Oliver turned to her with a frown and his hand covered hers. ‘No, don’t think that. You’re entitled to feel sad and cheated. But you’ll recover because David obviously wasn’t the right man for you, and once you realise that you’ll be fine.’ He let go of her hand and jumped out of the car. ‘Unfortunately, that isn’t the case for Hilda. Barry was wonderful and she adored him. Can you imagine that? Being with the same person for fifty-five years?’
He shook his head and started to walk up the path towards the cottage. Helen followed him, still thinking about what he’d said.
David wasn’t the right man for you.
Of course David was the right man. Helen frowned, suddenly feeling confused. She’d loved him. Really loved him. She’d agreed to marry him, for goodness’ sake.
But she didn’t have time to dwell on Oliver’s words because the door to one of the cottages opened suddenly and a woman stood there, her silver-grey hair and her slightly bent posture betraying her age.
‘Dr Hunter.’ She gave a tired smile and shook her head. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me on a Sunday?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Oliver spread his hands apologetically. ‘There’s no food in my house, I’m starving hungry and I thought you might have made one of your amazing chocolate cakes.’
Hilda gave a sigh and looked at Helen. ‘He pretends that I’m doing him a favour when, in fact, we both know that he’s just checking up on me.’
‘This is Helen. She’s my
new practice nurse,’ Oliver said, gently nudging Hilda back inside the house and gesturing to Helen to follow her inside.
‘She’s helping me out until Maggie gets back from Australia.’
Hilda looked startled. ‘But I saw Maggie yesterday and she didn’t say—’
‘She managed to get a flight last night,’ Oliver interrupted smoothly, ‘so finally she’s going to see that new granddaughter of hers. It was all very much a last-minute thing.’
‘Goodness, it must have been.’ Hilda looked startled and then smiled and took them into the small living room. ‘Well, that’s excellent news,’ she said wistfully, and then turned to Helen. ‘My family are all down south and it’s too far for them to come, although they’re very good about phoning. I lost my Barry last year, you see.’
‘Dr Hunter told me,’ Helen said gently. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
‘Well, we knew it was coming.’ Hilda gave a wan smile. ‘He was very ill but thanks to Dr Hunter he didn’t suffer. He’s an amazing doctor and I owe him so much.’ She glanced at Oliver who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. ‘I suppose you’re too busy for a cup of tea.’
‘I’m never too busy for a cup of tea,’ Oliver said immediately, and Helen hid her surprise.
In the London practice where she’d worked, she’d never known the doctors accept a cup of tea. In fact, it was pretty rare that they did their own house calls, she reflected. They nearly always handed them over to a deputising service.
But not only was Oliver saying yes to tea, he’d actually wandered through to the kitchen to put the kettle on himself.
‘The cake is in the tin, Dr Hunter. You know which shelf,’ Hilda called after him, turning back to Helen with a sad smile. ‘Poor Oliver.’ Her voice was soft. ‘He so badly needs to fix everything for everyone. He was the same as a child. Always wanting to put things right. But not everything in this life can be fixed.’
‘He’s worried about you.’
‘I know. He’s a dear boy.’ Hilda sighed and flexed her fingers, looking down at her wedding ring. ‘And he shouldn’t keep coming here. There are plenty of sick people out there who need him and there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just lonely.’
‘Do you go out at all, Hilda?’
‘Well, the bus service isn’t that great from here,’ the older woman confessed, ‘and most of the time I just don’t have the energy. And now there’s snow on the ground I’m afraid of slipping and breaking something.’
Helen nodded, glancing up as Oliver strolled in carrying a tray loaded with tea and an enormous chocolate cake.
Hilda looked at the cake. ‘Did you bring a knife to cut that, dear?’
‘No need for a knife,’ Oliver said smugly. ‘I can eat it as it is.’
Hilda laughed. ‘You’re just like my Barry. He never could resist my chocolate cake either. What about you, Helen, will you have a slice?’
She’d barely eaten for a fortnight and suddenly, in the space of a few hours, she’d been confronted with a bacon sandwich and now chocolate cake. Helen opened her mouth to refuse politely and then caught Oliver’s eye.
‘I’d love some,’ she heard herself saying weakly. ‘It’s my favourite and it does look really delicious.’