LITMIR.BIZ

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PACES TO her gate. Neve counted them all. After that, ten paces would be enough to take her up the front path. It turned out to be eleven because she slipped on the ice, grabbing at the porch rails to steady herself and wrenching her shoulder as her heavy medical bag fell to the ground.

      She waved her hand in front of the sensor for the porch light, and nothing happened. The electricity was still off, then. All the same, the cast-iron stove in the kitchen would be throwing out heat, and she couldn’t wait to get inside. Just as she was about to savour the moment of sliding the key into the lock of her own front door, her phone rang. Dammit. If she had to go out in the snow again tonight…

      If she had to go out again tonight, then so be it. She’d turn around, slide back down the front path and hope that it wouldn’t take twenty minutes to start her car this time. The vision of sipping a hot drink and letting her toes thaw in front of the stove, which had carried her through the last hours of a very long day, began to recede.

      ‘Yeah, Maisie. What have you got for me?’

      ‘Good news…’

      ‘Really?’ Neve took the risk of further disappointment and opened the front door, stepping inside and dumping her bag in the hallway. It wasn’t much warmer in here, but the kitchen door was closed against the chill in the rest of the old farmhouse. ‘Is it safe to take my coat off?’

      ‘Aren’t you home yet?’

      ‘Just. It took me over an hour to get back from my last appointment. The road through Cryersbridge was blocked by a car that slid out of control, and we had to wait until it was towed.’

      ‘You must be frozen. Are you in the warm now, pet?’ Maisie Johnstone was the wife of the senior partner of the Yorkshire practice that Neve had joined eighteen months ago, and sometimes took it upon herself to mother Neve. That was okay. Neve could do with a bit of that at the moment.

      ‘Hold on…’ Neve tramped through to the kitchen, her boots shedding shards of ice onto the carpet. Opened the door, and the heat hit her like a soft, welcoming pillow. Light flared as she struck a match and lit the candles on the kitchen table, and she shed her coat and sat down. Pulling her boots off with one hand, she pressed her phone to her ear with the other.

      ‘Fire away, Maisie, I need some good news…’

      She heard Maisie’s chuckle at the other end of the line. ‘Some of the local practices have got together with the healthcare trust to organise a group of volunteers with four-wheel-drive vehicles. The idea is that they’ll help doctors and district nurses who are having difficulty getting through to patients. You’ve got your very own escort for tomorrow.’

      Neve swallowed hard. This sounded too good to be true, and if the general trend for today was anything to go by, that meant it was. ‘Who? Is he local?’

      ‘Lives in Leminster. He’s from Canada, so I suppose he must know a bit about snow.’

      ‘Sounds promising.’

      ‘It is. Joe’s a nice guy. Outdoorsy type. Moved here just before Christmas last year. He was on crutches then, but that was only for a couple of months. He built a front porch for Edie Wilcox last summer and put in grab rails so she could get in and out of the house…’

      ‘Wait… Who’s Edie Wilcox?’ Maisie had lived in this area all her life and seemed to know the life histories of everyone within a thirty-mile radius.

      ‘She lives in Leminster. Married old Stan Wilcox and they argued for thirty-seven years non-stop until he dropped down dead from a heart attack. She was devastated and didn’t go out of the house for a couple of years…’

      ‘She doesn’t go out?’

      ‘Oh, that was twenty years ago. She goes out all the time now. Likes to terrorise the tourists in the summer. Edie’s a tough old bird and proud with it. She won’t let the social services past the front door, but she must have taken a liking to Joe because she let him do a few alterations to her cottage to make it a bit easier for her to get around.’

      Neve’s head was beginning to swim. Maisie had been invaluable in helping her to settle in and be accepted by the community, but there was always the danger of going into information overload.

      ‘So his name’s Joe? The guy with the four-by-four?’

      ‘That’s right. Joe Lamont. He was going to call round to see you this evening, just to make contact, but I expect he’s missed you if you’ve only just got home. Did he leave a note?’

      ‘I don’t think so. Hold on, I’ll go and see.’ Neve scooted down the hall to the front door, treading on a piece of ice and feeling it melt through her thick woollen socks. ‘No, nothing here.’ Shivering, she hurried back to the warmth of the kitchen.

      ‘I’ll call him, then, and let him know you’ll be in contact.’

      ‘That’s okay, I’ll call him now…’ Neve found a pen and scribbled the number that Maisie recited onto the back of her hand.

      ‘You’re all right out there, are you? You know you can always stay with us.’

      ‘I’m fine. Thanks, Maisie, but I’ve got all I need.’ She had food, heat and plenty of candles. The farmhouse kitchen extended the full width of the back of the house, and was big enough to easily accommodate a table and chairs next to the cooking area, and a sofa bed at the far end by the old stone hearth. Right now, the sofa bed was the only thing she needed.

      ‘Okay. I’ll give you a call in the morning. Stay warm.’

      A cup of tea, and then she’d call this guy and get some sleep. Neve filled the kettle and set it to boil on the stove.

      The front door rattled, as if something heavy had struck it. Neve wondered if she should go and see what it was and decided against it. If that was the porch collapsing under the weight of snow on the roof, then tomorrow morning would be soon enough to find out.

      Two more thumps and the muffled sound of a voice. Someone was outside. Neve picked up a candle and ventured into the hall.

      Movement, and a flare of light ahead of her made her jump. Stupid, it was just the candle, reflected in the hall mirror. Perhaps it was the flickering light that made her look like something out of a horror movie, a chalk-white face with dark circles under the eyes. Neve grimaced at herself in the glass, swiping her free hand through her unruly blonde curls in an effort to make herself look vaguely presentable.

      ‘Who’s there?’

      ‘Joe Lamont. I’m looking for Dr Harrison.’

      ‘What…?’ Neve bit her tongue. There wasn’t much point in asking what he was doing out on a night like this if she was going to leave him standing on the doorstep. She pulled the door open, and a gust of freezing air blew the candle out, leaving her staring at a large, black shadow.

      ‘Come in. I was about to phone you.’

      ‘Thanks…’ The figure kicked his heavy boots against the doorstep, and stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind him. ‘Your doorbell isn’t working.’

      ‘No, the power’s off. Wait there a moment. I’ll just open the kitchen door to give us some light…’ Suddenly, a torch beam almost blinded her, and a gloved hand found hers.

      ‘Here. Take this.’

      For a moment all Neve could register was his smell. Warm and clean, the kind of scent produced by the chemistry of soap and skin, rather than anything you got from a bottle. Then he put the torch into her hand, stepping back almost immediately, as if to give her some space.

      ‘Thanks.’ She had a strong temptation to shine the light in the direction of Joe’s outline, but Neve resisted it and turned, leading the way through the hallway. ‘Come through.’

      She shut the kitchen door behind them, watching while Joe pulled his gloves off and unzipped his heavy jacket. He was tall, with what looked like broad shoulders, but that

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