The Toast of the Town (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book III)

She'll Be Apples, Mate

A fortnight passed since the events in the Oakby Manor, and the greedy curiosity and the intense 'nose sticking' of the residents of Fleckney were starting to subside. Both Imogen and Viola had returned to work. And one day, while writing down her observations after an examination, the latter ran into a familiar name in the surgery's database.

She knocked on the door of her colleague, Dr. Fenton, and stuck her head into his office. The Welshman lifted his eyes from whatever he was scribbling in his diary, the habitual grumpy grimace on his handsome face. A funny cowlick in his sand-coloured hair curled above his left temple, just as usual.

"Alan," she said, "what do you know about Alexander Volchok?"

The doctor twitched, and the pen fell out of his hand.

"Why?" he asked sharply. "What porkies is he telling now?"

Viola closed her mouth, swallowing her next line. The Welshman's reaction was veritably unexpected. If Viola hadn't known Fenton to be unshakeable and as self-assured as they come, she'd wonder whether he was indeed - and Viola couldn't quite wrap her mind around it - flustered.

"Who he?" she asked carefully.

Fenton picked up his pen and pretended to write. No matter how incomprehensive their own and their fellow GPs' handwriting was, Viola could see that Fenton was just moving his Kaweco on the paper in a futile attempt to appear busy.

"Alan?"

"Alexander Volchok is a patient of mine," Fenton grumbled. "Has been since he came back from his travels around Europe. He's local. And a bloody bother."

Viola slowly walked into Fenton's office and mannerly sat down in the patient chair across the desk from the Welshman. Fenton's hand stopped moving.

"Is there something you need, Viola?" he asked, without looking up.

Viola fixed her calm gaze on the top of the man's head - and waited. Fenton stayed still for a few seconds, but to his disadvantage, Viola had mastered the skill of managing an uncooperative and closed-off male to a T. She'd been married to one - twice. She elegantly put one leg over the other and rocked her foot in her new mint green Louboutin Kate pump. Fenton gave out a long tortured sigh and met her eyes. He was still holding on to the remnants of his aloof disposition, and Viola gave him a lazy sly smile.

"Alexander Volchok?" Viola pretended to remind the doctor.

"I don't understand why you're asking me," Fenton said darkly. "Anyone here can tell you all about him. The Volchoks have lived in Fleckney for ages. They'd immigrated from Russia running away from the Bolsheviks. They were some sort of aristocrats, ethnically Ukrainian, actually. He's the last Volchok left." Fenton twirled his pen in his fingers. "He owns an antique shop in Abernathy. Minted, apparently. And a pain in my arse."

"As a patient?" Viola inquired nonchalantly.

She was most certain that the honest answer to her question would be 'no' - after all, she'd never seen these frantic blush stains on Fenton's cheekbones before. That surely didn't look like a professional attitude. Even when asking her out, all those months ago, when she hadn't yet reunited with her ex- and also current husband, Fenton had never seemed anywhere close to being as affected as he was now. To think of it, Viola had hardly ever seen anything but light disdain written on his face. And yet, there Fenton was - visibly uncomfortable and suspiciously flushed.

"Yes," Fenton deadpanned. "He's anaemic. And has the most unhealthy lifestyle one can imagine. And he has the nerve to tell me he'll change it if I–" The doctor bit his tongue, but it was too late.