Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Thank you from Pilot, because he can’t tell you himself, can he, but she would have hit him.’

  Big, gentle Pilot pushed his wet nose into Viv’s hand with expert timing. It was as if he’d said thank you himself after all.

  Chapter 13

  The next morning, Viv walked up to the shop for some more teabags. Armstrong had rung, nearly crying, to say that he wouldn’t be able to take Pilot out because he had a stomach ache and his mother was making him stay at home. So Viv slipped the lead on him and took the big dog out with her.

  ‘Oh, great,’ said Viv as there on the hill, atop that beautiful black horse, was Miss Antonia Leighton herself. She was talking to someone in a dusty 4x4 pulling a horse-box behind it.

  Viv could feel Antonia’s eyes boring into her as she passed and willed her cheeks not to colour. Whoever was in the 4x4 was looking at her too, she could see someone behind the steering wheel. Probably one of Daddy’s posh friends, Viv thought. She didn’t realise she had been holding her breath until she turned the corner and her lungs caved in to the pressure.

  From the last conversation she’d had with Geraldine, Viv presumed that it was Mr Wayne who was sitting behind the counter in Ironmist Stores in a wheelchair with a blanket tucked over his knees. He viewed her suspiciously as she swept her eyes along the shelves looking for some tempting biscuits.

  ‘She’s working at the sanctuary,’ she heard Mr Mark tell him, in a ridiculously ineffective attempt at a whisper. ‘She’s a very nice girl. Geraldine said so.’

  Viv tried not to smile as she walked up to the counter. Mr Wayne gave her a big friendly smile now that she had passed muster. She put down her basket of shopping for him to ring into the till.

  ‘So are you settling in, then?’ he asked, putting her purchases into a thick brown paper bag.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Viv, taking her purse out of her bag in readiness to pay. ‘It’s a beautiful place.’

  ‘Oh, I hope that the Leightons don’t get their hands on it,’ he sighed. ‘No one wants the valley full of new houses. It was never meant for new houses. It’s sacred land, you know.’

  ‘Yes, Geraldine told me.’

  ‘What can anyone do though?’ said Mr Mark, brandishing his pricing gun. ‘The Leightons can buy everyone and everything.’

  The doorbell over the shop tinkled and in walked a short, stout woman wearing a bright yellow knitted hat which had a tiny teddy bear as a decoration to the side. Mrs Macy, Viv presumed. Her face broke out in a grin when she saw Viv.

  ‘You’re the one who threw a bucket of water over Octavia Leighton, aren’t you?’

  ‘Whaat?’ Mr Wayne and Mr Mark gave a joint gasp.

  ‘No, I’ve got it wrong,’ said Mrs Macy, chewing thoughtfully on her lip.

  Mr Wayne was patting his chest. ‘Oh you silly thing, Greta. You had me going there.’

  ‘No, not Octavia. The other one. Everyone’s talking about it this morning. You did, didn’t you? Last night?’

  All eyes were on Viv.

  ‘Erm . . . sort of,’ she answered.

  ‘Noooo!’ a chorus from the brothers.

  ‘Leighton’s daughter was going to hit poor Pilot with her crop, but this young lady here threw a bucket of dirty mop water over her.’

  ‘She didn’t!’ Mr Mark was open-mouthed. He turned to Viv. ‘You didn’t?’

  Viv gave an embarrassed half-smile. She really didn’t want to be famous for upsetting the great Mr Leighton.

  ‘Well, I never,’ said Mr Wayne. He reached behind him and took a fat Victoria sponge wrapped in cellophane from the shelf. ‘You must have this with your afternoon tea from me and Mr Mark with our compliments,’ he said. ‘Oh, I wish I’d been there!’

  ‘Some of it went on Leighton,’ said Greta Macy, delivering that detail with drama.

  ‘It didn’t!’ A sharp intake of breath from the brothers.

  ‘It did.’

  ‘Oh my.’ Mr Wayne’s hand was on his cheek.

  ‘What’s Heath said about it?’ asked Mr Mark.

  ‘He wasn’t there. He’s only just come back. I saw him driving down the hill about ten minutes ago with the donkey-box,’ said Mrs Macy.

  Heath was back? ‘I’d better go,’ said Viv, holding out a ten-pound note. ‘And thank you for the cake. There was no need but it was very kind of you and we will enjoy it.’

  ‘I think that news will actually help me recuperate, Mr Mark,’ grinned Mr Wayne. ‘My my, Leighton and Miss Snotty-Drawers covered in mop water.’

  ‘It’s the best thing I’ve heard in weeks,’ said Mr Mark, handing Viv her change. He shuddered. ‘Horrible family.’

  Viv could feel them all gossiping about her when she left the shop but knew at least that it was complimentary. Geraldine must have said something, or someone on the hill had a pair of binoculars. However they all knew, it hadn’t done her reputation as a stranger any harm.

  Pilot was still lying patiently on the pavement where she left him, head on his large paws, dozing in the sunshine. He groaned to his feet as she shook gently on his lead.

  So Heath was back then, was he? She had a horrible premonition that he wouldn’t quite see her in the same heroic light in which the Ironmisters viewed her.

  *

  Pilot set the pace as they walked back to the sanctuary. It was a pace which Viv wished was faster because she wanted to see the mysterious, difficult, irresistible being that apparently was Heath Merlo. She was surprised to see the same vehicle parked in the yard as the one which had been on the hill when she passed it and Antonia Leighton. It had been Heath engaged in conversation with Leighton’s daughter. A strangely lengthy and friendly conversation for apparently mortal enemies.

  Pilot seemed to sense his master’s presence because his stride quickened as soon as they neared the cottage. He tugged at his lead and when Viv unclipped it he cantered towards the door which was standing ajar, pushing it further open with his long nose.

  Viv followed him, more on edge with every step. She picked up Heath’s scent before she had entered the cottage: forest branches, late spring rain, earth and must. She walked in and he was there, standing by the fireplace talking to Geraldine. The miserable gargoyle-faced image that Viv had had of him disappeared forever. She hadn’t just got it a little bit wrong, she had it totally wrong.

  Her eyes swept up from his big boots to his leather jacket, his cropped black beard, his unsmiling lips, his dark green eyes, his thick, tobacco-brown unruly hair and that was the moment Viv Blackbird felt bombs going off inside her.

  Chapter 14

  Everyone who knew Viv Blackbird would have told you what a sensible, down to earth girl she was. A girl who was old beyond her years, a strong girl, one who was on course to marry an accountant or at least a steady, reliable man. No one knew that below the surface of the capable, clever, level-headed Viv Blackbird lay a young woman who demanded a much stronger man than any of those she had met so far in her young life. Her wish list was predictable to a point: she would never have been able to fall in love with someone who wasn’t kind and respectful or who cheated on her, nor – even more important to her – a man who would desert a woman when she needed him most. But, at the same time, her young heart craved a man who was part wild, who pushed – when appropriate – against convention. She wanted someone passionate who made her pulse throb and set her head into a spin. She wanted to look at a man and for the sight of him to set her whole body quivering with desire. Not that she’d thought this chemical reaction inside her would ever happen, because it was the stuff of Mills and Boon romances, surely? But here she was, standing in front of her new boss and feeling as if her whole blood supply had been replaced by something heady and intoxicating. Then he opened his mouth and that magic tide ebbed so fiercely, she physically had to stop herself from toppling from the force of it.

  ‘So, you’re the one who’s caused the stir in my absence,’ he said in a tone that was edged more with annoyance than welcome. He most cert
ainly didn’t sound as impressed as the trio in the shop had been.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Viv, with a gulp. She came forward with her hand held out. ‘Viv Blackbird. Dr Livingstone, I presume.’

  It sounded funnier in her head.

  He was not the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. His nose wasn’t straight and his cheekbones weren’t male-model razor-sharp, but his features were in total harmony as far as the messages that her eyes were hurrying to her brain were concerned. His eyes were the green of an enchanted wood, the lashes around them black and long and thick.

  For a moment, she thought he was going to leave her hand frozen in its mid-air position, then just as she was about to drop it with acute embarrassment, he curled his fingers around it and gave it a mild shake.

  ‘Heath Merlo,’ he said. ‘Dr Stanley.’

  If he was echoing her humour, he wasn’t accompanying it with the hint of a smile.

  ‘I’ve just brewed some tea,’ said Geraldine. ‘Viv, Heath is very pleased with what you’ve done in the office.’

  ‘I enjoyed doing it really,’ said Viv. ‘I like making a difference.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve definitely done that,’ said Heath in a way that didn’t imply that was a compliment. Pilot was standing at his master’s side, his nose in Heath’s cupped hand. The big dog’s tail was sweeping rhythmically – and contentedly – from side to side. He looked as if he were falling asleep just standing there, breathing in his gorgeous scent.

  ‘I wouldn’t have let that girl hit your dog,’ said Viv, with tight politeness. ‘Especially in an animal sanctuary.’

  ‘I doubt she would have done that,’ said Heath, shaking his head.

  ‘She had raised her crop,’ said Geraldine. ‘It looked to me as if she was about to bring it down rather sharply.’

  ‘Thank you for clearing the office,’ said Heath, changing the subject. ‘I shall sort through the boxes you’ve left, but at first glance I doubt there’s anything in them that can’t be destroyed. I’m not sure why we’ve even set anyone else on, if I’m honest . . .’ he flicked his eyes over to Geraldine with a slightly puzzled expression ‘ . . . but you’re welcome to stay until the end, seeing as you’re costing us so little. An extra pair of hands will come in useful, to pack up if nothing else.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Heath,’ Geraldine reprimanded him. ‘You sound as if you’ve given up.’

  ‘Given up? You are joking, Gerry,’ Heath snapped. If he had been a dragon, he would have been blowing smoke out of his nostrils. ‘I’ll be hanging from the wrecking ball on the day of judgement, but . . .’

  He shrugged, and it seemed to Viv that for all his bluster, Geraldine was right.

  ‘I’ll fit in with whatever needs doing,’ Viv volunteered.

  Heath narrowed his eyes. ‘I must say, you’re awfully compliant. I always said to Geraldine that if you pay peanuts you’ll get monkeys . . .’

  ‘Heath!’ Geraldine protested.

  ‘Oh come on, Geraldine, you can’t pretend that anyone else I’ve employed since you came has been any good whatsoever. At least two of them didn’t stay long enough to unpack their bags; two, or was it three, screamed and cried and walked out telling me exactly what they thought about me . . . I threw two out telling them exactly what I thought about them, then I found another one trying to lever the safe out of the wall.’ He turned to Viv, his eyes as intense as lasers. ‘The crowbar she was using was worth more than the safe contents, incidentally, just in case you were thinking of doing that also.’

  Viv held his gaze, her own eyes flashing as she spoke.

  ‘I have never stolen anything in my life.’

  ‘I didn’t accuse you,’ he replied.

  ‘Viv makes money from blending oils,’ Geraldine said, like a mother showing off the virtues of her small child to a headmaster.

  ‘What?’ Any attempt to impress Heath fell on very stony ground there.

  Viv didn’t enjoy being thrown into the spotlight. She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment and hoped they weren’t turning red. ‘I blend basic scents together to create more complicated ones. Strawberry and vanilla tarts, summer pudding, moonlit gardens . . .’

  ‘Why the hell would you do that?’

  ‘People buy them from me,’ replied Viv tightly. ‘For money.’

  Heath scratched his head. ‘Well, it takes all sorts to make up a world, as they say.’

  Viv fought to keep the growl out of her voice. ‘It pays a living wage and—’

  ‘Because I don’t,’ Heath butted in.

  ‘Well, you don’t, do you?’ Viv butted in back. ‘I wasn’t moaning. I was fully aware how much the position here paid from the advertisement. I didn’t think you’d made a mistake and left a nought off the end. Blending oils earns me good money and tops up my income.’

  Heath folded his arms and studied Viv.

  ‘So that begs the question, why would you want to work here then?’

  ‘Experience,’ said Viv. It was a well-rehearsed answer and sounded convincing enough.

  ‘Experience.’ Heath laughed to himself as he repeated the word. ‘That old stand-by, experience.’

  Geraldine, feeling that the atmosphere needed lightening, clapped her hands together to get their attention. ‘Shall we all go out and look at Wonk and her new leg?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Heath. ‘Maybe Miss Blackbird could use the experience to blend us some oils so that we could recreate “essence of three-legged donkey in her stable” and sell it to raise some funds.’

  As Viv followed the others out to Wonk’s stable she told herself that her olfactory nerves needed some adjusting. They had been sending false information back to her brain. Heath Merlo wasn’t the man of her dreams, he was a rude, snidey, belligerent pig.

  Chapter 15

  The man was large and sweaty and his body odour seemed to reach out and envelop Gaynor as he rapped his finger on the reception desk. ‘Oy. When am I going to see the doctor? I should have been seen half an hour ago.’

  But Gaynor had dealt with far worse than him in the years she’d worked there and there hadn’t been a situation she couldn’t handle yet. ‘I’m afraid there has been an emergency, Mr Potts. Dr Lyle had to go out and so Dr Gilhooley is seeing his patients. Unless you’d rather reschedule for another day when you can come and see Dr Lyle?’

  Mr Potts slammed his large meaty hand flat down on the counter. ‘I don’t care about excuses. I expect to be seen on time.’

  Gaynor locked her fierce, brown eyes onto his bulging, bloodshot ones and leaned her head forward so she had less chance of being overheard.

  ‘I suggest you sit down and shut up, Mr Potts, before I have you thrown out of this waiting room and this practice. You are disturbing people in here with genuine ailments who have been waiting far longer and more patiently than you, so I think you should count yourself lucky, Mr Potts, don’t you?’

  Mr Potts didn’t register that Gaynor was implying his case wasn’t genuine. Which it wasn’t. There was nothing wrong with his back but Gaynor knew she had stepped over the line in saying what she had. And so did the junior receptionist Janet, who raised her eyebrows and made a mental note to keep out of Gaynor’s way today.

  Mr Potts shuffled back to his seat, grumbling under his breath. No sooner had Gaynor bent down to get an eraser out of a bottom drawer when a female voice took Mr Potts’ place at the reception desk demanding attention.

  ‘Shop.’

  Gaynor straightened her back ready to do battle once again but this was a whole different ball game. There, standing squarely in front of her, wearing a too-small denim jacket which hadn’t a snowflake’s chance in hell of closing over her giant bra-less bosom, was a grinning Danira Bellfield. What the hell does Mick see in her? was Gaynor’s initial thought. Danira’s brass-blonde hair was scraped back into a tight ponytail, pulling her eyes into slits. Her cheeks were already becoming jowly and that red colour on her youthfully plump lips looked r
idiculously garish.

  ‘I’ve come to make an appointment,’ Danira said.

  Gaynor’s second thought was that she wanted to drag Danira over the counter by that ponytail and pummel her face until it was the same colour as her lipstick.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t make you an appointment as you don’t belong to this practice,’ she replied, outwardly clinging on to her composure, although inwardly she was screaming.

  ‘But h’I am here to register,’ said Danira with a fixed smile and a tone meant to parody Gaynor’s rounded tones, a product of elocution lessons she had taken in her twenties when Mick had become middle management and she wanted to hold her own at any of his work functions. ‘My lover and I have a house in the h’area now. It’s most important that I get hold of the morning after pill. I think you might be able to guess what we’ve been up to.’

  Janet, who had been keeping her eye on Gaynor since she had sent Mr Potts back to his seat, lunged forwards as soon as she saw Gaynor’s arm shoot out. She stopped it before it made contact with Danira’s face.

  ‘I’ll deal with this patient, Gaynor. Why don’t you go and take your break,’ she said, sweetly and forcefully. She saw the tears in Gaynor’s eyes as she gently pushed her into the sanctuary of the small staff room. Gaynor slumped down onto a chair, her hands covering her face, taking refuge behind the shield they afforded her. It felt like an age before Janet came through and shut the door behind them.

  ‘Gaynor, go home,’ said Janet.

  ‘I just don’t believe that Mick’s moved back into the area, my area, with her,’ snarled Gaynor, none too quietly.

  ‘Shhh.’ Janet was aware that Gaynor was very much her senior in experience, position and years but Janet liked her. Okay, so Gaynor was frosty and not the girly-chat sort of person, but she was a good boss, brilliant at her job and she’d heard via the grapevine (i.e. the gossipy Dr Gilhooley) what was happening in Gaynor’s personal life. ‘Please, Gaynor. I’ve dealt with it. She’s sitting and waiting out there. Go out of the back door. You look really tired and you know you aren’t yourself.’