LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For a fellow writer,

      my friend Daniel Constantinou, and his lovely family.

      CHAPTER ONE

      When Hugo Lawrence pulled into the drive of the house where he had lived for the last year and a half on a temporary basis it was a strange feeling to know that it was now his, and that those who had occupied it before had gone on to a new life.

      The grey stone detached house, appropriately named Lakes Rise because it was in an elevated position above one of the biggest lakes in the area, had belonged to his widowed sister Patrice and her two young daughters.

      Patrice had lost her husband Warren from an undiagnosed heart defect eighteen months previously and stricken with grief had been totally unable to cope, so much so that for the children’s sakes as much as anything he had moved from general practice in southern England to take up a similar position in the village of Swallowbrook where she lived, to keep a protective eye on the bereaved family.

      Living with them day in day out, comforting and coping as he’d tried to lessen their insecurities and wipe away the tears that the loss of an adored husband and father had brought about had been a gruelling experience and caused him to take a long, hard look at the pain and sorrow that loving too much and too well could cause.

      He and his sister had lost their parents when they were in their early teens and as the eldest Hugo had always been very protective of his young sister, often having to put his own life on hold over the years for her sake and never begrudging it.

      Patrice’s happy marriage had given him five years’ respite from that crushing feeling of responsibility towards his sister, and now, with her recent move to Canada, he had begun to breathe easier once again. Not that he begrudged the time he’d spent helping her pick up the pieces, but at least now she had a fresh start to look forward to and he had his own place to start putting down some roots.

      When Patrice had talked about putting the house up for sale he had said not to, that he would buy Lakes Rise. He loved the job and got on well with the other two doctors in the practice, and it was a very attractive property, but it was the lake nearby, breathtakingly beautiful beneath the towering fells, that attracted so many walkers and climbers and had him spellbound.

      Now he couldn’t wait to unlock the door, go inside, and celebrate becoming a permanent resident of Swallowbrook with no strings attached.

      A shower and a change of clothes, followed by a nice meal with a bottle of wine was what he had promised himself, and after that a good book or watching television. Then maybe to round off the evening a stroll down to The Mallard, the local pub, for a convivial chat with some of the friends he had made since moving here, and finally to bed in the spacious master bedroom of his new home with not a worry on his mind.

      But first he wanted to unload the stuff he’d brought with him from his flat down south and stack the bulkier items in the garage for the time being. With that in mind he went round to the back of the car and was opening the boot when a woman’s voice hailed him from the bottom of the drive.

      Daylight was turning into dusk but when he looked up he could see her beneath the light of a streetlamp. She was tall and slender and appeared to be quite young.

      She seemed to be wearing a red cape of sorts with a hood, had black boots with incredibly high heels on her feet, and was holding onto the handle of a large flower-patterned suitcase that she must have been dragging along until she’d stopped on seeing him.

      ‘Could you help me, please?’ she asked in a voice so weary he was expecting her to cave in any second. ‘Would you happen to know where I can find Libby Gallagher of Lavender Cottage just along the road there? She doesn’t appear to be at home, and you are the first person I’ve seen to ask since getting off the train. Where is everyone?’

      ‘In the process of having their evening meal, I would imagine,’ he replied dryly. ‘The village will be lively enough later when the locals and visitors gather inside and outside the pub.’

      ‘Please don’t mention food,’ she groaned, without making any attempt to move closer. ‘I’m starving.’

      He made his way down the drive towards her. ‘Was Libby expecting you? It isn’t like her not to be there if she knew that you were coming.’

      ‘She

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