His Perfect Bride?

‘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

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.’