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to get to her feet, trying to balance the extra weight she was carrying around her middle.

      Iona gave her a hand rather than watch her struggle like a turtle flipped onto its back, trying to right itself.

      ‘Well, you haven’t long to go now. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks if you don’t go into labour before then.’ They’d discussed Della having to be induced if she went too far past her predicted due date but as this was her second pregnancy with no previous complications, Iona wasn’t expecting she would require medical intervention.

      ‘Thanks. I can’t wait to have this little bundle in my arms.’ That tender belly-rub every mother-to-be performed in here made Iona think about her own mum and the excitement she must’ve felt before her impending birth. A woman didn’t carry and protect her baby for nine months expecting they’d both end up trapped in a life neither of them wanted.

      She swallowed the rising sob in her chest. They were both free from those soul-destroying relationships now. It was just a tragedy it had come at the price of her mother’s death.

      ‘Your daughter will be here soon enough.’ Iona handed Della’s antenatal notes back to her with a smile. This was supposed to be a happy time for both of them. She had her own baby to get back to—her shiny new flat—and since they were three-quarters of the way through December she’d even treated herself to some new Christmas decorations. Some might say she’d gone overboard but she had enough to brighten up this dreary place too and really mark her first Christmas in the village.

      * * *

      ‘I need these bloods sent off to the lab, there’s a pile of hospital referrals that need to be chased up, and this is Mrs Robertson’s prescription. Her husband’s going to call in before closing. I’ve informed him we usually require forty-eight hours for repeat prescriptions and we can’t keep on doing this.’

      ‘But she is eighty-three and we have to make allowances,’ Sheila, Fraser’s secretary, reminded him as she took the stack of paperwork from him with a nod and set it on her desk.

      ‘It doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.’ He had enough to do without these last-minute requests to deal with too.

      Taking on the role of senior partner brought with it a lot of extra form filling and bureaucracy but it was a position he revelled in. It gave him an extra say in how the practice was run and that would make him infinitely happier in his work. Structure and boundaries gave him a sense of security, an assurance he was doing things right. It was when he strayed from the rules that things fell apart. Okay, so he was no longer that over-active little boy whose parents had sent him to boarding school so he wouldn’t disturb his sick mother, but he’d learned his lesson since then. If he played by the rules there was a place for him and things would work out fine. Now he simply had to get everyone else to fall in line with him.

      Not all of Jim Irvine’s practices adhered with that idea of running a smooth clinic. Now, there was a man who hadn’t bothered too much about form filling or adhering to schedules. That kind of reckless approach had led to inevitable chaos and caused a run-on effect that could have seen the practice run into the ground if not for Fraser picking up the slack to keep the place afloat.

      At least Sheila, his second-in-command, who’d been here since the year dot, appreciated how hard he was working to make these changes a success and could be relied on to keep on top of things. Sure, some of his forward-thinking ideas were going to rub a few members of staff up the wrong way. One particular community midwife with chestnut-coloured curls, who thrived on challenging his authority, sprang to mind, having made it clear she preferred his predecessor’s slap dash ethos to his.

      When Iona had first started working at the clinic Fraser had been pleased they’d drafted in some new blood to bring some modern thinking into the outdated practice and lower the average age of the village population at the same time. There weren’t many single, young women in the vicinity but if he’d harboured any nonsensical ideas about finding someone else to settle down with again, Iona had put paid to that with her rebellion against his attempts to bring some structure to the practice.

      She refused to attend his weekly meetings regarding the cleaning rota for the staffroom on the basis she ate her meals in her car and was solely responsible for its upkeep. Then there was the argument they’d had over the clutter Iona seemed to accumulate in her room. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that it was her territory and as long as it was clean and functional it was not Fraser’s concern.

      It seemed Iona preferred to tackle problems as they came in rather than pre-empt them. He’d been there with Caroline, his last girlfriend, and wasn’t prepared to go through it again. Caroline had let him imagine they had a future together, planning that happy family with him he’d long been denied. Only she’d decided at the last minute it wasn’t what she wanted at all and had blamed him for apparently not being true to her, or himself. Whatever that meant.

      So he’d ploughed all of his energy back into work instead of the domestic bliss he’d been promised. He wasn’t going to let another flighty woman steal his dreams from him when a new efficient way of working would better serve patients and staff alike.

      Whether Iona Munro liked it or not, his new system was getting results. His last patient had been and gone and he was finishing for the day bang on time. Simply by sticking to the ten-minute time slots for each appointment, everything was running like clockwork. He’d say that was a resounding success and a score for all of the Type A personalities out there.

      ‘I’ll get on to these straight away, Dr McColl,’ Sheila called after him since he’d already left the main office to check all patients had left the premises. At this time of the evening, as the working day was winding down, the hubbub outside the treatment rooms had usually died down, but there were still a few voices ringing out from the reception area. Any out-of-hours emergencies now should have been referred to the hospital or the doctor on call for the area.

      The notion that his perfectly executed schedule had been thrown into disarray ploughed grooves across Fraser’s forehead even before he was met with the debacle in the waiting area.

      ‘Lift your side up a little higher. Left a bit. How does that look now? Is it straight?’ Iona was balanced on a chair, trying to pin a gaudy gold-foil garland to the ceiling, with Victoria, the receptionist, as her partner in crime.

      ‘What the—?’ Fraser stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Iona, barefoot and on tiptoe, breaking every health and safety rule in the workplace. He was in danger of hyperventilating as he did a quick risk assessment of the scene.

      ‘Oh, hi, Fraser. I thought we could brighten the place up and make it look less sterile in here.’ Unlike the rest of the staff, who quickly made themselves scarce, Iona carried on decorating as though she was perfectly entitled to do as she pleased. It was one thing managing her own caseload but she didn’t have any authority outside that.

      ‘It’s supposed to be sterile!’ Fraser didn’t want to lose his temper when that would be a sign he wasn’t in control. Although the garish garlands draped across every available space, transforming the beige room into an eyesore of gold and red, hinted he hadn’t asserted his authority here as much as he’d believed.

      ‘Lighten up, Fraser. It’s Christmas. If you’re worried about the cost, it’s coming from my own pocket, not yours.

      ‘Fraser.’ This was exactly why she rubbed him up the wrong way. Iona gave no thought for the rules or decorum in the workplace, or anywhere else for that matter. The patients loved her easygoing persona but for Fraser that free spirit vibe was unsettling, as was anything that didn’t fit into his idea of conformity. It upset that safe environment he was trying to set up here, and quite frankly he didn’t know how to handle it.

      Fraser had mistakenly believed Caroline had been the one person who’d understood him when they’d made their plans to get married and settle down into quiet family life, but when his father had died and he’d inherited the family estate he’d discovered the truth. Once Fraser had the means to make those dreams a reality Caroline had confessed they’d been nothing more

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