She considered turning around and leaving, but hesitated, wondering if it would look like she ran away - when a male voice called to her, "Viola!"

She looked up and saw Rhys, James Whitlaw, and two more familiar men standing on the scaffolds near the wooden structure. She gave them a wave and had no choice but to run up closer. She was already feeling cold, and she needed to be quick.

"Morning," she shouted up. All of them answered with hi's and hiya's. "I was just curious, I apologise for being a peeping tom," she said with a laugh and threw a quick glance at Rhys.

He smiled at her and gave her another wave.

"Wait!" Whitlaw shouted, squatted on the edge of the platform he stood on, grabbed to its edge, and threw his body down, hanging for a second, and then landing on the ground smoothly. "Morning, Dr. Holyoake," he said, grinning from ear to ear, and stepped even closer to her.

She gave him a sardonic look.

"Aren't you going to ask what these are for?" he asked.

"I really should be going, James," she said. "I'm not dressed for standing on one spot."

"Would you like my jacket?" he asked roguishly and grabbed his zipper.

She could feel everyone's eyes on her now, and she narrowed her eyes at Whitlaw.

"I'll leave you to your work, James," she said in a pointed tone and turned away.

At that moment a black Range Rover turned into the parking lot.

"Oh, that would be Mr. Mayor, I reckon," Whitlaw drew out. "Probably with his little missus. Have you met them?"

Viola shook her head, without looking at Whitlaw. The driver's door opened, and Mr. Thomas Oakby stepped out of his car. One could really see the resemblance between the Oakbies and the Holyoakes in the Mayor's appearance. He could easily be mistaken for another brother of John and Will Holyoakes. He was tall, wide-shouldered, lither than Rhys, but just as long-legged and proportionally built. He had an attractive intelligent face, a long and narrow patrician nose, and piercing blue eyes. Unlike the Holyoakes - with the exception of John who'd put years of efforts into his appearance - the Oakbies looked posh and 'pedigree,' with their finer features and the breeding that one couldn't hide even under a chunky jumper and a fashionable beard.

"Morning, gentlemen," Oakby said and smiled at everyone at the same time. "Dr. Holyoake, I presume. Pleasure to finally meet you."

He approached Viola and shook her hand. She could see the passenger door of the Mayor's Rover open, and a petite red-haired woman jumped out.

"I found it, Mr. Oakby," she shouted, shaking a piece of paper in her hand. "Oh, good morning," she greeted everyone with a polite smile. "I found the contract," she repeated to the Mayor and placed the printed page in his outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Ms. Fox," he said in a perfectly neutral professional tone.

Viola saw Rhys get down the ladder and come up to them. Another series of hellos' and good mornings' followed.

"Would you like to see the site?" Rhys asked the Mayor.

Oakby nodded. "Yes, please."

He looped his arm, and Ms. Fox took it.

"Are you going, Viola?" Whitlaw asked in a fake innocent tone.

Rhys glanced at her, as if asking her if she needed help, and she gave him a small snake of her head. Whitlaw was clearly stirring trouble and goading either just Rhys, or her as well.

"This way," Rhys said and started walking away, followed by the Mayor and his companion.

"What are you doing?" Viola asked James sharply, once the others were out of earshot.

"What? I assumed it's a couple thing," James drew out. "Everyone knows the Mayor lives with his assistant, and you and Rhys seem to be getting friendly again these days. Are you sure about that jacket? You're shivering."

It was perhaps the cold, and going down from the adrenaline from her run - but Viola felt a sudden jolt go through her nerves. She looked Whitlaw over and gave him a sly smirk.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, James, but I just had this suspicion," she said slowly, "that you and Rhys are having a rough morning, since you are forced to work together because it's for the Festival - now you're trying to get his knickers in a twist," she said, and his face dropped. "Stop being difficult, and go back to your work, please," she added in a tone one would use with a fussy toddler.

A dark expression ran over his features.

"I'm only here because his brother couldn't make it," Whitlaw sneered. "Because of Semra. She's once again in the hospital, and he's building some bloody light statue supports and being all chummy with the Mayor." He glared derisively after Rhys. "Did you know Rhys gave her a job in his firm? She started going on all those trips and negotiations with clients, and that's where she picked up the new bloke. So, Sam has his brother to thank for her latest OD."

"The most astonishing part of it is the fact that you, just as many other residents of Fleckney, are under the impression that the private life of the Holyoakes is somehow your business," Viola said in a glacial tone. "And it is not. Your business here is to either help the community and build light statue supports wih Rhys - or not. Nothing else."

She twirled on one spot and started running away. She needed to pick up speed to warm up her muscles. A hot - and then cold - shower was in order as well, if she didn't want to get sick again.

***

When she entered the surgery, she saw that Snezha wasn't at her desk. That was odd, the woman was never late. Viola woke up the surgery computer and opened the SystmOne - only to find out she had no appointments for the day.

Viola walked out of the surgery and took the stairs to the flat. Fenton was sitting at the table in the kitchen, leisurely drinking coffee.

"Morning, Alan," she said, and he grumpily saluted her with his brew. "Is it common to have no patients on a Festival day?" she asked.

He looked her over - from the round collar of her favourite vintage Chanel jacket down to her Manolos - and chuckled.

"There will be no patients till Monday," he said. "Well, except for those who'll get sloshed at the Festival and hurt themselves like berks, but hopefully they'll have injuries serious enough so we can send them to Abernathy on an ambulance. So, you can change into something more comfortable and go check the Market or the rides at the Meres. Coffee?" He pointed at his machine.

"No, thank you," Viola answered, gave it a thought, and said suddenly, "I think I'll have breakfast at Miss Rosa's." She was almost out of the kitchen when she paused, looked at Fenton over her shoulder, and asked, "And do I gather it right, no one works on Festival days?"

"Only those actually participating in the Festival," he said, giving her a suspicious look. "The pub, all the food places, and the volunteers at the Festival. Tomorrow will be even more ridiculous. There's the public bake, and all mums drag their ankle-biters there, and adults make idiots of themselves. And then tonight is the karaoke night."

"None of it is to your liking, is it?" Viola drew out.

"No," he deadpanned and hid behind his paper.

"What a pity," Viola said. "I thought you could show me the best vendors. Alas! At least you're coming to the Dance," she said nonchalantly, and left before he could dispense another of his growling remarks.

She sat down on her bed, carefully took off her shoes, hesitated for a second - and reached for her mobile.

He picked up right away. She could hear surprise in his voice. "Morning, Vi."

"Morning," she said. Pressing her phone into her shoulder with her ear, she unbuttoned her jacket. "So... it turns out I have a day off today."

He softly laughed on the other end.

"Ah, that's your first one, I forgot," he said. "Every year I get a cheesed off client and have to explain to them it's Fleckney. We don't celebrate anything half-way. We don't work during the Festival, the Fete, the Harvest Week, and of course Christmas, and the Fleckney Day, which is actually also a week."

Viola chuckled. "It'll take time for me to acclimatise," she said. "I'm used to a more strenuous work calendar."

"Do you have a hobby?" he asked with a sincere interest in his voice. "I remember you used to watch those Japanese cartoons. And you dance. Maybe you'd like to start carpentry, or ice skating, or painting," he said. "If you decide to skate, I volunteer to teach you."

Most of the people in both villages skated either on the river or on the large indoor rink in Fleckney Woulds. Viola had always been too much of a scaredy cat to try. Suddenly the thought of wobbling around on two butcher's cleavers didn't sound that bad - when she imagined him supporting her, and leading her, and catching her before she fell. Seeing him with the children in the pool had made her think that, perhaps, her idea of what he'd be like as a teacher - impatient and irritable - had been wrong.

"I might take you up on this offer," she said. "Tomorrow?"

"Oh." He was stunned into silence for the next four seconds, and then answered, "Of course! Yeah! That sounds great. I'm doing the bake thing - but maybe after?"

"Perhaps," Viola said. "Depends," she murmured teasingly.

That was silly flirtatious banter - and she wondered if she was too much out of practice for him to catch on her mood.

"On what?" he asked readily.

"On how you do during our breakfast," she said. She almost added 'if you have time' - but surely he knew she wasn't pressuring or issuing an ultimatum.

"I'm actually in the Oak street," he said.

"Let me guess, the florist's?" she asked with a giggle.

"Mr. Spragg's hardware, actually," he answered, and before she felt embarrassed for her presumptuous question, he added, "I'd already ordered the flowers earlier. I can pick them up, and meet you at–" He trailed away with a questioning intonation.

"Miss Rosa's in twenty minutes," she said.

"Brilliant," he said. "See you soon, Vi."

"See you, Rhys," she said.

"Oh, and Vi?" he said. She hummed showing she was listening. "Thank you for calling me," he said earnestly.

"You're welcome," she said, hung up, and couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.