Posh Doc Claims His Bride. Anne Fraser

public relations for everyone to attend—the whole practice will be there. Colin and his wife should be back for it, if it makes you feel better.’

      Meagan felt annoyed at the cavalier manner with which he seemed to be arranging her social life. But was it just that? she wondered. She felt angry with him for not mentioning his marriage or child. But it wasn’t as if it was any of her business. Likewise, what she did in her spare time was her own affair.

      ‘What gives you the right to accept invitations on my behalf?’

      ‘I’m sorry. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to accept that on a small island such as this, to refuse an invitation is to give offence.’

      Meagan bristled. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go to hell, but she swallowed her annoyance. He was her boss after all.

      ‘Very well,’ she conceded. ‘If you put it like that, I suppose I can’t refuse.’

      ‘Good, that’s settled, then. Would you like to stay for lunch?’

      ‘No, if I am allowed to refuse any invitations at all, I’d rather not. I’ve still to unpack.’

      ‘Of course you don’t have to stay for lunch. It’s perfectly understandable that you have things to do. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Eight-thirty? I can give you a quick tour and a rundown of the patients before surgery.’ He spoke calmly, politely, as if they were perfect strangers, which Meagan supposed they were.

      Before she had a chance to reply, he turned on his heel and crossed over to his son. Laughing, he swooped him into his arms and tossed him into the air. With the sound of delighted childish giggles ringing in her ears, Meagan started walking back to her house, realising as she did so that she had left her medical bag and boots at the house. Loath to face Cameron or Rachel again until she had time to get her emotions under control, she decided that she would collect them later.

      Stomping down the road to her cottage, she noticed an elderly female figure dressed in a tweed suit and headscarf coming towards her.

      ‘Good morning!’ the woman greeted her. ‘I thought I’d look in on you on my way to getting the church ready for evening service.’ A gnarled hand was offered. ‘I’m the housekeeper—Mrs McLeod, but call me Flora. We don’t hold much with ceremony here. Welcome to Uist—I hope you’ll be happy here.’

      ‘Oh, Mrs McLeod—Flora. Nice to meet you. Thank you for the fire and provisions you left last night. You’ve no idea how welcome they were.’

      ‘Aye, I heard you’d got yourself into a bit of difficulty on the road,’ Flora said, with a suspicious gleam in her eye.