Writing for Fun
March 2024
Gold Digger - Lynn Gale
A slice of the morning sun shone through the stained-glass window and crept along the stone floor. The encroaching light added a little warmth to the chill of the small Tolhampton village church.
The vicar spread the old battered red bibles among the pews, along with the order of service sheets the young widow delivered yesterday. Her husband had been a well-respected, wealthy member of the community. The vicar whistled while he worked, confident of a full collection box later.
She had limped into his Harley Street Clinic after tripping outside, crying and begging for help. The long-serving nurse at the desk advised her to take a seat while she informed the doctor.
‘I’m so sorry to be such a nuisance,’ the young woman said, her voice soft and melodic.
‘Nonsense,’ the doctor declared, gazing into those baby blue eyes, full red lips, and long blonde hair. ‘Now, let’s take a look at that foot.’ He helped her into his consulting room as he smoothed back his grey hair. The nurse shook her head and pursed her lips. ‘No fool like an old fool.’
From a confirmed bachelor, he became half of a couple; romantic meals, theatre trips and weekends away filled his free time. On a whirlwind trip to Paris to celebrate their six-week anniversary, she accepted his marriage proposal.
‘She’s a gold digger,’ the nurse told a friend over coffee, ‘only after his money.’
A wedding date was hastily arranged. She said she couldn’t wait. They picked matching rings, and she chose their honeymoon location, the remote, exotic Park Hyatt in the Maldives.
His solicitor brought some papers into the Clinic for him to alter and sign.
‘The Doctor is in with someone right now,’ the nurse informed him.
The solicitor looked at his watch. ‘I can’t wait. I’ve another client to meet.’
‘Leave them with me,’ she offered with a smile. ‘You can pick them up later.’
‘That’s perfect,’ the solicitor said. ‘What would the doctor do without you?’
The nurse flicked open the folder. ‘Codicil to Will,’ she read, raising her eyebrows. As the last patient left, she took the papers to him. ‘Just need your signature on this, doctor.’ He signed without a second look.
On the day of the wedding, the village church filled quickly. A few close friends for her, his practice staff and half of the village who wanted to see the young bride the doctor was marrying.
She walked down the aisle on the arm of a handsome young man she introduced as her cousin, wearing a Cinderella-style dress with a tiara.
‘What on earth does she look like,’ the nurse tutted. ‘No class at all.’
An unfortunate incident occurred on the second day in their secluded villa, involving a rogue peanut tragically cutting short their honeymoon.
‘I don’t know what happened,’ she sobbed hysterically to the investigating officers. ’I was sure I packed his EpiPen.’
Once again, the church was full. The young widow was comforted by her cousin, who squeezed her hand and looked at her tenderly.
‘He should never have married her.’ The nurse told her companion, shaking her head.
Sitting in the solicitor's office in her black dress, veiled hat and dark glasses, the widow held a handkerchief up to her face to hide the small smile hovering about her lips.
The nurse glanced over at her and sniffed in disapproval.
The solicitor began to read out the legal jargon.
‘Get on with it,’ the widow hissed through gritted teeth, tapping her foot.
‘I bequeath my practice, house and my life savings to …’
She leaned forward in anticipation.
‘…my loyal nurse.’
‘No…!’ The widow screamed.