His Christmas Bride-To-Be. Abigail Gordon

always thought to be her father, in fact, was not.

      The other concern on her mind was the fact that she was having a bad start in getting to know the man who had replaced Jeremy in the practice. She was experiencing a kind and thoughtful side to his character that was contradicted by his brusque attitude on occasion.

      It was clear that Glenn was not a good mixer. It would be interesting to find out what sort of a man he was if she joined the practice staff. She did want to feel happy and fulfilled back in Glenminster, if that was possible.

      She didn’t want to return to the heat and endless toil of Africa until she had recharged her batteries in the place where she had grown up and where she’d had a job she’d loved until the bubble of her contentment had burst.

      With those thoughts in mind she presented herself at the practice in the lunch hour. When Glenn’s last morning patient had gone, and before the afternoon’s sick and suffering began to arrive, he left his consulting room and went to see if Emma had come, as he’d asked her to. He was relieved to find her outside in the corridor deep in conversation with Lydia.

      On seeing him the older woman suggested that Emma come down to her office for a coffee before she went, and left them together. So Glenn opened the door that he’d just come through and when Emma was seated on the opposite side of his desk at his invitation he asked, ‘So how are you this morning?’ He followed it with another question. ‘Are you any nearer to knowing how you want the funeral to be arranged?’

      Emma was looking around her. The last time she’d been in the room Jeremy had been seated where Glenn was now. The memory of her last day in Glenminster came back so clearly it was making her feel weak and disoriented, although Jeremy hadn’t delivered the actual body blow until late that evening, when he’d been drinking and had been about to climb the stairs to sleep it off.

      Glenn watched the colour drain from her face and came round the desk to stand beside her, concerned. But Emma was rallying, taking control of the black moment from the past. Managing a wan smile as he gazed down at her anxiously, she said, ‘I’m all right, it was just a memory of the last time I was in this room and what happened afterwards that knocked me sideways.’

      Straightening up in the chair, she said, ‘In answer to your question, I’m fine. I’ve just asked Lydia if she will join me in the one and only funeral car that will be needed instead of my being alone. I have no relatives that I could ask to keep me company on such a depressing occasion. Obviously there will be other people following in their cars, but that is how it will be for me.’

      ‘And what did she say?’ he asked uncomfortably, knowing that he should have given some thought to Emma’s solitariness on the day instead of being so wrapped up in his own feelings.

      ‘She said yes, that she will be with me.’

      ‘Good. I hadn’t realised just how alone you are, Emma,’ he commented. ‘If Lydia hadn’t been able to do as you asked I would have volunteered. Though whether you would have wanted someone you hardly know with you on such an occasion seems unlikely.’

      He glanced at a clock on the wall and commented, ‘I can only give you half an hour before my afternoon patients start arriving so what exactly do you want to discuss?’

      ‘I’m going to have an announcement in the local press, announcing that the funeral will be on Sunday at the crematorium at three o’clock, for the benefit of anyone wanting to take part in the service or just to watch,’ she told him, ‘and I’m arranging a meal for afterwards for the practice staff and any of his close friends.’

      ‘That sounds fine,’ he agreed. ‘What about flowers?’

      ‘No. Instead, I’d like donations to be made to the Heart Foundation, or locally to Horizon’s Eye Hospital, which is an amazing place. Do you think those kind of arrangements will be suitable?’ she enquired. She was ready to go and leave him to his busy afternoon, aware all the while that the time she had taken out of his lunch hour might leave no opportunity for him to have a snack or whatever he did for refreshment at that time of day.

      But remembering Glenn Bartlett’s rebuffs of the previous evening, there was no way she was going to concern herself about that. He was the one who’d suggested a chat in the lunch hour, and in the days when she’d been employed there she’d often missed her lunch due to pressure of work.

      ‘Yes,’ he told her, unaware of the thoughts going through her mind. ‘Just one question. Am I right in presuming that it will all start from what is now your house?’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, the cold hand of dread clamping on her heart. Until the man she’d thought had been her father had been laid to rest she couldn’t even contemplate what she was going to do in the future if Glenn didn’t want her back at the surgery.

      It was possible, taking note of his manner towards her, that he could be feeling that enough was enough. That having found her and brought her back to where Jeremy Chalmers had wanted her to be … and the rest of it, he’d had enough without her being forever in his sights.

      Maybe after Sunday, in the relief that the slate had been wiped clean, she would be able to see everything more clearly. As far as she was concerned, it couldn’t come quickly enough. So, getting up to go down to Lydia’s office in the basement for the coffee that she’d suggested, Emma wished Glenn goodbye and left him deep in thought.

      In the days that followed Emma felt as if she were in some sort of limbo. She wandered around the shops for suitable clothes to fill her wardrobe against winter’s chill, while trying to ignore signs of the coming of Christmas already on view in some of them.

      It was the last thing she wanted to contemplate, spending Christmas in the house that had been left to her in its present state. It had always been basic and she’d often wondered why her mother had never complained, but now she understood. Maybe Jeremy had expected gratitude instead of requests for a brighter home from the woman he had married to save her name.

      She supposed she could give the place a makeover or alternatively put it up for sale and move to somewhere smaller and more modern and not so near the bustle of the town, but until Sunday’s ordeal was over she couldn’t contemplate the future.

      It was done. The event that Emma had been dreading had taken place and, with Lydia beside her and Glenn Bartlett hovering nearby, she had coped. There had been a good turnout, as she’d expected, and now the staff of the practice and a few of Jeremy’s golfing friends were gathered in a restaurant in the town centre for the meal she’d organised.

      Emma was feeling that now the future was going to open out in front of her, though not as an exciting challenge. More as if it was hidden in a mist of uncertainty. As she caught the glance of the man who had brought her home from a foreign country to an uncertain future, she felt her colour rise at the thought of asking for a return to her previous position in the practice. He was so obviously wanting an end to their unwanted connection.

      Did he ever smile? she wondered. If his expression was less closed and sombre he would be the most attractive man she’d ever met. His hair was dark russet, his eyes as blue as a summer sky—but always with no joy in them.

      It seemed that he was unmarried, not in a relationship of any kind, and lived alone in his delightful property, with the occasional visit from his elderly parents.

      Her smile was wry. It seemed as if neither of them was fulfilling their full potential. His life sounded almost hermit-like. Or was it that he had enough to think about with the job and being there for his folks? Although they sounded anything but fragile.

      She was being observed in return. What was it that Jeremy Chalmers had done to cause his daughter the degree of hurt that he’d confessed to when he’d lain dying? Glenn asked himself. It had been enough to make her leave Glenminster and only be prepared to return in the event of his death.

      Emma didn’t come over as the weak and whingeing type. Whatever it was, she didn’t carry her sorrows around with her, as he did. Maybe they weren’t as dreadful as the burden he was carrying, having Serena there one moment