Resisting Her English Doc

“I’m not admitting to that. Change it over if you want.” Fleur was already humming along with the music and he wondered whether she’d stretch forward or just leave it playing.

She leaned forward slowly.

“‘Driving’...” She scrolled through the list. “Perhaps not, we don’t have far to drive. ‘Soul’... Is that your soul or just soul music?”

“Just soul music.” Rick wasn’t ready to admit to having a soul at the moment, because that soul was telling him that a couple of laps around the island with Fleur wasn’t out of the question. Just so he could extend this time alone with her.

“Well, that’s not likely to give me any insight, then...” She aimed a sidelong grin at him. “‘Old Favorites.’”

She stabbed at the playlist title with her finger, leaning back in her seat. When the music started she smiled. “Well that’s unexpected.”

“I like sixties music.” He’d loved going through his grandmother’s old records when he’d been a kid. Learning how to operate the portable gramophone that she’d kept in the corner of the sitting room so he could play them. It had felt as if he’d had a proper home. Later, he’d danced to this music with Lara in the sitting room of their flat in London.

“So do I. We’ve done a few sets around this kind of thing. Summer of love and all that...” Fleur was suddenly silent. It seemed that the music meant something to both of them, in different ways. Something that was lost forever.

The mood didn’t last for long. As they entered the Main Street of Maple Island’s only town, she looked around suddenly. “Can we stop here? At the library?”

The library looked more like one of the older houses on the island than a public building, a stone-and-brick-built structure that had obviously been well tended over the years. But when Rick drew up, he could see the notice outside.

“I’d like to go in and get some books, if that’s okay.”

It was better than okay, this was exactly what he wanted. Fleur managed to get the car door open, shifting her legs round and planting one of the crutches tentatively on the ground.

“No...” She frowned. “That’s not going to work, is it...?”

“No, it isn’t. You must know how to use weight and balance, Fleur, from your dance training.”

She shot him a Don’t remind me look, putting her hand on his shoulder. Clearly even this memory of what she’d lost was difficult, but she didn’t resist him as he pivoted his weight to bring her out of the car and onto her feet. If every patient had such an instinctive understanding of how the inertia of two bodies could work together, then not so many nurses would have bad backs.

But as soon as she was out of the car she let go of him, leaving him to walk beside her between the piles of snow on either side of the path. Rick readied himself to steady her if she slipped, but she was obviously intent on doing without his help. Fleur maneuvered herself carefully up the stone steps at the front of the building and then walked past Rick as he held the door open, leaning on a pair of swing doors that stood ahead of her to open them.

The interior momentarily took Rick’s attention from her. Gleaming wooden shelving, which looked as if it had taken many years’ worth of wax and care, protruded from the walls to the right and left. In the center, an open space held heavy, old-fashioned library tables, one of which was stacked with newspapers. A second tier of shelves, above the first, was reached by two curved wooden staircases and a gallery.

“Pretty impressive, eh?” He realized that Fleur was looking up at him, studying his reaction.

“Very. When does this date back to?”

“The middle of the seventeen hundreds...”

“Seventeen thirty-two. Ezra Van Den Berg was one of the island’s founders and he left his home and all his books to the island, to provide a library for future generations.” The quiet lilt of a woman’s voice sounded behind them. “I was wondering when you’d get around to paying us a visit, Fleur.”

Rick turned to see a neat, dark-haired woman in her forties, wearing flat shoes and a slim, black trouser suit. The overall effect might have been sensible, if it wasn’t for the chunky necklace, each of the wooden beads uniquely carved. Fleur grinned at her.

“I haven’t been released from custody yet. This is Dr. Rick Fleming. Rick, this is Pamela.”

“Pleased to meet you, Rick. I hope you’ll visit us often.”

“I will. This building is spectacular. It was Ezra Van Den Berg’s home, you say?”

“Yes, it was, although it doesn’t look much like the way it did when he lived in it. He left money and instructions for the interior to be completely remodeled, and so a two-story residence turned into this.”

Fleur grinned. “Yeah. Apparently one of the walls almost fell down when they knocked out the internal supports. Which one was it, Pam?”

“That one over there.” Pamela gestured to her left. “They had to hold a local fundraiser to rebuild it. Watch yourself up on the gallery, it tends to tilt suddenly in high winds. You’re here for some books, Fleur?”

“That’s the general idea.” Fleur settled herself into one of the high-backed wooden chairs and Pamela nodded, turning to climb the spiral staircase that led to the upper gallery. She disappeared between two rows of shelves, obviously on a mission.

“The gallery tilts...?” Pamela didn’t seem like someone with a penchant for practical jokes, and she’d issued the warning with an impressively straight face.

Fleur snorted with laughter. “No, of course it doesn’t, this place would survive a hurricane. Pam tells the tourists that there’s a ghost up there as well.”

“Right. And the library’s still run by the family?” He’d noticed the shiny nameplate on Pamela’s desk. Pamela Vandenberg.

“Hush, I wouldn’t say that too loudly...” Fleur put one finger to her lips. “Pam’s a qualified librarian with an English degree, and she got this job before she got married. Her husband’s a bona fide descendant of old Ezra, but she doesn’t much like it when people assume that it’s a matter of nepotism.”

Rick nodded. “There’s a lot to learn about this island...”

“You bet there is. Don’t worry, though, you’ve got me to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

Something about Fleur’s smile hinted at the fact that she’d be more than happy to see him blunder into a faux pas. Rick shrugged the idea off. He was the one who had declared war, and if she wanted to respond, that was exactly what he’d hoped she might do.

“You’ll be able to get your own books in a few weeks’ time.” He nodded toward the steps up to the gallery.

Fleur regarded the balconies thoughtfully. “Pam knows everyone’s taste and she’s great at suggesting books. Anyway, you do know that heights aren’t really my thing at the moment.”

It was the first time that Fleur had voiced her fears, and her vulnerability hung in the quiet air between them. Her gaze met his, and Rick felt as if he was in free-fall, tumbling into the depths of her blue eyes.

“Yes... I do.” For a moment it seemed that she was as transfixed as he was. Then the sound of footsteps, descending from the gallery, broke the spell. Pamela walked briskly toward them, dumping a pile of books onto her desk and consulting the computer screen in front of her.

“Have you got a bag? We’ve had some very nice bags made up, to help raise funds.” Pamela gestured toward a pile of canvas bags, with “Support your Local Library’ emblazoned across them.

“I’ll take one of those, please.” Rick reached for his wallet.

Pamela pushed a donation box toward him and while he was still sorting through the unfamiliar notes, Fleur reached up, taking one from his hand and pushing it into the box.

“Thank you, that’s very generous. For twenty dollars you can have one of these...” Pamela reached under her desk, pulling out a pile of brightly colored bags, which sported a line drawing of the library building.

“You choose, Fleur.” She’d have to get to her feet to look through the pile, and Rick wondered if she would. She shot him a grimace, leaving the crutches propped against the back of the chair and leaning on Pamela’s desk to shuffle forward a couple of steps.

“Pink’s nice...” There was mischief in her smile.

“Yes. Ellie will like pink.” Clearly Fleur hadn’t seen him walking along Kensington High Street with a one-year-old in a body sling and a pastel print bag full of baby paraphernalia. He was hardly going to baulk at a pink library bag.

Pamela was sorting through the books, and checking them into the computer. “I thought you might like to revisit Raymond Chandler, Fleur. Since you have the time to appreciate some of his subtler twists.”

“That’s great, thanks.” Fleur nodded.

“And these are two very good new mystery writers...” Pamela started to load the books into the bag, glancing at Rick. “And would you like to sign yourself and your daughter up for a library card, Rick? We have a children’s reading club here on Thursday afternoons, and the nursery staff at the clinic’s daycare center usually bring along any of the younger children who’d like to attend.”