Return of Dr Maguire (Mills & Boon Medical) (2 page)

Christa shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know all the details and it’s a tragic story. I know that he left his wife and child and my father was so outraged by his behaviour he wouldn’t speak about him, then Angus was killed in a car crash—a long time ago now.’

Lachlan nodded sombrely. ‘I remember that happening...as you say, it was a long time ago.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, enough about your wicked uncle—tell me how you came to work with my mother.’

‘My own mother was ill some years ago and I was desperate to get a job here as my father had died, and Isobel offered me one. I loved your mother very much—she was a sweet woman and was extremely kind to me over so many things...’ Christa’s voice faltered slightly and she swallowed hard. ‘I was devastated when Isobel collapsed and died so suddenly—I couldn’t believe it. It’ll be very difficult to find someone to replace her—we shall all miss her so much.’

Lachlan took a rag out of his pocket and wiping his filthy hands remarked, ‘You won’t have to look far if I take on this place.’

‘What do you mean?’

For the first time a fleeting look of sadness crossed Lachlan’s strong features. ‘My mother left me a letter—you will have known from the post-mortem that her heart had been very damaged, and I think she knew she was on borrowed time. Amongst other things, she wanted me to take over the practice, and it’s something I will have to think about very carefully. It’s a big decision to make. The house needs such a lot doing to it, and the surgery at the side is rather the worse for wear—it’s going to eat up money.’

Christa only heard the first part of his reply and stared at him with her mouth open in astonishment and shock.

‘I beg your pardon? You would take over the practice?’

‘My mother obviously wanted me to—and, anyway, what would be the point of having the house without a job up here?’

‘And did she have any other wishes I should know about?’ asked Christa tartly. ‘You say she mentioned other things in this letter?’

Lachlan Maguire hesitated then said crisply, ‘Nothing of consequence.’

Christa took a deep breath and swallowed hard, trying to compose herself. ‘I suppose it had never occurred to me that I wouldn’t become the senior partner after Isobel retired—we’d never really discussed it. Perhaps having worked here six years I assumed I’d earned that right...’

Lachlan looked thoughtfully at Christa. ‘It must be a shock, but having started the practice and built it up, perhaps she had the right to say whom she would like to succeed her.’

‘Isobel didn’t build the practice up on her own—I think other people came into it too,’ said Christa sharply, a slight flush of anger on her cheeks. ‘I rather take exception to someone just waltzing into the practice without any discussion and...’

Lachlan held his hand up. ‘Whoa! Keep your hair on! I haven’t decided to take it all on yet—it’s a big decision, leaving my job in Australia.’ He flicked a quick glance at her flushed face and said lightly, ‘Perhaps we can discuss this over a drink and not in the car park?’

She nodded coolly. ‘A good idea—when do you suggest?’

‘This evening about six? Come to the house and I’ll see what’s been left in the drinks cabinet.’

‘Come on, then, Titan, we’ll be going.’ Christa bent down to ruffle the dog’s head, and he leaped up and trotted at her heels towards the little terraced house she owned on the village green.

Lachlan watched her slim figure striding away and grimaced. Of all the people his mother had had to choose to be her colleague, he could hardly believe that it should be Angus Lennox’s niece! It was extraordinary that Isobel should have picked Christa, of all people, to work with her. And now there was this poignant letter, Isobel’s dying request...

Lachlan felt his throat constrict as he reread it in his mind’s eye, urging him to take over the practice. That was a reasonable enough wish and one that left him with a mixture of emotions—a poignant regret that they hadn’t talked about it before her death, and pride and relief that Isobel must still have loved him enough to want him to carry on her work.

It was her other bizarre suggestion that had floored him—it was ridiculous, almost cheeky! Perhaps it was even a joke—but for some reason he was pretty sure his mother had meant every word, he could even hear her voice with that soft hint of determination in it.

He shook his head tiredly. He couldn’t think about it now, his brain was a jumble of contrasting thoughts. Lachlan turned abruptly back towards the house and went in, slamming the door irritably behind him.

* * *

‘How could she do this to me—never warning me that Lachlan was her preferred choice for senior partner?’ muttered Christa angrily, as she opened her front door and went into the kitchen to make a cup of restorative tea.

A torrent of aggrieved feelings had been building up inside her as she’d walked home, a bitter sense of injustice mixed with bewilderment that a good friend like Isobel should apparently want a son she hadn’t seen for years to take over the practice. Isobel had always said how she hoped that Christa would remain there when she retired, and from that Christa had assumed that she would take the surgery over. How wrong she’d been, she thought sadly.

Christa gazed out of the window at the people crossing the green towards the church, a peaceful scene in the mellow late afternoon light, and gradually she began to calm down. She didn’t want to allow this to colour her view of Isobel, who had been so incredibly kind to her, not only when her mother had been ill but also when Christa’s affair with Colin had disintegrated. Whatever had happened, Isobel had shown Christa that there was life after a broken heart, and had encouraged her to seek new interests, given her more responsibility in the practice. Christa would be forever grateful for that.

And after all, it was natural for Isobel to leave the house to her son despite their distant relationship—she must still have loved him very much and maybe she felt the job went with the house. Even so, Christa wasn’t about to hand control of the practice to this Lachlan—she didn’t know him, didn’t have an idea of his work or how they’d get on with each other. And one question that persisted—why had he never been to see his mother or, to Christa’s knowledge, had any contact with her for so many years? It was a very hard thing to understand—Christa couldn’t imagine severing contact with a mother, however difficult relations between them might be.

A sudden image of Lachlan’s strong face and unusual eyes floated into Christa’s head—he had a tough, rather exacting look about him, a look that indicated he wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. The kind of man who got what he wanted. She imagined that he could be manipulative—just like many a good-looking man—and probably thought he could talk Christa round to anything with his flattering tongue and celebrity looks.

Well, she was prepared and she’d jolly well show him she wouldn’t be pushed around by another man in a hurry! She certainly deserved just as much say in the running of things, having worked for Isobel for six years.

She scribbled down some bullet points that she would put to him—she wouldn’t simply step meekly aside.

‘I’ve got to be firm, Titan,’ she informed the dog.

Titan looked up from his comfortable basket and thumped his tail sleepily in agreement.

* * *

Lachlan Maguire towelled himself down vigorously after his shower in the tepid water, the hottest temperature he could raise from Ardenleigh’s antiquated boiler. The whole place needed gutting—a fortune would have to be spent on it. He looked round at the cracked plaster and suspicion of damp on the walls, the stained bath and peeling lino floor. It was basically a handsome house, but where to start?

Years ago, before he’d left home, the house had been beautifully kept—light, bright chintzes in the sitting room, an airy dining room with lovely old furniture and a huge bay window that looked over the garden. Now there was an unkempt and uncared-for feel about the place—it felt sad and neglected.

Lachlan wound the towel round his waist and started to shave, peering into the dim mirror, and his bleak reflection stared back at him. A mixture of regret and sadness washed over him as he thought of the naïve judgemental youth he’d been, blaming his parents totally on the break-up of his family, impulsively moving as far away as he could.

Once he’d loved them dearly—a love that over the years he’d thought had turned to hate. Even now, years later, he could feel the resentment and despair he’d felt as a young lad when his world had seemed to collapse around him.

What an irony it was, therefore, that Isobel had left him the house—and perhaps by way of an apology, or some form of restitution, written that emotional letter, hoping Lachlan would take over her beloved practice. His mother had shown him that she still loved him, and had had faith in him. With a sudden and overwhelming feeling of guilt and sorrow, he realised that it was too late now to tell her that, despite everything, he had still loved her, had still missed her and had often longed to come home and see her again. How stupid he’d been to let his pride get in the way!

Could Lachlan fulfil his mother’s last requests? Surely a sense of obligation at least would mean that he should take over the house and the practice. But the other bizarre wish? That might be more difficult to contemplate! Then he grinned wryly as he splashed cold water on his face and patted it dry with one of the cardboard-like towels he’d found in a cupboard. He considered the situation.

Lachlan flicked a hand through his thick, spiky hair to try and tame it and dabbed at a cut on his chin with the towel. He did have some sympathy with Christa—he would probably have felt a good deal of resentment if a strange guy had appeared out of the blue to take over the practice.

She wasn’t the kind of girl to accept things meekly, he reflected. He recalled her angry-looking figure at the bottom of the ladder that afternoon, commanding him to come down! He grinned. For some reason he’d rather enjoyed seeing her sherry-coloured eyes snap and sparkle at him when she’d been annoyed.

Christa had no idea of the connection between their two families—and perhaps it was better to keep it that way, although the truth had a habit of coming out when you least expected it.

Then suddenly a wave of exhaustion overcame him. He stretched and yawned. The last few days had been a complete blur. The time from learning that his mother had died to getting a plane from Sydney to London and then eventually arriving in Inverness had seemed endless. When he’d finally arrived in Errin Bridge and seen the solicitor, jet-lag had begun to catch up on him.

Lachlan wandered into one of the bedrooms, stuffed with heavy dark furniture and a huge sagging bedstead. In his exhausted state it looked quite inviting and he flung himself onto it. Just a little kip for a quarter of an hour would do him the world of good. He lay back on the musty pillow and fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

Through a fog of sleep Lachlan heard the doorbell ring. He stirred restlessly, trying to ignore it, then heard a dog barking. With a muffled oath he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The doorbell rang again—whoever it was couldn’t wait.

He padded downstairs wearily and opened the front door, realising too late that he was still only dressed in a small towel wrapped round his waist. Christa was standing there, with Titan standing guard by her side.

They stared at each other, his eyes sweeping over her slim figure, elegant in jeans, long black boots and a warm, close-fitting red biker jacket with a black scarf casually looped round her neck. He clapped a hand to his forehead.

‘Oh, God! Sorry! I fell asleep after my shower...forgot you were coming.’ His austere expression changed to a wry grin. ‘I’d have put something on to hide my modesty if I’d known it was you.’

Christa flicked a glance over the lean and athletic body before her. Good God, was ever a man in such superb shape! She wondered crossly why the sight of his bare chest should affect her when it was something she saw routinely in the surgery—but, then, of course, not many of her patients had torsos like Lachlan Maguire!

She tore her glance away and said blandly, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve seen it all before... If it’s inconvenient, I’ll come back another time.’

‘No time like the present...’ He held the door open and motioned her in. ‘If you’ll wait in the kitchen I’ll put some clothes on—won’t be a minute.’

He stepped away as Christa passed him and she caught the faint fresh smell of soap and shaving lotion. She watched as he bounded up the stairs, holding onto the towel, and grimaced to herself when she remembered the way she’d harangued him about being nothing but the scum of the earth! That was the last thing he looked...he had to be the sexiest male on two legs that she’d seen for a very long time. Not, she reminded herself sharply, that she was at all interested in sexy males—they were too sure of themselves, too confident by half and far too duplicitous.

She sat down in the ramshackle kitchen with Titan curled up on an old rug under the window. There were ancient cupboards with broken hinges, an old-fashioned stove on four cast-iron legs and a few dusty shelves with bottles and jam jars jostling for space. Isobel had been a lonely person, living on her own in this big house, and patently had had no interest in cooking if the look of the kitchen was anything to go by. It was almost shocking that she had allowed the house to get into this state—odd, too, when she had been a well-organised and efficient doctor.

If Lachlan was married and came to live in Errin Bridge, how would his wife take to living in a time warp like this? Indeed, would she relish the thought of leaving Australia and coming up to a Scottish backwater?

Engrossed in her thoughts, Christa didn’t notice Lachlan at first when he appeared at the door. She was gazing out of the window, her shiny bob of auburn hair framing a profile of a determined little chin and a tip-tilted nose. She was feisty with decided opinions—rather like he was, he acknowledged. He guessed she wasn’t about to defer to him in any discussion about the practice.

‘I’ve looked in the drinks cupboard,’ he said from the doorway. ‘All I can find is whisky and more whisky... Would that be OK?’

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