‘Pam King has an infection. She has her ears syringed regularly, but this time the whole of the canal is looking inflamed. There didn’t seem any point in adding her to your already buckling list. I’ve taken off half your patients and if I can sort them out, I will. Otherwise I’ll have to push them back through to you.’
‘You, Flora Harris, are a miracle.’ Logan signed the prescription. ‘And persuading you to come back here as my practice nurse was the best thing I ever did. When Kyla and Ethan left, I couldn’t imagine how we were going to cope. I lost nurse and doctor in one fell swoop.’
‘Well, I’ve only solved one half of your problem. You still need to find a doctor to replace Ethan. Any progress?’
‘I think so.’
‘Seriously?’ Flora picked the prescription up from his desk. ‘You’ve found someone?’
‘Ask me again at lunchtime. I’m expecting someone on the morning ferry.’
‘Oh, that’s fantastic.’ Relieved, Flora relaxed slightly. ‘Is he or she good? Well qualified?’
‘It’s a he.’ Logan turned back to his computer. ‘And, yes, he’s extremely well qualified.’
Flora stared at him expectantly. ‘And…?’
‘And what?’
‘Aren’t you going to tell me any more?’
‘No.’ He tapped a few keys and frowned at the screen. ‘How are you finding Glenmore, Flora? I haven’t really had a chance to ask you and you’ve already been here for a month. Everything going all right? Have you settled into Evanna’s cottage?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Hadn’t they been discussing the new doctor? Why were they suddenly on the subject of her cottage? Why was he changing the subject? ‘Evanna’s cottage is beautiful. I love it.’ It was true. She’d never imagined she’d live anywhere so pretty. ‘You can see the sea from the bed…’ she blushed ‘…but, of course, you already know that, given that the two of you are married. I’m sure you spent plenty of time in her cottage.’
‘Actually, we didn’t.’ Logan glanced at her, amused. ‘We usually stayed at mine because there was more room. Are you finding the work very different from the practice in Edinburgh?’
‘Not really, but everything takes four times as long because this is Glenmore and people like to chat.’ Flora gave a helpless shrug. ‘I always seem to be running late.’
‘You need to cut them off when they gossip.’ Logan turned his attention back to the computer screen, searching for something. ‘That’s what the rest of us do.’
‘I haven’t worked out how to do that without appearing rude. I don’t want to offend them. They’re all so nice and they mean well.’ Flora picked up the prescription and moved towards the door. ‘Anyway, I’d better let you carry on. At this rate you’ll still be here at midnight. And so will I.’
As she left the room and returned to her own consulting room she suddenly remembered that Logan hadn’t given her any more clues as to the identity of the new doctor. On an island where no one kept a secret, Logan appeared to have one. Why? What possible reason could he have for being so cloak and dagger about the whole thing?
Who exactly had he appointed?
* * *
Conner parked the motorbike and dragged the helmet from his head. The rain had stopped and the sun fought a battle with the clouds, as if to remind him that the weather on Glenmore Island was as unpredictable as ever.
It was July and still the wind blew.
That same wind had almost landed him in jail at the age of sixteen.
Tucking his helmet under his arm, he strolled into the surgery. Nice job, Logan, he thought to himself as he took in his surroundings in one casual glance. Sleek, clean lines and plenty of light. Despite the early hour, the waiting room was already crowded with patients and he saw heads turn and eyes widen as he passed.
Without adjusting his pace, he ignored the reception desk and made for the first consulting room. As he approached the door a patient walked out, clutching a prescription in her hand. She took one look at him and stopped dead, her open mouth reminding him of a baby bird waiting to be fed.
‘Conner MacNeil.’ Her voice trailed off in a strangled squeak and he lifted an eyebrow, a sardonic expression in his eyes as he observed her mounting discomfort.
If he’d been in any doubt as to the islanders’ reaction to his return, that doubt had now gone.
‘Mrs Graham.’ He was cool and polite, his neutral tone a direct contrast to her shock and consternation. He moved past her, knowing that he should cut short the encounter, but he couldn’t quite help himself and he turned, the devil dancing in his eyes. ‘I hope your beautiful garden is thriving. If I remember correctly, it’s always at its best in July.’
Her soft gasp of outrage made it obvious that her memories of their last meeting were as clear as his and a smile played around his hard mouth as he walked into the consulting room without bothering to knock.
Mrs Graham’s garden.