Page 14 of The Little Cottage by the Cornish Sea

May brought warmer days so I was able to finally kick off my shoes, don T-shirts and spend more time in the garden watering and admiring my flowers.

My first day helping out at Dr A’s surgery was a hectic one. We barely had time to go over his system before I had hordes of women of all ages dying to get in. And it soon became apparent why, by the looks on their faces when Dr A came out into the waiting room.

They were, to put it mildly, enamoured with the wholesome village doctor.

Who wouldn’t be? He was a take-charge but kind man, and it was clear he genuinely cared about his patients.

A good person to have on your side. And yes, he was quite handsome too.

I wondered why he believed that everyone in the village thought he was cold and insensitive when this waiting room alone proved the complete opposite was true.

Had his ex really done such a number on him?

But that stuff was the last thing on my mind.

All I wanted was to provide for Baby, and work was the only way I knew how.

I had no time nor interest for anything else.

I spent all morning sorting out the mess that was the scheduling book. There were at least three people in every slot and I wondered what had possessed his assistant to do that. If I’d made a cock-up like that, Will would have had my head.

I tried not to think of him as I worked, but images of him kept creeping to the front of my mind. I didn’t know when I would see him again, but I knew I couldn’t stay hidden from him forever.

Luckily, Dr A’s patients kept my mind off it for the most part.

They were all lovely, some very quirky and original.

Most of them brought in cakes and pies, for which Dr A gave thanks, asking them if they wanted him to become a big boy; they chuckled and gave each other bashful looks like teenage girls.

To be fair, Dr A was very dishy in that old-English gentleman way, with that wholesome, trustworthy air about him.

I could see why the ladies fancied him, flirting with him so coyly yet at the same time so brazenly.

They’d throw an innocent-sounding innuendo at him and chuckle.

I wondered whether he was seeing anyone, or if he was even aware of what his patients were doing.

After two intense mornings, we were running smoothly: his appointment book was full but operational. He even looked happier, more relaxed, and I felt pride able to help him.

‘I wanted to thank you for stepping into the breach,’ he said as he came into the office with two large bags full of parcels.

I sat back and grinned. ‘What have you got there: peanut butter sandwiches?’

He grinned. ‘Well, it’s not peanut butter sandwiches, but I thought that to say thank you, I would get you something for the baby. Is that okay, or I am butting into your private space?’

‘Oh! No, not at all. But you needn’t… I mean… that’s very kind of you. I…’

‘Sophie,’ he said. ‘Let me be your friend.’

‘You are my friend.’ Much more than many have been in my life.

He grinned. ‘Good. Now open up. There’s just a few basics, nothing much.’

‘Okay,’ I said, pulling all the packets out of the bag.

There was a cartload of onesies, nappies, cot quilts, a rattle, cot sheets, bonnets, baby bottles and a maternity calendar with medical appointments listed.

And bottles of maternity supplements such as Folic acid by the bush-load.

Everything I could possibly need. ‘Oh my goodness,’ I whispered reverently.

‘You’ve thought of everything! How can I thank you? ’

He grinned. ‘By taking care of yourself.’

I grinned back. ‘I will. I promise.’

‘Good.’

Each day that went by, I learned that Dr A was a man with many layers, and the more you delved, the better he got.

When I got home, the lane was deserted as usual.

The cottages all looked so pretty and well-kept, but in truth, I had no neighbours to speak of.

I’d always yearned for a Cornish cottage and nice neighbours to chat with across the fence while hanging the laundry in the back garden.

To talk about the weather or a new recipe for a cake.

Simple things. Things I hadn’t had in a long time.

For example, I’d always wanted a dog, but Will said that he was dangerously allergic, so that dream had disappeared. Now I suspect that, like everything else, it was a lie.

Standing in for Mrs Harris, Robert’s secretary, had been more pleasant than I’d thought.

In the space of a few weeks, people began to wave at me in the street.

Mostly, they were mothers, young and old, who at some point had brought their children or grandchildren in.

After they’d been seen to, they would sit down for a chin wag.

I got the impression that I was becoming a celebrity: The Woman From Nowhere or something daft like that.

I guess it’s like that in tiny villages.

They wanted to know, but never asked me directly.

They were very dignified and warm. I ended up exchanging recipes with a few, while some others asked me to go to their homes and give their children piano lessons.

They must have known that I was in dire straits and wanted to help.

I couldn’t have asked for more. With these three part-time jobs, I was slowly building my little nest egg.

And my students were so lovely! My favourite was Missy, who soaked up everything I told her.

It was such a joy to teach her rather than the little brats whose parents had paid for lessons against their will, and who clearly couldn’t wait to get back to mindlessly scrolling on their phones.

But Missy was a treasure. And she was so intuitive too!

She had an innate sense of rhythm and excellent discipline.

She would go very far if she continued like that.

Word must have spread around because a woman I’d never seen before stopped me in the street. I mean literally stopped me by blocking my way.

‘Are you the woman staying at Tulip Cottage?’ she said.

So much for staying under the radar. But I was finding that I liked the attachments I was forming. I felt safe here.

‘Yes I am. And you are?’

‘Dr Armitage’s wife,’ she stated, a forceful edge colouring her voice. Even if we both knew she was his ex wife. But her message was clear. Stay away from him.

‘Oh yes, he’s my doctor.’

‘He’s everybody’s doctor,’ she corrected me.

O-kay there . ‘Of course,’ I answered amiably; she made no move to say anything more, so I side-stepped her and continued on my way. Poor Dr A. I guess we all had our problems. What a waste, though. Such a lovely man. Pigs before pearls and all that…

Despite my unpleasant encounter with his ex-wife, I got along swimmingly with the villagers, who were even starting to treat me as one of their own.

Just yesterday, at The Rolling Scones, I got another chance to slot myself into the life of the village.

I was sitting at the table by the window, already envisaging the taste of some luscious carrot cake and a nice hot cup of coffee, my second and last for the day.

But after about ten minutes of waiting, I realised that Daisy was on her own, boomeranging between the tables, without seeming to be bringing anyone their orders.

She saw me and waved over the sea of customers.

‘Hi, Sophie!’ she called, running a hand through her hair, clearly frazzled. Not good.

I went up to her. ‘Hi! Why’s it so busy today?’ I whispered.

‘There’s a choir in from Truro and they’re ravenous,’ she cried at me over their heads as if they weren’t even there. Poor Daisy; she was on the verge of breaking.

‘Can I give you a hand? I could go in the back and prepare the orders for you while Hugh mans the coffee maker?’

‘Oh thank God, thank you, Sophie! Yes, go back there and prepare the orders but please, please don’t tell Ralph or he’ll fire me! He already calls me Ditsy Daisy and he’s absolutely right!’

I laughed as I went to the back to wash my hands. ‘No worries.’

Back there was an absolute chaos. Everywhere I looked, cakes and other sweets were all mixed up, some still to be iced, some still on their cooling racks.

I sighed and got to work, cutting the cakes into slices and checking which cakes were cool enough to ice.

The baker was in the very back, swearing at someone about the ovens.

This was going to be a long day. But with a bit of organisation and a lot of courage, we could do it.

I spread out the little plates ready with their doilies and forks and spoons, easy for Daisy to access. If I’d had more time I could have been more careful, but on a day like this, it would have to do.

‘Where’s Ralph?’ I asked Daisy when she popped her head through to retrieve her orders.

‘He’s in Launceton,’ she huffed. ‘And I’ve no idea when he’ll be back. The baker’s been yelling at me all morning and I swear, I’m about to quit this shitty job!’

‘Now, now, Daisy, we can do this. Just hang in there a little longer. Look, you see how much easier it is like this? I’ll get your orders ready for you.’

‘I love you,’ she blurted out before she disappeared. ‘You are the best.’

‘No,’ I whispered to no one in particular. ‘You are. You all are…’

*

Later that day, I popped into the village shop to get some milk and fruit. Just as I turned into the greengrocer’s section, I slammed into a man and my carton of milk exploded in between us.

He looked down at his shirt and jumped back, his mouth a grim line.

‘Oh! Sorry,’ I said, looking up into his dark face, but I froze when I realised it was Rude Bloke.

For a moment, I had doubted it was him because I actually hadn’t got a good look at him until now.

But there was no mistaking the long, lean body and the wide shoulders.

And the silly beanie he insisted on wearing over his dark curls.

Despite everything, I had to admit that now I could look at him properly, he was very handsome.

‘Watch where you’re going,’ he muttered as he brushed past me, leaving me there with a squashed quart of milk leaking down my chest.

‘Listen, Mr Manners,’ I huffed after him, ‘the first times we bumped into each other, you were a total arse, but I forgave you because I thought you might just be having a bad day. Now I know for sure that you’re a jerk. So if anyone should watch themselves, it’s you.’

At that, he looked over at the cashier and shrugged, completely ignoring me.

I watched him pay, have a jolly good laugh with her and leave with his little paper bag.

And as he left, I felt a sense of dismay.

God, what was wrong with me? Why did I care if he ignored me?

Unless I had been hoping to bump into him?

Why would I be doing that? And then it hit me.

Was I attracted to this piece of work? Hadn’t I had enough of horrible men?

And wasn’t my life complicated enough as it was?

New goal: avoid cranky but oh-so dishy Rude Bloke at all costs.

I hadn’t long arrived home to the cottage when the doorbell rang.

‘Noah, could you get that, please?’ I called from the kitchen as I was boiling the kettle.

‘Company!’ he shouted from the front room.

I hoped it was good company, after my encounter at the village grocery shop, not to mention the one with Dr A’s ex-wife. And speak of the Devil, it was him: Dr A (not Rude Bloke, thankfully).

‘If Mohammed won’t go to the mountain…’ he said with an apologetic shrug.

I rolled my eyes and my mouth spread into a smile. I had decided to not tell him about his ex-wife; there was no reason to upset him, or potentially jeopardise our newfound friendship.

‘I’ve come to give you your check-up. Shall we head upstairs, away from prying eyes?’

‘Oh! Sure, come on up,’ I said, hoping that Noah didn’t think anything untoward was happening between us.

Upstairs in my bedroom, he listened to my heart and checked my blood pressure.

‘So how am I doing?’ I asked as he removed the cuff from my arm.

‘Excellent. Your blood pressure’s gone down. You’re glowing – and if I may say, you don’t look so miserable anymore.’

‘This place is miraculous.’ I beamed at him. ‘I’m quite well!’

‘I’m glad, Sophie, truly. Listen, I want to apologise about Sheila.’

Huh?

He dipped his head. ‘My ex-wife. This is a tiny village and people talk.’

‘It’s okay, Dr A. She was just protecting her territory.’

‘But I’m not her territory anymore.’ He blushed. Honest to God blushed. ‘If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, right?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And we have to get on with our lives,’ he added.

‘Of course. You have the right to be happy.’

His gaze became softer. ‘We all do, Sophie.’

I wondered if he had someone else on his mind, but he was always so buttoned up. A real Mr Darcy!