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His Perfect Bride?
Louisa Heaton
Love where he least expects it… GP Oliver James knows exactly what his ‘perfect bride’ should be like – and vibrant, unconventional new locum Lula Chance is the total opposite! Yet there’s something about beautiful Lula and the heartbreak in her eyes that intrigues him…Lula’s determined not to be distracted by brooding bachelor Oliver… no matter how gorgeous he is. She’s arrived in Atlee Wold hoping to find her mother! But it’s only a matter of time before she gives in to the inevitable…Perhaps Lula might just be Oliver’s perfect bride after all?



Olly gaped open-mouthed at the new locum GP.
This is not what I expected.
She was petite—elfin, almost—with a graceful, slim but womanly figure which he couldn’t help but notice due to her clothing. Or what there was of it. Her dark, almost black hair was cut short at the back, but at the front it was long and multicoloured—cyan-blue, purple and pink streaks fell across her face. Her arms were layered with bangles and she had a red jewel in her belly button. She twirled and swirled and sashayed as she led the class in ‘undulation one’.
‘All right, Olly?’ his dad asked, staring at his son in amusement.
How can this woman be a GP? She doesn’t look like one.
But what was a GP supposed to look like? There was a shimmery wrap around her waist, tightly sheathing her perfectly curved bottom, and it tinkled and glimmered as she moved. Then, as she pointed her tiny feet, he noticed tattoos and nail polish and toe-rings, before his eyes rose back up to her face to see large brown eyes, rosy cheeks and a cheeky smile.
Patrick leaned in closer to his son to whisper in his ear. ‘Close your mouth. You look like a hungry hippo.’
Olly did as he was told and swallowed hard.

Dear Reader (#u4c33a401-aa48-5981-822b-325965fdcb12),
I have to admit to you that there are three pet rats in my house. Yes—three. Blaze, Finlay and Harper are three brothers that I rescued, and one day, whilst they were out of their cage, playing on my shoulder, I wondered if there had ever been a Mills & Boon
heroine with pet rats who also needed rescuing herself?
That single question inspired this story! My heroine, Lula, came instantly—in all her glory—and Olly, my hero, quickly followed. I knew that these two, together, would create a love story that we all could fall in love with.
I absolutely adore their story and hope you do too.
Love
Louisa xx
LOUISA HEATON first started writing romance at school, and would take her stories in to show her friends, scrawled in a big red binder, with plenty of crossing out. She dreamt of romance herself, and after knowing her husband-to-be for only three weeks shocked her parents by accepting his marriage proposal. After four children—including a set of twins—and fifteen years of trying to get published, she finally received ‘The Call’! Now she lives on Hayling Island, and when she’s not busy as a First Responder creates her stories wandering along the wonderful Hampshire coastline with her two dogs, muttering to herself and scaring the locals.
Visit Louisa on twitter @louisaheaton (http://twitter.com/louisaheaton), on Facebook www.facebook.com/Louisaheatonauthor (http://www.facebook.com/Louisaheatonauthor) or on her website: www.louisaheaton.com (http://www.louisaheaton.com)

His Perfect Bride?
Louisa Heaton


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For MJ and Honey x

Table of Contents
Cover (#u12ea0b8f-9530-5fd0-8dc0-ad5588b25d82)
Excerpt (#ub5f1c95f-d4e5-5e6c-aa6a-f7814bd6bbe1)
Dear Reader
About the Author (#u78071e9c-183a-5f04-b9d8-f4979a74dcbb)
Title Page (#u18c58d81-14e3-5070-9492-2c344c83112b)
Dedication (#u0c60582a-70b6-5d85-a828-59f607a55c06)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
EPILOGUE
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#u4c33a401-aa48-5981-822b-325965fdcb12)
DR OLIVER JAMES was just packing up for the day when his father, Patrick, put his head round the door.
‘Got a minute?’
Olly looked up, his bright blue eyes curious. ‘Yeah, sure. What’s up?’
His father was the senior GP at their practice in the village of Atlee Wold, although not for long. He was taking early retirement, and he’d hired a locum to fill his space until a more permanent doctor could be found.
‘That new locum I told you about. She’s here. I thought I’d introduce you.’
Right. The new locum. It was a day he was dreading—his father stepping down and away from the practice—and the arrival of a locum brought that day another step closer.
And he was exhausted. It had been a long, cold day. With all the snow outside, it had taken a long time for his consulting room to warm up and he’d spent his time in between seeing patients sipping hot tea and leaning against the ancient radiators. What he really wanted, more than anything else, was to go home and take a long, hot shower and maybe not emerge until he could summon up the energy to get dry and fall into bed. Perhaps with a mug of cocoa?
But even a shower wasn’t on the night’s agenda, because it was his turn to be on call. Which meant a night trying to sleep fully dressed on his bed, ready to pull his shoes on if his pager sounded. Oh, and a coat, of course, with a scarf and a woolly hat and gloves. And hoping to hell that his old four-wheel drive started up.
‘Is she here? I didn’t know she was coming today?’
‘Well, she’s not here, exactly. She’s at the village hall, running a class.’
Olly raised his eyebrows, impressed. ‘She’s not been here five minutes. How is she running a class?’ What was she? Wonder Woman?
His father laughed. ‘When she came for her interview she put up flyers. Haven’t you seen them? Belly-dancing classes at the village hall? All ages, both sexes welcome.’
Olly smirked. ‘Belly dancing? She’ll be lucky if anyone turns up to that. The old dears round here consider knitting to be their only exercise, and the men their hanging baskets. Can’t imagine any of them shaking their wobbly bits in the village hall. Besides, it’s freezing.’
‘Well, I said we’d pop in, show our support, and it will give you two the opportunity to meet. You’ll be working together for a while—until I get a permanent replacement.’
There it was again. The harsh reminder that his father was leaving. That things were changing. That he had no say in it.
‘She doesn’t want to do it?’
He didn’t quite understand locums. Why travel from one place to another, never really staying anywhere, never getting to know people? Why didn’t they just put some roots down somewhere? He knew he’d hate it if it were him.
‘She’s not sure. But she wants to give the place a trial run.’
‘Shouldn’t we be the ones to offer her the trial run?’
Olly was quite territorial about their practice. It had been in the James family for some time. His own father, and Patrick’s father, Dermot, had run it before him. The fact that his father had sought a female locum also annoyed him. His father was probably trying to matchmake again. Find Olly a wife, who would then provide them all with the next line of doctors for the village of Atlee Wold.
‘We can but see. She’s a charming girl. I think you’ll like her,’ his father said, with a twinkle in his eyes that was obvious in its implication.
‘Dad, you’d make an awful Cupid.’
His father frowned in wry amusement, his brow furrowing into long lines across his weathered forehead. ‘Why?’
‘Because the wings wouldn’t suit you and I’m not sure I’d want to trust you with a bow and arrow.’
‘Don’t know what you mean. Besides, you’ve got no worries there, son. She won’t match any of the criteria on your “perfect wife” list.’
Olly laughed. Everyone joked about his list. Even if he didn’t. There was a serious point to it, after all. If a woman were to be his wife, then she’d need particular qualities. The wife of a country doctor had to have certain standards. Respectability, loyalty, charm, an inner beauty and a calm head on a solid pair of shoulders. Someone who could hold the fort and rear the children. Okay, it might make him seem a bit Victorian in his thinking, but what was wrong with wanting a dependable woman?
‘Good. I’d hate to think you were Cupid in disguise. Like I said, with your eyesight the arrows could end up anywhere.’
Patrick helped his son pack up, switch off all the lights and then make sure his call bag was stocked with anything he might need for the night. Then, despite the snow, despite the cold, and despite his tiredness, Patrick and Olly got into Olly’s four-wheel drive and set off for the village hall.
It really wasn’t very far. Less than a mile. But the snow was thick and still falling. The towns and busy roads in the cities might have grit and salt, but here in Atlee Wold, a Hampshire backwater, they seemed to be lacking everything except table salt from the village shop, which the locals had put out. Some had even put out kitty litter to grit their pathways. Those that were able to shovelled the pathways of those that weren’t.
Theirs was a strong community, where people helped each other out where they could. But Olly really hadn’t expected that there would be nowhere for him to park in the village hall car park! Or that the pathway would be so well trampled by the many feet that had passed that he could actually see the pavement.
Or that there’d be the beat and throb of loud exotic music clearly heard from some distance away.
‘Well, I’ll be …’
He parked his four-wheel drive by a tall hedge and when he pushed open his car door to get out it sent down a spray of snow on top of him. Some of it went down the back of his neck and top and he shivered as the icy crystals tickled his spine.
‘Ugh!’
Patrick laughed. ‘Looks like a full house.’
‘You don’t have to be so delighted.’
The village hall was lit along its gutters with old Christmas lights that hadn’t yet been taken down, and from the windows bright yellow light flared. There was the sound of Indian music, loud but muffled, emanating from the building itself, with an earthy beat.
Olly shook his head with disbelief. How had a complete stranger managed to rabble-rouse an entire village to do belly dancing? He might have expected the hall to be full if it was a gardening class or crochet, bingo or a knitting circle, but belly dancing?
Part of him just couldn’t wait to meet this Wonder Woman. An image of her was building in his head. She was a GP, so she had to be somewhat sensible. Someone middle-aged and quite strait-laced who did belly dancing because it was just something different? Perhaps she had to fight for attention and this was her way … As his father said, not a woman to threaten his list of the attributes a ‘perfect wife’ ought to have.
Belly-dancing instructor was nowhere on the list at all!
Shaking the snow from his shoulders, he entered the village hall after his father. There was a small foyer that they went into first, with a tuck shop to one side. Then there were two large rooms in the village hall and one was in darkness. From the other the music blared.
‘You ready?’ His father had to raise his voice to be heard.
‘Of course I am!’ he called back, pulling open the door.
But he stopped in his tracks when he saw the woman leading the class. His dad even bumped into him from behind.
Olly gaped open-mouthed at the new locum GP.
This is not what I expected.
She was petite—elfin, almost—with a graceful, slim, but womanly figure which he couldn’t help but notice due to her clothing. Or what there was of it. Her dark, almost black hair was cut short at the back, but at the front it was long and multicoloured—cyan blue, purple and pink streaks fell across her face. Her arms were layered with bangles and she had a red jewel in her belly button and she twirled and swirled and sashayed as she led the class in ‘undulation one’.
‘All right, Olly?’ his dad asked, staring at his son in amusement.
How can this woman be a GP? She doesn’t look like one.
But what was a GP supposed to look like? There was a shimmery wrap around her waist, tightly sheathing her perfectly curved bottom, and it tinkled and glimmered as she moved. Then, as she pointed her tiny feet, he noticed tattoos and nail polish and toe rings, before his eyes rose back up to her face to see large brown eyes, rosy cheeks and a cheeky smile.
Patrick leaned in closer to his son to whisper in his ear. ‘Close your mouth. You look like a hungry hippo.’
Olly did as he was told and swallowed hard. This wasn’t a GP. She looked like a pixie. An imp. Or a fairy. Yes, that was it—a fairy.
If she turns around I’ll see she’s got wings on her back.
But there were no wings. Just another tattoo. He couldn’t make out what it was from this distance …
And the hall was full! Here were people and patients that he knew well. People who suffered from arthritis and hip problems and knee problems. And here they all were, shaking their booty with the best of them, smiles plastered across their faces.
They must be off their meds.
Or their heads.
One of his patients, Mrs Macabee, noticed him from her position midway down the class. ‘Ooh, hello, Dr James! Fancy seeing you here! Are you joining us?’
He watched Mrs Macabee tilt her hip up and down, up and down. He blinked his head to clear the image, remembered what he was there for and then smiled politely. ‘Sorry, Mrs M, I don’t dance—and besides, I’m here on business.’ He had to raise his voice to be heard.
‘This is business?’ She laughed as she followed their new GP in her instructions.
He simply couldn’t believe it. Here was half the village, packing out the small hall—young and old, self-respect be damned, all kitted out with hip scarves and coin-edged skirts, shaking their backsides and waving their arms about.
The music was catchy, though, and he was unaware that his foot had been tapping to the beat until it suddenly stopped and everyone started clapping each other. Their new GP was thanking everyone for coming … patting herself down with a soft, pink towel.
There were lots of people fighting over each other to go to her and thank her for so much fun, the best time they’d had in ages, et cetera, et cetera.
Olly pursed his lips as he waited for everyone to file out after handing back their belly-dancing garb. He nodded hello at a lot of them.
His father looked bemused. ‘Why are you smiling so much?’ he asked his old man.
‘It’s the look on your face.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
Patrick laughed. ‘What’s right with it? You look like you’ve been sucking lemons.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
His father was being silly. Of course he didn’t look that way. Why would he? That would imply that he was jealous of this woman or something, wouldn’t it? And he had nothing to be jealous of! So she’d got the village out to an exercise class … So what?
The pixie came over, towelling her face dry. ‘Hi!’
She was still full of energy, it seemed, and appeared quite happy with the way the class had gone.
His father stepped forward to make the introductions. ‘Lula—this is my son, Oliver. Olly, this is Dr Lula Chance.’
He held out his hand to shake hers, aware of how much the bangles jingled as he did so. ‘Lula? That’s an odd name—where’s that from?’
‘It’s short for Louise. I prefer Lula. Like hula.’
He looked at her bare slim waist and womanly curves. ‘And do you?’ he asked, dragging his eyes back up to her face.
‘Do I what?’
He swallowed hard. ‘Hula?’
She beamed a dazzling smile in his direction and it was like being smacked in the gut.
‘I’ve been known to.’
She was patting her chest with the towel, attracting the attention of his gaze, and he had to fight really hard to keep his eyes on her face.
‘So you’re the guy with the list?’
Olly’s cheeks coloured—and not from the cold. ‘I am. Nothing’s private here, it would seem. Welcome to village life.’
Patrick laughed and laid a hand on Lula’s shoulder. ‘Well done, Lula! Getting everyone out like that! Your class seemed a success!’
She nodded, her blue, purple and pink fringe quivering around her face. ‘I hope so. The first class was free, to get people interested. The real test is in seeing if they come back and pay for it.’
‘The real test is making sure none of them have a heart attack. Have you got oxygen on standby?’ Olly asked.
Patrick laughed at his son. ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine. Now—to business. Have you moved in yet?’
‘My boxes are in the car. You’ve got the key to the cottage?’
Olly looked up, his sulk gone. ‘Which cottage?’
She frowned. ‘Erm … Moonrose Cottage, I think it’s called. Is that right, Patrick?’
Patrick? She’s calling him Patrick? What happened to Dr James?
‘Moonrose? You’re moving into Gran’s old cottage?’
His father looked at him sternly. ‘Yes, she is—and you’re going to help her.’ He handed over the key.
His dad knew how he felt about Moonrose Cottage! It might be his gran’s old place, but it was also where his own mother had grown up. The place had special memories. If they let it out to this pixie then God only knew what she’d fill it with. Parties, or raves, or something equally mad. Moonrose was a quiet, sedate house. Charming and conservative and quintessentially English.
‘But I’m on call.’
‘And Lula, here, has offered to be on call with you whilst you help her unpack.’ He grinned. ‘Isn’t that kind of her?’
Olly looked at Lula and raised an eyebrow at those large brown eyes twinkling madly at him and doing weird things to his stomach and other body parts.
‘It is. Thank you, Lula. Though you must be tired—travelling, running a dance class, moving in, going on call?’
‘I like to pack a lot into life.’ She dabbed at her chest with the towel and again he had to concentrate really hard not to look.
‘You don’t say?’
Patrick stepped away. ‘Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Olly, I’ll walk back home—it’s not far. You go on with Lula and I’ll see you both in the morning.’
He shook Lula’s hand and then waved goodbye and stepped out, leaving Olly and Lula alone.
Olly felt uncomfortable. There were no women like Lula in Atlee Wold. Vivid and bright and crazy and …
And what?
‘So, Moonrose Cottage, eh?’ He stared at her hair. So many colours … like a rainbow.
‘Yeah … Strange name, I thought.’
‘It’s after the Blue Moon roses my gran planted when she was a little girl. They’re all around it and they won prizes in the village show. If you’re still here in summer you’ll see them in bloom. They’re quite beautiful.’
She smiled. ‘I’m sure they are.’
‘So, shall I give you a hand to pack all this bling away?’ He pointed at the box full of coin-edged skirts and multicoloured scarves she’d given to his patients.
Lula laughed. ‘Thanks. It is a lot of bling. The hall warden said I could store it below the stage.’
‘Okay.’
He helped her lift a large bag through the stage door opening. They were about to leave when Lula pointed out a couple of boxes covered by thick blankets.
‘Could you help me take those out? They’re mine. I couldn’t leave them in the car.’
Olly nodded and hefted the two boxes one on top of the other, hearing metal clank inside. Then they left the village hall, pulling the door closed after switching off the lights.
Outside, the snow was lit by the fairy lights, so it blinked softly in reds and blues, yellows and greens. It was really quite pretty, and had the effect of making Lula look even more multicoloured than she had been before. Like a peacock.
Definitely a magical fairy.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
He blinked. ‘Sorry?’
‘You were staring. At me.’ She grinned.
Olly licked his lips, thinking quickly. ‘Ah, right … yes. Erm … I was just wondering where you’d parked your car? I don’t see one.’
She pointed, her hand seeming to twinkle in the lights as they reflected off her rings and bangles. ‘I parked down the road. I wanted the patients to be able to park close.’
‘That’s kind.’
She accepted the compliment. ‘Thank you. I try to be. So …?’
‘So …?’
‘Will you drive in front? Show me where the cottage is?’
Of course! Idiot! Stupid!
‘Sure. But let’s make sure your car starts first.’
‘Oh, she always does.’
‘She?’
‘Betsy.’
‘Your car is called Betsy?’
‘Betsy the Bug.’ She stopped in front of a red car with large black polka dots on it, like a ladybird.
Once again Olly was left standing mute and blinking. After a moment he managed, ‘Cute.’
‘I think so. Here—why don’t you put that large one in the front? This small one can go in the boot.’
Her engine rumbled into life straight away and he pointed out his four-wheel drive, further up the road. Lula said that she’d wait for him and he walked back up to his car, his boots crunching in the snow, muttering to himself.
‘Dad, I’m going to kill you … What on earth have you done?’
As a choice of locum she was a tad … out there. Not the sort of locum he’d expected his father to hire. There had to have been plenty of other doctors he might have chosen from. Sensible, sedate people. The type to blend in with village life.
Not this firecracker …
His four-wheel drive started first time and he indicated to pull out, noticing her following him through the high street. He took a left and kept looking in his rearview mirror to make sure she was still there. Still following.
He thought of his ‘perfect wife’ list.
She didn’t match any of the items on it.
But he felt mysteriously intrigued by her.
Bewitching. That’s what she is.
Lula followed Olly through the village roads, realizing she’d made a big mistake. When she’d come for her interview with Patrick, she’d known she was getting involved with a father-and-son team and that had seemed fine. But Patrick was a silver-haired fox, with sparkling, kind eyes, and she should have just known that the son was going to be drop-dead gorgeous. However, she hadn’t worried too much about it. She’d concentrated much more on her other reason for coming to Atlee Wold and assumed that Patrick’s son would be just another person to work with.
But when he’d walked into that village hall … It had been as if a film star had walked in. She’d half expected to see paparazzi following him in. Gorgeous and sexy, yet a down-to-earth guy. She’d tried to ignore him so that she could carry on with her class. She’d even stumbled over her steps. But thankfully no one had seemed to notice.
And now she was following him. Through the snowy streets. In Betsy. Following his old jalopy.
Olly had pulled up outside a small thatched cottage surrounded by tall briar wood. It looked pretty, and she could only imagine how gorgeous it might look in the summertime, with its white walls and blue roses, butterflies and bees flitting about the place. There was an arched trellis over the front door, with what looked like an ancient Russian vine growing over it.
It really wasn’t that far from the GP surgery, or the village hall, and she hoped that tomorrow she could try walking in to work. She had a pair of wellies somewhere in one of the boxes she already had in the car. A small removals lorry would drop off her other stuff tomorrow.
He stood back so she could make fresh tracks in the snow to the front door, and then he passed her a key.
Smiling, she took it and tried to reassure him. ‘Don’t worry—I’ll look after the place.’
‘I’m sure you will. Shall we get the lights on, the fire burning and then get your boxes in?’
Lula nodded. ‘Sounds great.’ Though it might be a bit awkward, the two of them alone before a roaring fire …
The key turned easily and she pushed open the door, wondering what to expect. Patrick had agreed to let the cottage out to her at a reduced rate and the price was very reasonable. She certainly wouldn’t be able to get a place in London at the rate he’d given her—not even a bedsit! And here she was with the key to a beautiful, thatched, two-bedroom cottage.
Inside, she found the light switches and gasped in delight. The low roof created an immediate intimacy in the small rooms. The lounge furniture was covered in white sheets, but when she removed them she found old, chintzy chairs, with scatter cushions made from patchwork, and an old green leather sofa. The walls were whitewashed, with exposed dark beams, and there was a good-sized fireplace already stacked with logs.
‘Shall I start the fire for you?’ Olly said.
Lula smiled. ‘That’s okay. I can do it. Why don’t you get me those boxes from Betsy?’
He nodded, but she could tell he would have been a lot happier playing with the fire.
Typical man.
She liked Olly already. He was charming and old-fashioned and very English. He had classic good looks, with dark blond hair and bright blue eyes like Chris Hems-worth. Just my type. But, despite the handsome looks and the knockout body, she hoped she didn’t have to worry about there being an attraction between them whilst they worked. It wasn’t the sort of thing she was looking for. Not here. There were other reasons for her being in Atlee Wold and romance wasn’t one of them.
The firelighters worked quickly and Lula soon had a bright orange flame licking at the wood. There was a stack of old newspapers to one side, and she screwed up a few and inserted them into gaps in the wood to help it. Soon the crackling flames had taken hold and the fire began to build. She stood warming her hands as Olly came barging in, carrying the larger of her two blanketed boxes.
‘What’s in this thing?’
She took it from him, looked around and saw a table in the corner that looked suitable. Setting the box down, she freed the blanket and whipped it off. ‘Say hello to Nefertiti and Cleo!’
She saw him take a step back, his mouth open in shock and horror. ‘Are they … rats?’
Lula grinned and bit her lip as she stooped down to open the door of the cage and both rats—one dark brown and one pure white with pink eyes—climbed out onto her hands and ran up her arm to sit on her shoulder. ‘Dumbo rats. Aren’t they beautiful?’
He looked carefully at her, as if judging her sanity. ‘They’re rats.’
‘They’re very intelligent animals.’
‘So are dolphins, but you don’t have two of those, do you?’ He watched the rats play around under the dark wisps of Lula’s hair, their noses and whiskers twitching. Then he had a sudden dreadful thought. ‘What’s in the other box? The one in the boot of your car?’
Lula grinned. ‘Anubis. You’d better get him—he’s on a heat pad especially.’
Olly put his hands on his hips. ‘What is Anubis?’
She tilted her head to one side, amused by his reaction. ‘I’ll get him. Here.’
She reached up and took hold of the two rats from under her hair and planted them on his shoulder. She could see how he froze and winced and twitched at each of their movements as they gave him a good sniff. Their little pink noses and whiskers tickled his ears.
Olly stood frozen, as if rigor mortis had set in. ‘Please hurry.’
Lula chuckled, threw her jacket on and rushed out into the snow. Pretty soon she came back with the smaller blanketed box and put it on the coffee table. There was a cable and plug for this one, and when she pressed the wall switch a small light came on inside the blanket.
Olly stood awkwardly with the two rats running about his shoulders. ‘Could you take these?’
Lula laughed. He looked so funny standing there, with his shoulders all hunched up by his ears and two rats perched on his shoulder, trying to sniff the hair on his head. She scooped them up easily and placed them back in their cage.
Olly let out a big breath and then brushed off his shoulders. ‘Thanks. So, Anubis … what is he?’
She looked at him slightly askance. ‘He’s my big challenge.’
‘Challenge? Why?’
‘Because I’m scared to death of him, and as I’m determined to beat all my fears I’ve borrowed him from a friend until I get over that fear.’
Olly gave a single nod. ‘And that fear is called …?’ Though he had a suspicion.
Lula removed the blanket. ‘Arachnophobia.’
In the small tank, amongst some wood and soil, was a large, very dark, very hairy, red-kneed tarantula.
He peered closer. ‘It’s bigger than my hand.’
‘Isn’t he a beauty?’
‘I thought you were scared?’
‘I am. But I can still appreciate how gorgeous he is.’
‘And it’s your aim in life to pick this thing up?’
She nodded. ‘One of my aims. Eventually.’
Olly shook his head. ‘You’re madder than a boxful of circus clowns.’
They both laughed, but then Lula shivered and headed over to the fire and stood with her back to it, hands stretched out behind her. ‘Freezing!’
‘Shall I get the rest of the boxes?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind?’
‘It depends … Are there any more zoo creatures in Betsy?’
Lula smiled. ‘Just woolly jumpers.’
‘Safe enough. Though you might have warned me earlier that I was handling livestock.’
They’d unloaded all the boxes, and Lula had put her clothes away and freshened up, when Olly’s phone rang. The out-of-hours doctor service informed him that one of his older patients in the area was suffering from chest pains. Could he go?
‘It’s Mr Maynard. He lives out on one of the farms. We’ll take my car.’
Lula nodded. It would be best to start with, until she got to know her way around—where the best roads were, what shortcuts there were. And this was a good way to meet some of the patients who couldn’t make it into the surgery for various reasons. She was particularly drawn to find all of those patients who tried to keep themselves hidden away and make sure she saw everyone.
As Olly drove he filled her in on Mr Maynard.
‘He’s eighty-two years old and lives alone. His farm was a dairy once, but he never married or had kids and during the nineties everything just fell to pieces. He had to sell his herd and now he lives in the farmhouse alone.’
Lula thought it sounded a very lonely existence. ‘How does he get out and about?’
‘He doesn’t. His arthritis is bad, so he doesn’t drive. Molly from the village shop goes up twice a week with his shopping and drops it into his kitchen. He generally looks after himself.’
‘Any other health conditions I ought to know about?’
‘He’s got high blood pressure, but he’s on medication for that.’
‘Ramipril?’
Olly nodded. ‘And a diuretic.’
The diuretic had been included to help reduce fluid in the body. The more fluid there was to be transported in thin arteries, the higher the blood pressure, so a diuretic helped to reduce fluid build-up.
Driving through the village at night was quite surreal. Everywhere was covered in snow, and yellow lamplight lit the way every thirty yards or so, until eventually they hit the outskirts of the village and the lamplight disappeared. They had to rely on the four-wheel drive’s headlights, and with thick snow still falling it was very slow going.
Lula wondered how on earth Molly at the shop would even get to Mr Maynard’s farm with the ground covered like this. Did she have a four-wheel drive?
A sign appeared—’Burner’s Farm’—and Olly turned into its driveway. They were bumped and jostled along as he drove down the pitted road and eventually an old stone farmhouse appeared, surrounded by old barns and outbuildings in a crumbling state of decay. It was hard to see the property’s true state at night, but Lula could see that there were sections of roof missing from the barn due to the snowfall, and that all the old machinery was decaying from lack of use.
Alighting from the car, Olly grabbed his bag and he and Lula trudged through the snow to the farmhouse door. Olly banged on it quite hard, before pushing it open and calling out. ‘Mr Maynard? Donald? It’s Dr James and Dr Chance.’
‘In here,’ a croaky voice called back.
The hallway was dark, but at the end of it was a brightly lit room from which warmth poured. Lula was glad he had a coal fire on the go, and was keeping warm at least. Their patient was sitting in a chair with blankets round him, and at his side were the remains of a hot dinner and a glass of red wine.
‘Donald? This is Dr Chance—she’s new at the surgery. How are you?’
Mr Maynard peered past Olly at her and beamed in a giant smile. ‘Well, hello, dear, and what a pretty little thing you are!’
‘Hello, Mr Maynard. How are you doing?’ She sat down beside him, instantly taking in whatever information she could—the colour of his skin, whether or not he seemed clammy, his respiratory rate—but he looked good. He was a healthy colour, not out of breath and with no signs of sweating.
‘I’m all right now. They just panic at the other end of the phone, don’t they?’
She felt sure he was referring to the people who manned the out-of-hours doctor service. She herself didn’t think they panicked, but they had to respond urgently if a patient mentioned chest pains. It could be life-threatening.
‘What made you call in tonight?’
‘Well, my chest was hurting, my dear, and when you’re all alone you convince yourself you’re about to kick the bucket at any moment so I rang up. But I had a damned good belch and felt a lot better. Just indigestion, I think—all stuff and nonsense. No need for you to have come out and checked on me.’
She shook her head, smiling, and patted the back of his hand. ‘There’s every need to check on you. Now, while we’re here, let’s check your blood pressure and pulse—is that okay?’
He let them do their tests, and he seemed quite well. His blood pressure was in the normal range for him and his pulse rate was steady and strong. He had no pain, and they could see that he’d eaten a particularly strong curry, so perhaps he was right and it was just indigestion he’d experienced.
‘You’re on your own out here, Mr Maynard?’ Lula asked.
‘Call me Donald, dear.’
‘Donald.’ She smiled.
‘I am. Been this way for years—lost my Teddy eight years back.’
‘Teddy?’
‘The dog,’ Olly said. ‘Gorgeous Border collie, he was.’
‘That he was,’ said Donald.
‘Don’t you miss getting out and about, Donald? You must get bored, being here in these four walls all the time?’
‘I do … but what am I going to do? I don’t like bingo, and I don’t like going down the pub—it’s not my thing. I like a bit of culture, me, and there ain’t no culture in Atlee Wold.’
Lula nodded in understanding. ‘You like wine?’ She pointed at his glass.
‘Only the good stuff!’ He chuckled.
‘Well, you leave it with me, Donald. Let me see what I can arrange.’
When they got back in the car Olly looked at her questioningly. ‘What are you planning?’
‘I know someone who knows someone else. I think we can get Mr Maynard out and about and enjoying life again. Why should he be stuck at that farm with just memories? There’s life in the old dog yet.’
He smiled. ‘He seemed to like you.’
‘He’s a nice guy.’
‘He is a nice guy. But I’ve been trying to get him involved with village life for years and he’s never budged from that chair.’
She smiled mysteriously. ‘Perhaps he needs something more than just this village? Never underestimate the power of a good woman.’
He looked at her askance. What was wrong with ‘just’ the village?
Perhaps she bewitches her patients, too.
The next morning Lula telephoned a colleague’s friend in Petersfield, who ran coach holidays, and told him about Donald Maynard. After a quick discussion they found a trip for Donald that they thought would suit him down to the ground. It was a tour of wineries in the Loire region of France, over three days, stopping off at some lovely B & Bs along the way and all at a greatly reduced price.
Lula rang Mr Maynard and asked him if he could be ready in a week’s time to catch a bus, if it collected him from the end of his driveway.
Donald was thrilled. ‘Chuffed to mint balls’ was his expression, and he couldn’t thank Lula enough. She put the phone down at her end, feeling delighted that she’d been able to help a wonderful old man who deserved to enjoy life, despite his years.
She got herself ready for work. Determined to walk to the surgery, she rooted around for her wellies. With her woolly hat and scarf on, she was ready to go, and she opened her door, expecting to set straight off. She wanted to make a good impression on her very first day at the surgery.
But someone had left a cardboard box on her doorstep.
And inside something was crying.

CHAPTER TWO (#u4c33a401-aa48-5981-822b-325965fdcb12)
LULA TOOK A sharp intake of breath in the cold morning air. There had been no more snow after their trip home from Mr Maynard’s farm last night, and the top layer had frozen to a crisp. The cardboard box was from a biscuit manufacturer, and the top had all four corners folded into each other, with some air holes punched through by something like a ballpoint pen.
Lula almost couldn’t believe her eyes.
This sort of thing didn’t happen twice in a lifetime …
Kneeling down, she peeled back the corners and looked inside to see a newly born baby, swaddled in tight blankets and towels.
‘Oh, my God!’
Lula scooped up the baby and stood up, holding it to her, undoing her coat buttons and scooting the baby inside her greatcoat. Beneath the baby there was a blue hot water bottle, and it was still quite warm, so Lula could only hope that the baby hadn’t been left outside in the cold for too long. With her free hand she picked up the cardboard box and brought it inside, kicking the door closed, then she went back over to the fire to add more logs and get it really going again.
When that was done she picked up her phone and dialled the police. There was no police station in Atlee Wold itself, but there was one in the next village over—South Wold. She could only assume they’d send someone from there.
She wanted to examine the baby, but the need to keep it warm and monitor its breathing overrode all other instincts. Next she called the surgery, assuming one of the receptionists would answer, but Olly did.
‘Atlee Surgery.’
His voice was solid and reassuring to hear.
‘Oliver?’
‘Lula? What’s up?’
‘You need to come over.’
‘I’m about to start morning surgery.’
‘Can your father do it? I need you here. Now.’
He paused for a moment, but he must have been swayed by the quiet desperation in her voice because he said, ‘I’ll be right over.’
Lula paced the floor—back and forth, back and forth—humming tunes, gently jigging the baby up and down, trying to keep it monitored, checking on its breathing. She had no idea if it was a boy or a girl, or even if it had all its bits and pieces—there’d been no time to check. When Olly got there maybe they could check the baby together.
Suddenly she remembered she ought to have asked him to bring his call-out bag, and hoped he’d have heard from her tone that it might be needed.
Why didn’t I tell him it was needed? So stupid!
Because the shock of finding the baby had been so great. It wasn’t what you expected to find when you went out through the front door in the morning. At the most you might expect a present from the cat, if you kept one, or perhaps a friendly offering from a night-time fox on your doorstep. But a baby …?
No.
She knew what would happen. The police would arrive, and they’d take everything. The baby, the blankets, the hot water bottle, the box. They’d try and trace its mother, but it would be difficult. There were never enough clues in this sort of situation, even if the mother left a note …
She rummaged in the box.
No note.
Where’s the mother?
More importantly, who was the mother? She had to have been desperate to do this. To leave her baby in a cardboard box, in the middle of winter, on the doorstep of a stranger. She couldn’t have known that the baby would be found early. Could she? What if Lula had been on a late shift? The baby would have frozen to death. It didn’t bear thinking about.
It might be a teenage girl—someone afraid to tell her parents that she’d been pregnant. But how would you hide something like that? The baby looked a decent size—about seven pounds. It was obviously full term, so the pregnancy must have shown.
Perhaps it was an older woman who’d had an affair, and then her husband had come back from Afghanistan, or somewhere, and she’d had to get rid of it?
No, Lula, too far-fetched.
Or was it?
Finding a baby on her doorstep would probably have sounded too far-fetched yesterday.
There was a hammering on her front door and she rushed over to open it, letting Olly in. He stopped and stared at the baby and she saw the puzzlement on his face.
‘It’s not mine!’
‘Where did it come from?’ He closed the door behind him, pulling off his jacket.
She explained what had happened and they laid the baby on the rug in front of the roaring fire to examine it.
She was newborn. Barely hours old. The umbilical cord was tied off with navy blue string and still fresh. Vernix—the grease that covered a baby in the womb, to stop its skin getting waterlogged—was in the armpits and creases of the baby, indicating that maybe she was a little before term.
She was a little cold, but otherwise well.
She was extremely lucky.
‘She can’t have been outside long,’ Olly said.
‘Perhaps she’d only just been left by someone?’
‘Did you see anyone when you went outside? When you opened the door?’
Lula tried to think. But the shock of finding an abandoned baby had overridden everything. She couldn’t recall looking around the cottage or past the garden. She’d noticed the box, heard the crying and snuffling, and when she’d seen it was a baby had hurried back inside.
‘I didn’t look.’
‘Lula …’
‘I didn’t think! I was in shock! I … you don’t expect this, do you?’ She wrapped the baby up again and scooped her up, holding her tight against her body.
Olly watched her pace back and forth. ‘There must be a mother somewhere. She could be at risk if she doesn’t get proper medical attention.’
She nodded. ‘I know. I figure it has to be a teenager. Who do you know in the village that fits the bill?’
Olly sank onto the couch. ‘There are a few teenagers in the village—about twenty or so, I think. Most of them catch the school bus to go to the comprehensive in South Wold. I don’t see them very much—they don’t tend to come and see the doctor.’
‘Have any come to you about going on the pill? Any who you think could be sexually active?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I honestly haven’t seen any for a while. I think the last teenager I saw was the Blakes’s daughter, and that was for an ear infection.’
He racked his brains, but Olly could think of no one he’d seen at the surgery lately. Nor had he seen any teenage girl about the village on his day-to-day travels who had aroused his suspicion.
Surely he would have noticed a pregnant teenager?
But, then again, the same could be said for the girl’s parents. How did you not notice?
Olly made them both a drink, cringing at the sight of Anubis on the kitchen counter. All darkness and legs.
He’d just taken the tea through to the lounge when the police arrived.
There was a lot of questioning, a lot of hustle and bustle. Lula gave a statement, and then Olly told them the little he knew—that he couldn’t think of anyone who might have been concealing a pregnancy.
Lula felt quite protective of the little mite, and almost didn’t want to hand her over, but in the end she did, her heart sinking a little at the thought of what the future might hold for the little girl. Would she get lost in the system? Be passed from family to family?
She could only hope that they would find the baby’s mother. Before it was too late.
After the police had gone, and the small lounge and kitchen had emptied of uniformed bodies, she sank down into the seat by the fire and stared at Olly, ignoring the way the firelight flickered in the reflection of his blue eyes.
‘What a welcome to the village!’
He attempted a smile. ‘We did what we could for her.’
‘I worry that it’s not enough. Poor thing.’
‘We’ll find the mum.’
‘But what if we don’t? That baby will enter the system and there’s no guarantee of a happy ending for her, you know? Not all foster homes are great.’
He cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’
She met his gaze, noticing how beautiful his dark blue eyes were, framed by thick dark lashes. Men could be so lucky with their eyelashes, it seemed.
Lula nodded, deciding to be open with him. ‘I was like that little baby once. But I wasn’t left in a cardboard box in the snow in the middle of winter. My mother left me in a Moses basket on a beach.’
‘You were abandoned?’ He sat forward.
She gave a wry smile. ‘From what I know, I was found by a family who were packing up their beach hut. They’d been with their kids by the water’s edge, paddling and stuff. When they came back they found me. My mother had left a note, saying how sorry she was, how much she regretted doing it, but that she couldn’t keep me. With the note was this.’ She reached into her neckline and pulled out a silver necklace with a heart charm on the end. ‘She signed the note with the initials “EL”.’
‘“EL”? That’s all you were left with?’
‘And that she’d called me Louise.’ Lula sipped her drink and smiled at him. ‘You don’t have to feel sorry for me, you know. I’ve lived my life to the full.’
‘It’s not over yet. You’ve got years left.’
‘We never know, though, do we? I could get knocked down by a bus tomorrow.’
He frowned. ‘Actually, you couldn’t. There’s no bus service tomorrow.’
She smiled, but then Olly was serious again. ‘What happened to you?’
Lula shrugged. ‘I went from home to home till I was about seven and then I got put with a family who decided they wanted to adopt me.’
‘The Chances?’
‘Yes. They were lovely—really sweet people—but I knew I didn’t belong to them.’
‘They’d chosen you. Out of all those children looking for a permanent home, they picked you. You should be pleased about that.’
‘They had other adopted children and each of them had a problem, too. A health problem. Peter and Daisy Chance seemed to go after all the hard-luck cases—don’t ask me why.’
‘Perhaps they thought that children with issues needed the most love?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘But what was wrong with you? If you don’t mind me asking?’
She smiled. ‘I had leukaemia. Childhood leukaemia. They had no idea if I was going to live or die, and still the Chances wanted me. That was pretty brave of them, huh?’
He nodded, thoughtful.
‘I got better—though the chemo did some horrible things.’
‘But you got through it okay?’
‘As okay as I could at that age.’
Olly smiled. ‘You seem well now, though, and—as you say yourself—you pack everything into life. You work as a doctor, which is hard work and stressful, and you do other stuff, too.’
‘I made the decision to be happy and enjoy life and take my medicine every day.’ She smiled at him.
He looked at her strangely and she laughed at the curious frown on his face. ‘Why are you laughing?’
‘It was your face!’ She chuckled.
‘Thanks. A man likes to know his looks are amusing.’
‘It’s not your looks, Olly. There’s nothing wrong with those. But it was the way you looked at me.’
‘I was admiring you,’ he protested. ‘I mean, I was admiring your attitude to life. Not admiring you, per se. Not with that hair,’ he added with a wry grin.
She pursed her lips with amusement and then stood up and looked in the mirror over the fireplace. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my hair.’ She checked some of the strands, tweaking and rearranging her colours.
He stood up next to her and they both looked at each other in the mirror’s reflection. ‘No, of course not—it’s very … conservative.’
‘Hah! Now you’re being a snob. I thought I might add another colour to it, actually.’
‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows in question.
‘What do you think to making the rest of it green?’
‘You can’t be serious?’
‘I’m deadly serious.’
He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His open-mouthed flustering made her burst into more laughter and she punched him playfully on the arm. ‘I’m just joshing with you. Of course I’m not going green.’
‘Thank God for that! ’
‘I was thinking more like letter-box red.’
He didn’t believe her this time. He picked up his jacket and threw it on. ‘Well, though it has been fun, Dr Chance, deciding whether you want to look like your head has been in a collision with a paint factory, you and I need to put in an appearance at work. Otherwise the whole village may well fall foul of a deadly plague without our being in our chairs, ministering to the sick.’
‘Hmm … I’m not one to turn down the chance of fighting an epidemic.’
‘Ready to go, then?’
She put on her own coat and the incredibly long scarf that she’d been wearing earlier. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
‘You don’t need to feed the animals before we go?’
‘Already done.’
‘Any closer to picking up Anubis?’ He meant the tarantula.
‘No. But I gave him a damned good look this morning, and I got within two feet of the tank without shaking.’
‘Progress!’
‘Exactly!’
‘Do you want to sit in with me this morning? We could do the clinic together and it would give me the opportunity to fill you in on some of our frequent flyers.’
He meant the regulars who always turned up to the surgery, no matter what the state of their health. Every surgery had them. They were the people you could depend upon to turn up, who had nothing wrong with them but had got themselves appointments because they were lonely, or they wanted to chat about their problems in life in general.
Then there were the hypochondriacs, who turned up over every little niggle—real or imagined. But you had to take them seriously each time, and check them out no matter what, or you’d get The Boy Who Cried Wolf syndrome. If one day you decided to ignore their call for help it would be the one time that they were actually ill and really needed you.
‘Sure. I think that would be a good idea.’
‘And if I introduce you they won’t think that you’re some sort of fairy.’
She was closing her front door and locking it. ‘You think I look like a fairy?’ She tried to sound offended, even though she wasn’t.
‘It was my first thought.’
Her head cocked to one side. ‘And you, Dr James, look like a blond Clark Kent. Do I need to warn everyone that you don’t actually wear your underpants over your trousers?’
Olly seemed to take the hint. And the reprimand. ‘I’m sorry.’
She perked up and smiled. ‘You’re so serious! I was joking! I quite like the fact you think I look like a fairy. I’d hate to look boring and normal.’
‘What’s wrong with boring and normal?’
‘It’s boring. And normal. Be different. Stand out from the crowd. Have a list!’ She laughed and he almost looked dismayed at her enjoyment.
‘You think I’m wrong to have a list?’
‘Not wrong, per se. Everyone has certain requirements for a partner.’
‘Exactly.’
‘They just don’t usually write them down.’
He stopped her from trudging through the snow by grabbing hold of her arm. ‘How do you know they’re written down?’
She stopped to look at his hand, trying hard not to think of how close it was to her smouldering skin. She met his gaze instead. ‘Your father told me.’
‘Dad did?’
She nodded and he let go.
They were crunching through the snow now, past Betsy and Olly’s car and towards the surgery. It was picture-postcard perfect, with everything blanketed in white.
Lula turned to him. ‘You know, Olly, a man like you shouldn’t need a list.’
‘A man like me? What does that mean?’
‘A young man. Educated. Good-looking. An eligible bachelor. Though you could do with a different look.’
‘What’s wrong with my look?’
‘Oh, come on, Olly. You think I don’t already know that you’re considered to be the “hottie” of the village? All the ladies last night at the belly dancing think you’re a babe.’
He preened a little. ‘Really?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And you?’
‘And me what?’
‘Do you think I’m a babe?’
‘Well, as gorgeous as you are, I can tell your look hasn’t changed for decades. Side parting … bit conservative. It would surprise me if you didn’t have a pair of brown corduroy trousers in your wardrobe. You need to spice yourself up a bit.’
She stopped to look at him, at his dark hair, his bright blue eyes and solid jaw. He was narrow at the waist and broad at the shoulders. He might have been a male model. Olly was the epitome of male good looks, handsome and attractive, and if she was in the market for a man then he’d be the type that she would go for.
But I’m not. And I won’t.
‘You’re okay, though.’
He laughed out loud, plumes of his warm breath freezing in the cold winter air. As she watched him chuckling to himself beside her, she felt a little twinge of regret that she’d sworn off men for good.
Olly wasn’t sure what to make of Lula’s assessment of his character. He was amused and offended at the same time. What was wrong with having a pair of brown corduroys? They were comfortable and warm and … Oh. Sensible.
Was he very sensible? Yes, he was, but he’d always thought of that as a strength. He was a loyal, dependable guy who enjoyed living a quiet life. Better than having to live in a big, noisy city, where no one talked to each other or looked out for their neighbours. Where there was no community spirit.
Lula seemed to think that his life was a little too staid. A little too quiet. Genteel. But when you enjoyed living in a small community it was what you got used to. Lula’s arrival in the village, with her rainbow-splashed hair and joyful approach to life, was like dropping a lit firework into a dormant barrel of gunpowder.
She would set off sparks and there would be implications.
Some people might enjoy it. Some people might be glad of it—the village being woken up from its dreamy slumber.
Will I like it?
He liked her. He knew that already. She was bright and funny and clever, and he loved her attitude to life. But he couldn’t help but wonder if she would leave him feeling a bit … beige. He was so used to a quiet life—answering to no one but himself, really—and he’d resigned himself to the fact that the right woman hadn’t come along … He’d always figured he’d end up running the practice when his dad retired. The business would be his. Everyone would expect him to carry on and he’d do it—easily, without complaint …
But what if he couldn’t? What if Lula was exactly the sort of person he needed in his life before he lived the entire thing having never done anything challenging or exciting?
He didn’t like to think she would make him feel his life was lacking in flavour.
He didn’t like to think that she would disapprove of his life.
He wanted to prove her wrong.
It was nice and warm in the surgery. The receptionist made them cups of tea and Olly gave Lula a quick tour. He showed her where her consulting room was, and then they went to his and he instructed her in how to log on to the computer system.
Even though there’d been that morning’s drama and they were a little behind, and the waiting room was full, Lula needed to see how to use the practice’s system. It wasn’t one of the newer ones she was familiar with, but it was quite an easy system.
The home screen for each patient gave a basic rundown of their personal details—name, address, date of birth, current age—and also their current medication, if any, details of their last few appointments and what they’d been diagnosed with. She could take a quick glance at the screen and get a pretty general idea about a patient before they came into the room to tell her their new problem.
Lula sat to one side of Olly and observed as he began to see patients.
First a mother brought her eight-year-old son in. He’d got a tummy ache, and his mother reported that he always got them before school. They had a little chat with the boy who told them that he didn’t like school, or the other boys there, and so it was put down to stress and anxiety rather than any sort of bug or infection—or something more dramatic like appendicitis.
Next they saw another mother, much younger this time, with three-month-old twin girls. Basically, she wasn’t coping. The twins fed erratically, she’d had to give up on breastfeeding and she felt a failure. They kept crying, and they wouldn’t sleep, so neither could she. It was all getting a bit too much.
Olly gave her some information about a twins group over at South Wold, and a short prescription for antidepressants at a low dosage to see how she got on. He also told her that he would contact her local health visitor and ask her to call in and give her some advice on coping with the babies. She seemed happy with that and off she went, pushing her buggy with the two screaming babies in it. The surgery was much quieter after she left.
Then they saw a woman in her fifties called Eleanor Lomax. Lula sat up straighter when this woman came in, and studied her hard.
Eleanor was fifty-six. On her fiftieth birthday she had found a lump in her breast which had turned out to be cancer. She’d fought the disease and beaten it, but now she was having issues over her health again.
‘Every night, Doctor, I lie in my bed and feel a twinge here or there, or a niggle somewhere else, and I keep thinking, Is this it? Is it back? I can’t sleep for the worry that the cancer will return.’
Eleanor was sitting in her chair very upright, straight-backed and erect. Her hair was already silver, but beautifully cut and styled. She had large brown eyes, shaped like almonds, and a long, thin, aquiline nose in her perfectly made-up face. Her clothes were expensive and she looked like a woman who had refined tastes. Lula could only look at her and wonder …
Olly, meanwhile, was unaware of Lula’s assessment and was doing his best to reassure his patient. ‘It’s perfectly natural to feel this way, Eleanor, after what you’ve been through. Have you tried talking to your cancer nurse about it?’
‘She’s so busy. I don’t like to bother her.’
‘You’re not bothering her. It’s what she’s there for. Have you been to counselling since your recovery? A support group?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not my thing.’
‘What is your thing?’ asked Lula.
Olly glanced at her sideways, surprised by her interruption.
Miss Lomax turned to Lula and shrugged. ‘I’ve always taken care of things myself. Supported myself. I don’t like to lean on others.’
Lula said nothing more as Olly put Miss Lomax in touch with a support group and gave her a few leaflets about counselling and cognitive behaviour therapy before she went on her way.
When Eleanor had left Olly turned in his chair. ‘You okay?’
She nodded. ‘Fine.’ She didn’t want to tell him that she was wondering if Eleanor Lomax was her mother. The mystery ‘EL’ she’d been searching for lately.
They saw an old man suffering with diarrhoea, a young man with a sore knee who’d played football with his work colleagues the day before, a baby with a cold, and a woman who’d come in to talk about her daughter.
‘She’s been very withdrawn lately.’
‘And she’s how old?’
‘Thirteen. It could be puberty starting—I don’t know. They get flooded with hormones at this age, don’t they? But she’s not herself and she hides away in her room all the time and doesn’t eat.’
Olly was reluctant to diagnose anyone without actually seeing her. ‘Perhaps you could get Ruby to come in? Do you think you could get her here? Then we could weigh her and allay any fears you may have about her eating.’
‘I could try, but she’s not very cooperative at the moment. Always arguing with us when we do see her.’
‘Well, I can’t do anything unless I examine her.’
‘Could you come out to us?’ she asked.
‘I only really do home visits if it’s impossible for my patients to get to me.’
Lula was surprised by this. She thought that it might be better if Olly did try to go and see Ruby at home and she suggested it. Especially after what had happened that morning with the baby. They were looking for a teenage girl. But Olly wasn’t too happy about having his methods contradicted, although he tried his best not to show it.
For the rest of the day they saw a standard mix of patients—a lady who wanted a repeat prescription, another lady who had a chest infection and a man who’d come in to discuss his blood test results and was quite anaemic.
A typical day for a GP. Lula even saw some patients of her own.
When the clinic was over, and with only two house visits left to do, they stopped for a cup of tea and a bite to eat.
‘Mary might have brought in one of her delicious cakes for us to eat,’ Olly said, and smiled.
Mary was the receptionist, and she had indeed brought in a coffee liqueur cake that was rich and moist and devilishly moreish.
‘Mary, you must give me the recipe!’ Lula said.
‘I can’t do that—it’s a family secret! ’
‘What if I promise not to tell anyone?’
‘We’ll see, Dr Chance. Perhaps if you stay on then I might give it to you.’
Lula agreed that it was a deal, knowing she would never get the recipe. She had no plans to stay here in Atlee Wold. She was here to do two things. One was to work as a doctor, and the second … Well, Olly was about to find that out.
He sat down in the chair next to hers in the staff lounge. ‘Well, how did you enjoy your first clinic here?’
‘It was good. Interesting. There’s a real community feel to a small village practice that you just don’t get in a large city.’
‘That’s the truth. You can build relationships with people here that go on for years. Not that you can’t do that in the city or in towns, but when you live amongst the people you treat, shop in their store, post your mail in their post office, you develop friendships, too.’
‘Don’t you find it sometimes restricts the amount of privacy you have?’ Lula asked.
‘Not at all. I don’t mind that everyone knows I’m a doctor, and that my father was before me, and that I got the big scar on my leg from falling out of a tree in Mrs Macabee’s orchard.’
‘Ooh, let’s see!’
Lula was always fascinated to see scars and hear the story behind them. She guessed it was part of being a doctor. She had a thing about noticing people’s veins, too. Whether or not they had good juicy veins, ripe for a blood test. You developed an odd sense of humour, being a medical professional.
Olly put his tea down and rolled up his right trouser leg to reveal a slightly jagged scar running down the front of his shin. ‘Broke my tib and fib. Open fracture.’
‘Nasty.’ She could imagine the bones sticking out through the skin. The pain, the blood. The panic. She ignored the fact that he had a beautifully muscular leg, covered in fine dark hair.
‘Mrs Macabee got my dad and they took me to the A&E over at Petersfield. We were treated by people who were very kind and friendly, but I was just another casualty to come through the door. Here in Atlee Wold we really care about one another.’
‘All doctors care about their patients, Olly.’
‘I know, but you know what I’m trying to say. Don’t you?’
She nodded. She did know. She was just playing devil’s advocate.
‘You say you know a lot about people here in Atlee Wold? Their histories? Does that include everybody in the village? Do you know absolutely everyone?’
‘Pretty much. Why?’
‘Eleanor Lomax. The lady who had breast cancer. What can you tell me about her past?’
‘Eleanor? She’s a lovely lady. Always lived on her own. Keeps herself to herself. Retired now, but she used to run a boutique, I think. Why?’
Lula shrugged. ‘She just caught my attention. Mainly because … Well, to be perfectly honest with you, Olly, I’m not just here to work.’ She bit her lip and looked at him to gauge his reaction.
‘Or to belly dance?’
She smiled. ‘Or to belly dance. I’m here to find someone. Someone whose initials are EL.’
‘EL … like your mother? You think Eleanor Lomax might be your mother?’ He looked incredulous.
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘What makes you think your mother is in Atlee Wold? There must be hundreds, if not thousands of women in the UK with the initials EL.’
‘Well, it’s complicated …’
‘When isn’t it?’
‘When I was abandoned there was obviously some press coverage.’
‘Right.’ He was listening intently, his brow furrowed.
‘The papers asked for my mother to come forward, to let them know she was all right, to see if they could reunite us—that sort of thing. Well, the paper in Portsmouth—the Portsmouth News—was sent a letter by someone signing it “EL”. The letter explained that she couldn’t come forward. That her parents had made her give up the baby, there was no chance of us being together, and that she hoped they would leave her alone.’
‘She sounded desperate?’
Lula nodded. ‘There was a postmark from the Petersfield sorting office, and the handwriting was very distinctive. A journalist took it around the local post offices, to see if any of the staff could remember franking it, and one did. He also remembered the woman who’d posted it, because she’d been upset and had had red eyes from crying.’
‘I can see why he’d remember a crying customer.’
‘Anyway, they questioned this man and he said he’d seen her before. Getting off the bus from Atlee Wold.’
‘That’s what you’re going on?’ he asked incredulously. ‘It’s tenuous, at best.’
‘It’s all I have.’
‘Did the journalist come here? Try and track her down?’
‘He said there were a number of women with the initials EL in Atlee Wold and that none of them would talk to him.’
Olly looked at her. ‘Oh, Lula … I wish I had something more constructive to say, but I think you’re taking a long shot. It’s all hearsay and secondhand, and relying on the memory of a guy who thinks he saw a woman get off a bus once. And EL—whoever she is—could have got off the bus from Atlee Wold to throw people off track.’
‘It’s better than having nothing at all, Olly. Imagine having that. No idea at all. You’re close to your father. You know your family history. You have roots. Just think for a moment how you’d feel if you had none of that. Wouldn’t you feel … adrift? A bit lost? Wouldn’t a part of you want to know?’
He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. ‘I guess so. My mother died when I was very young, so I don’t remember her. I’ve always felt something’s been missing.’
‘So you understand that I have to try? Because if I didn’t then I’d never forgive myself if it turned out my actual birth mother was living within a few miles of me and I never looked for her.’
‘And if she is here? If you do find her?’
Lula smiled. ‘Then I’ll know where she is. And that will be enough. I’m not silly enough to expect that we’ll suddenly fall into each other’s arms and have a mother-daughter relationship.’
‘And if she rejects you?’
‘Then I can’t hurt any more then I already do. She already did that once. Remember?’
Olly didn’t often find himself not knowing what to say. He was usually the person people went to with their problems and he always had some sort of advice to give. But this … this was different. ‘I think, Dr Lula Chance, that you are a very brave lady indeed.’
She looked up at him through her purple fringe and her eyes twinkled with appreciation. ‘Thanks, Olly. I appreciate your help.’
‘My pleasure. Not that I actually helped much.’
‘You listened. And sometimes that’s all someone needs.’
‘For you, Lula, my ears are always open.’
He passed her another piece of cake and they sat there in companionable silence.
Before afternoon surgery began Olly spoke to his father over the phone.
‘So she’s looking for her mother? Here in the village?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Well! Can’t say I blame her … but I can’t imagine who it might be.’
Olly nodded, doodling with his pen absentmindedly. ‘Neither can I. But I want to help her if I can.’
‘You like her, don’t you?’
‘Dad!’ he warned. ‘Don’t start.’
‘I’m not starting,’ he replied innocently. ‘Just encouraging you.’
‘Let me get this straight. You’d want to see me with a woman like Lula?’ He almost couldn’t believe his ears. His father was the most strait-laced man he knew!
‘Why not?’
‘Well, because she’s …’
‘She’s what?’
Olly wasn’t sure how to answer him. ‘Out there!’
‘She’s just what you need. After all that business with Rachel.’
As if he needed reminding. That had been a really dark time. Rachel had barged into his life like a wrecking ball and left just as much devastation behind.
Would Lula do the same?

CHAPTER THREE (#u4c33a401-aa48-5981-822b-325965fdcb12)
AFTER WORK, LULA TOOK herself over to the village library. It wasn’t huge. In fact it was barely a library at all—just one small room, lined with books. Since the funding had been cut it was no longer staffed, and it relied on the goodwill of its customers to ensure it was looked after and that they signed out their own books.
It was a strange set-up, and for a while Lula felt odd, standing there alone, looking around the small room. One side was fiction, in alphabetical order, and the other side non-fiction, all in the Dewey decimal system. In the centre were racks of children’s books and some old DVDs. In one corner, beneath a window, sat an ancient computer and a microfiche reader, alongside a filing cabinet. She headed over.

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