, Fenton seemed to be forgetting that it had been Mable Holyoake who'd set Viola's move back to the county in motion.
One wonders, which of the two attitudes Rhys Holyoake himself leans towards?
"I don't anticipate a conflict of interest. Semra and I," Viola said in a level tone, "don't have much of a personal relationship. She married Sam shortly after my divorce, and our paths had hardly crossed before that."
"She dated James Whitlaw before Holyoake," Fenton said with a disgruntled huff. "Didn't Rhys Holyoake divorce you over the bloke? There was some sort of a cheating drama there. The old biddies obviously have tried to enlighten me but I have no patience for the grapevine. There will be no barney there, innin? With Whitlaw and you and Semra?"
It took Viola three seconds to come up with an answer 'civil and classy' enough - as opposed to laughing into Fenton's face and telling him to shove his ill-informed opinion up his crypt of Morgagni.
"No, Alan, there will be no barney," Viola said and got up.
Fenton gave her a surprised look, and Viola suddenly burst into a small laugh. You expected him to get up as well, didn't you, Viola? Because Rhys would.
"Suggest it to Semra, and we'll go from there," she said. "And now, if you excuse me, I'm going to grab lunch in the Oak and Shield."
Fenton rose and followed her out of her office, grumbling something under his breath.
***
The next day a knock came to her door at about the same time, and Viola almost rolled her eyes, wondering what Holyoake-related headache she would have to deal with now.
Snezha opened the door and gave Viola an uncertain smile.
"Rhys Holyoake is here, Dr. Holyoake," the nurse said.
"Does he have an– appointment?" Viola said in bewilderment. Talk about a conflict of interest.
Her hand jumped to the mouse of her computer, but Snezha answered before Viola opened her SystmOne, "He's here to take you out for lunch if you feel like it."
Viola froze and slowly looked up at the nurse. The woman grinned.
"That's what he said," she said. "'If she feels like it.'"
The man couldn't be more conceited and less discrete if he tried.
"Thank you, Snezha," Viola said. "Please, tell Mr. Holyoake, my lunch break starts in twenty minutes. I'll be happy to join him for a meal if he's willing to wait."
The nurse snorted. "I will try to remember all these words."
Viola couldn't help but chuckle at the view of the nurse's exaggerated humble disposition.
"Your English is excellent, Snezha," she said. "Don't think I don't know that you just pretend to misunderstand when it's convenient to you. For example, when James Whitlaw flirts with you."
"James Whitlaw flirts with everyone," Snezha said, her lovely green eyes twinkling. "And maybe I would understand his English better if he brought me flowers like Mr. Holyoake."
Viola once again felt as if a bucket of ice water was toppled onto her head.
"Tell me he's not standing in the waiting room with a bouquet," she groaned.
Snezha nodded and giggled. "With a very big bouquet."
Viola really hoped they weren't red roses. She disliked roses, they always looked plastic and pretentious to her. And besides, everyone would already talk about him showing up with a bouquet. She didn't need them to speculate how much he spent on it.
"Could you bring the bouquet in, please, and let Mr. Holyoake know I'll be coming out right away?" Viola said.
"I will," Snezha said and turned to leave.
"And stop laughing at me," Viola said, quickly saving and closing her file, her eyes on the screen of her laptop. "Or I'll tell James Whitlaw that you mentioned how much you fancy his shoulders and upper arms."
"I was not laughing at you, Dr. Holyoake," the nurse said in an earnest voice.
"Good," Viola said and threw the woman a cheeky look. "He really is a good man, you know?"
"I know. He's my landlord," Snezha said, dropping the teasing tone. "When my mum had COVID and I couldn't work, Mr. Holyoake wavered our rent."
"I meant James," Viola said.
Snezha made a very Slavic 'pfft' noise and walked out of the door. Viola shook her head with a chuckle and quickly turned off her computer. She was putting on her gloves when Snezha was back.
They were not red roses. Viola stopped in her tracks and stared at the most exquisite flowers she'd ever seen in her life. They looked like a delicate version of peonies, with their paper-thin petals, ivory white with a tinge of pink on the edges, in a tight bundle, with an elegant green eye in the centre. The long green stems were tied together with a thick blush pink ribbon matching the petals. There was no greenery or baby-breath, just two dozens of the stunning blooms. Viola took them out of Snezha's hands.
"I'll get a vase," the nurse said, and Viola nodded silently, unable to tear her eyes off the flowers.
She quickly pulled the glove from her hand and gently brushed the tips of her fingers to one of the blooms.
***
When she came into the waiting room, he was standing by the door, his mobile in his hand. He lifted his eyes and smiled.
"Good day, Dr. Holyoake," Mr. Buck, the local butcher and Fenton's patient, greeted Viola from his seat.
"Good day, Mr. Buck," Viola answered, her eyes locked with Rhys'.
He stepped to her and quickly kissed her cheek.
"Ready?" he asked, and she nodded.
He opened the door for her, she passed him and stepped out onto the pavement.
"Where would you like to eat?" he asked.
"That's quite a surprise," she said at the same time.
He smirked.
"Am I breaking your rules?" he asked.
"You are," she said. "But you are being clever. Since I accepted your invitation, I can't possibly complain, can I?" she said with a laugh.
"Exactly." He grinned. "So where are we going? And I should drive," he said, looking down at her olive suede Jimmy Choo ankle boots.
"I can run in these, Rhys," she said.
"Why would you?" he said, and then stepped back and looked up and down her calves. "They are bloody sexy, but they can't possibly be comfortable."
"You've just wasted five minutes of my lunch break staring at my legs," she pointed out.
"That's not wasting," he said, stepped back to her, and looped his arm. "Miss Rosa's tearooms?"
"Sure," she said, gingerly wrapping her hand around his arm. She was probably imagining that she could feel his warmth through his jacket. "So, what brought this on?"
"I was having a good day," he said. "I thought, why not make it even better?"
She hummed, not sure what to answer to that. His words flattered her immensely, and she looked under her feet, hiding the blush that heated up her cheekbones.
"Oh, and thank you for the flowers," she said. "They are–"
Suddenly any complimentary adjectives seemed insufficient. She pulled at his arm, making him slow down and looked at her. She brushed her gloved hand to his chest and smiled at him shyly.
"I love them," she said quietly.
His grin dropped, and she saw emotions splash in his eyes.
"Vi," he said just as quietly.
You need to stop him. Right now. You're gazing in his eyes, and he's not gormless. He can see how affected you are, how vulnerable. Aren't you scared, Viola? You have no defence right now.
It had been more than five years since anyone had bought her flowers. Viola loved flowers - any flowers, the view of them in her room, the delicate beauty of carnations, confident cocky orchids, jolly Spring flowers, such as daffodils and tulips - and the cliché sentimental significance of the old-fashioned gesture of a man giving her flowers. As a compliment. As a charming chivalrous token of appreciation.
"You're welcome," he said softly. His lips twitched, and then he blinked, the heady expression fading in his eyes. "Let's go, we won't have time to enjoy our lunch if we dawdle."
Viola released the breath she'd been holding, nodded, and started walking.