More Than A Gift. Josie Metcalfe

raked his fingers through his hair as he waited for the call to be answered, marching impatiently up and down in the narrow space between the two beds in his hotel room. It felt as if he’d had the phone glued to his ear for hours.

      ‘Hello? Can you help me?’ he said, launching straight into his prepared speech. ‘I need to know whether you have a guest called Laurel Wright staying with you. She would have arrived earlier this afternoon by car.’

      ‘I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t give out information about our guests,’ said a snippy voice on the other end, and he could have groaned aloud. He could understand people’s right to privacy but this was something different.

      ‘She wanted me to join her,’ he continued quickly, sticking to his improvised story and sure that the woman was going to cut the connection at any moment. ‘I didn’t think I’d be able to get away from work, but now that I have, I’ve discovered that I’ve lost the name of the place she’s staying.’

      ‘Hmm,’ she said dubiously. ‘That’s as may be, but we haven’t anyone of that name staying here, anyway. You said the name’s Wright?’

      ‘Yes. Laurel Wright,’ he confirmed eagerly, not allowing himself to think that she might have booked in under another name. How would he ever trace her then? This was a phenomenally popular tourist area with hundreds of hotels and guest-houses dotted about, right down to the smallest farmhouse bed-and-breakfast. The fact that it was close to Christmas, rather than the high season between Easter and autumn, meant that many places would be closed, but he wouldn’t know which until he asked each one individually.

      ‘She’s slim with long blonde hair and honeycoloured eyes,’ he added hopefully. ‘And she’s got the most beautiful smile.’

      ‘She sounds lovely,’ the woman said, her tone almost sympathetic now. ‘Unfortunately, she’s not booked in here. We’re not open for Christmas. Our next guests aren’t due until around Easter-time.’

      Dmitri thanked her for her time and rang off, only then giving in to the urge to swear ripely in his native tongue.

      ‘This isn’t getting me anywhere,’ he said with a discouraged sigh. He wandered across to the window and gazed out into the brightly lit square.

      There was a Christmas tree laden with coloured lights in the middle by some sort of monument and most of the buildings had decorations of some sort in their front windows. A few hardy souls were scurrying around with armfuls of shopping, their heads bowed to protect their faces against the whirling snow.

      He felt a momentary pang of homesickness, then did a logical comparison between his home in Russia and this picturesque little town. This weather was relatively bearable, with temperatures just cold enough to freeze water where it lay. At this time of year in his home town he could be dealing with dozens of degrees of frost that could snap fingers off like dry twigs if he ventured too far without gloves.

      People certainly wouldn’t be loitering to admire the tree like that couple over there, the woman laughing at her male companion as she tried to catch a snowflake on her tongue.

      There was something about the light-hearted innocence of the game that made him look closer at her.

      He’d grown accustomed over the last eight months or so to the momentary shock of seeing women who reminded him of Laurel. With one it had been the free and easy way she’d walked, with another the colour of her hair or her spontaneous, slightly husky laughter.

      With this woman it was…

      Suddenly she turned to face directly towards him and his heart nearly stopped.

      ‘Laurel!’ he called out in disbelief when he saw the face he’d been searching for so long.

      For several disbelieving seconds he stood transfixed by the sight of her, unable to drag his eyes away.

      She was so beautiful.

      How could he have forgotten the way she came alive when she laughed like that? It was almost as though there were another person hidden inside her, under her more serious professional side. A person she’d only become when she was with him…until now.

      Suddenly he realised that she and her companion had begun walking across the square together and he whirled towards the door.

      He barely remembered to grab his coat and the key to his room on the way out and ignored the lift in favour of the stairs for speed.

      His heart was pounding with a mixture of exertion and anticipation as he burst out of the hotel’s main doors, scanning the rapidly whitening square as he thrust his arms into his sleeves.

      ‘She’s gone!’ he whispered in disbelief when there wasn’t a single person in sight, neither Laurel nor the man who had been with her.

      It felt as if a hand tightened around his heart when he finally realised the significance of her companion.

      He had spent months thinking about her and wondering why she’d left that way, while she…Well, it looked as if she’d blithely gone on with her life, forgetting him as if he’d never existed in the first place.

      He closed his eyes against the sting that could only be caused by the whirling snow—it certainly couldn’t be tears for a woman that fickle—and drew in a shaky breath. Reflexively, he wrapped his arms around himself, needing to do something to contain the pain inside.

      It hurt, far more than he’d thought it would, and he finally had to admit that he’d been living on foolish hope. Against all odds, he’d somehow convinced himself that, when he found her, there would be some logical explanation for her sudden departure and she would admit that she’d missed him every bit as much as he’d missed her.

      In his imagination, laughter and tears mingled as she threw herself into his arms, vowing never to leave again.

      He gave a snort of derision as he turned back towards the hotel entrance, suddenly aware of how cold and wet he’d become in spite of the milder climate.

      He was halfway up to his floor when something inside him brought him to an abrupt halt.

      ‘No!’ he said fiercely, turning to make his way down again, a quick check telling him his car keys were still in his pocket. ‘I’m not going to slink away without confronting her. Otherwise I’ll never know why she went like that.’

      It only took a moment to sweep away the thin layer of snow that had accumulated on his windscreen since he’d parked the car and then he was on his way.

      ‘Denison Memorial, maybe,’ he muttered as he followed the signs for the local hospital. He knew, from his laborious tracing over the last few weeks, that she’d worked at several hospitals, never staying very long in any job before suddenly taking off again. Perhaps the reason why she’d come to Edenthwaite had been to take up her next post. It would be easy enough to check, providing she was still using her own name.

      He was pleasantly surprised when he caught his first glimpse of the hospital. It was far more modern than he’d been expecting, without looking in the least out of place in its surroundings. The fact that everything was highlighted by the lights gleaming across an untrampled layer of snow only made it look more picturesque.

      As if he was interested in picturesque! he thought grimly as he followed directions for the hospital manager’s office.

      The man’s identity was a major surprise. The last time he’d seen him he’d been laughing down at Laurel while she’d tried to catch a snowflake on her tongue.

      ‘Please, come in and take a seat. What can I do for you, Dr Rostropovich?’ the man said when Dmitri had introduced himself.

      ‘I’m hoping you can help me identify one of your staff,’ he said bluntly, his heart heavy in his chest because he already knew the answer. ‘I’m looking for Laurel Wright.’

      He had to give the administrator his due—he’d barely blinked at the name.

      ‘I’m