And with a tug on the unfortunate poodle’s leash, she sailed away to spread the word.
Dr Darcy Rochester was left staring at Dr Ally Westruther. Speechless. While she stared at him and tried to decide where to go from there.
‘You know, you’d really better go and take that paint off,’ Ally said finally. ‘We don’t want you to stay blue for ever, now, do we?’
‘You’re a local?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re really setting up for massage.’
‘That seems to be the intention.’
‘That’s fine,’ he said bluntly. ‘But take the “Doctor” off the sign. It’s misleading.’
‘Why is it misleading?’
‘I’m the town’s doctor.’
‘And you don’t want anyone else invading your territory?’
‘If anyone else wanted to invade, I’d be putting up the white flag before the first shot was fired,’ he told her. ‘Do you have any idea how big this district is? I’m run off my feet. But you’re not going to help.’
No, she thought bleakly. She wasn’t. But she may as well reassure him that she wasn’t pretending to practise medicine.
‘If anyone arrives with broken legs or snakebite, you can be sure I’ll send them to you,’ she told him. ‘As I hope you’ll send anyone with muscle soreness to me.’
‘You expect me to refer people to you when you call yourself a doctor?’
‘Don’t be elitist.’
‘Don’t indulge in deception.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Look, Ally…’
This was going nowhere. ‘I have work to do,’ she told him. ‘Your paint is drying.’
‘You can’t do this.’