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His Christmas Bride-To-Be. Abigail Gordon
Читать онлайн.Название His Christmas Bride-To-Be
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Автор произведения Abigail Gordon
Жанр Современные любовные романы
Издательство HarperCollins
‘We were just about to,’ someone said. ‘It’s why we’re all gathered below decks, but first we need to know if Emma would like that sort of thing.’
‘I would love it,’ she told them with a glance at Lydia, who had brought some clarity into her life and was smiling across at her.
‘So how about tonight, at one of the restaurants on the Promenade that has a dance floor?’ Mark Davies, a young GP trainee and a stranger to her, suggested. ‘Any excuse for food and fun.’
As the idea seemed to appeal to the rest of them it was arranged that they meet at the Barrington Bar at eight o’clock. As they all went home to make the best of what was left of Saturday, Emma felt that it was beginning to feel more like a homecoming, although she had no idea what to wear.
There had been no time or inclination to dress up where she’d been. It had been cotton cropped trousers and a loose shirt with a wide-brimmed hat to protect her face from the heat of the sun, and any clothes that she’d left in the wardrobe here would be reminders of the hurt that being told she had been living there on sufferance had caused. They would also smell stale.
So after a quick bite in a nearby snack bar she went clothes shopping for the evening ahead and found the experience exhilarating after the long gap of wearing attractive outfits. Her euphoria didn’t last long.
There was the arranging of Jeremy’s funeral that had to be her first priority after the weekend, and if she’d needed a reminder the amount of black outfits in the boutiques and big stores would have given her memory the necessary prod.
As she made her way homewards with a dark winter suit and matching accessories for the funeral, and, totally opposite, a turquoise mini-dress for the night ahead with silver shoes and a white fake-fur jacket, Emma was remembering that it was the new head of the practice who had prompted the staff to arrange the welcome-back occasion of the coming evening. Would he be there?
Glenn Bartlett knew her less than anyone and, having seen him in the smart black overcoat, she imagined that he would turn up well dressed.
He did come, looking more like an attractive member of the opposite sex than a sombre well-wisher, and suddenly the evening felt happy and carefree after her time of hurt and toiling in hot places.
For one thing, Lydia had solved the missing wife mystery that had been concerning Emma, and for another the surgery crowd, apart from a couple of newcomers, had been delighted to see her back in Glenminster. And to feel wanted was a wonderful thing.
The Barrington Bar, where they were gathered, was one of the town’s high spots as it boasted good food in a smart restaurant area beside a dance floor with musicians who were a delight to the ear, and as she looked around her the new head of the practice said from behind her, ‘So is it good to be back, Emma?’
‘Yes,’ she said, sparkling back at him, and he thought that the weary-looking occupant of what had been a drab, deserted house had come out of her shell with gusto. The dress, jacket and shoes were magical.
Some of the practice staff had brought partners with them but not so Glenn Bartlett. There was a look of solitariness about him, even though he was being friendly enough after their uncomfortable first meeting.
Did he live alone in the converted barn that he’d mentioned when he’d rung her bell last night? she wondered. Someone had said when they’d all been gathered at the practice earlier that he’d been taking his father with the big appetite home.
At that moment James Prentice, a young GP who had recently joined the practice, appeared at her side and asked if she would like to dance. As Emma smiled at him and took hold of his outstretched hand, the man by her side strolled towards the bar and once he’d been served seated himself at an empty table and gazed into space unsmilingly.
He’d been a fool to come, Glenn was thinking. The fact that he’d suggested a welcome homecoming for Jeremy Chalmers’s daughter would have been enough to add to switching on the heating and filling the refrigerator in that ghastly place, without turning out for a night at the Barrington Bar. It would have been a tempting idea at one time but not now, never again.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that Emma Chalmers had returned to the Cotswolds for a very sad occasion he would have left her to it, but common decency had required that he make sure she had food and warmth and the pleasure of tonight’s gathering to make her feel welcome because she’d looked tired and joyless on her arrival, which was not surprising after a long flight and a funeral to arrange as soon as possible.
Glenn finished his drink and, rising from his seat, told those of his companions who were nearest that he was leaving, going home to enjoy the peace that his father’s departure had restored.
Emma was still on the dance floor in her partner’s arms and as she glanced across he waved a brief goodbye and was gone.
Back home he sat in silence, gazing out into the dark night with the memory of Jeremy Chalmers’s last moments on the golf course starkly clear. He’d known him before stepping into the vacancy that his passing had left.
The then head of the practice and his father had met at university. Jeremy, who had been on the point of retiring, had invited his friend’s son, also a doctor, to stay for the weekend to familiarise himself with the running of the practice with a view to taking over as his replacement in the very near future after the necessary procedures had been dealt with.
They’d gone for a round of golf after lunch at the club and while on the course Jeremy had suffered the heart attack that had proved fatal. In intense pain he had managed to gasp out his last request and he, Glenn, working on him desperately as he’d tried to save him, had been stunned when he’d heard what it was.
‘I have a daughter,’ he’d croaked between pain spasms, ‘and I upset her gravely some years ago, so much so that she left to go where I don’t know, except it wasn’t in this country. Emma is a doctor and most likely has gone to one of the hot spots where they need as many medics as they can get.’
‘Bring her home for me, Glenn, back to where she was happy until I told her some unmentionable things about me.’
His lips had been blue, his eyes glazing even as the sound of an approaching ambulance could be heard screeching towards them, and his last words had been, ‘Promise you will?’
‘Yes, I promise,’ he’d told him gravely, and then his father’s friend had died.
Now, sitting sombrely in the attractive sitting room of the property he’d bought on the occasion of taking over the practice, Glenn was remembering the time and effort he’d put in to discover the whereabouts of the missing daughter. He was upset to think that he hadn’t tuned in to who she was outside the surgery the night before.
Fortunately he’d made sure that the house that had been her home previously was warm and habitable a day early and had had food in the refrigerator. Then had gone the extra mile by suggesting that the folk from the practice make her welcome with an evening in one of Glenminster’s high spots.
Now just one thing remained regarding his promise to her father, and when that was done maybe he would be able to have a life of his own once again. The task of locating Emma Chalmers had been mammoth.
He would be there for her at her father’s funeral and once that ordeal was over he was going to step aside and let her get on with her life. The same way he intended to carry on with his own, which was empty of womankind and was going to stay that way.
Drawing the curtains across to shut out the night, he went slowly up the spiral staircase that graced the hallway of his home and lay on top of the bedcovers, his last concern before sleep claimed him being the stranger that he had reluctantly taken under his wing.
What was her story? he wondered. Had she been close to Jeremy and they’d rowed