His Perfect Bride?

‘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

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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