His Perfect Bride?

Lula wondered how on earth Molly at the shop would even get to Mr Maynard’s farm with the ground covered like this. Did she have a four-wheel drive?

A sign appeared—’Burner’s Farm’—and Olly turned into its driveway. They were bumped and jostled along as he drove down the pitted road and eventually an old stone farmhouse appeared, surrounded by old barns and outbuildings in a crumbling state of decay. It was hard to see the property’s true state at night, but Lula could see that there were sections of roof missing from the barn due to the snowfall, and that all the old machinery was decaying from lack of use.

Alighting from the car, Olly grabbed his bag and he and Lula trudged through the snow to the farmhouse door. Olly banged on it quite hard, before pushing it open and calling out. ‘Mr Maynard? Donald? It’s Dr James and Dr Chance.’

‘In here,’ a croaky voice called back.

The hallway was dark, but at the end of it was a brightly lit room from which warmth poured. Lula was glad he had a coal fire on the go, and was keeping warm at least. Their patient was sitting in a chair with blankets round him, and at his side were the remains of a hot dinner and a glass of red wine.

‘Donald? This is Dr Chance—she’s new at the surgery. How are you?’

Mr Maynard peered past Olly at her and beamed in a giant smile. ‘Well, hello, dear, and what a pretty little thing you are!’

‘Hello, Mr Maynard. How are you doing?’ She sat down beside him, instantly taking in whatever information she could—the colour of his skin, whether or not he seemed clammy, his respiratory rate—but he looked good. He was a healthy colour, not out of breath and with no signs of sweating.

‘I’m all right now. They just panic at the other end of the phone, don’t they?’

She felt sure he was referring to the people who manned the out-of-hours doctor service. She herself didn’t think they panicked, but they had to respond urgently if a patient mentioned chest pains. It could be life-threatening.

‘What made you call in tonight?’

‘Well, my chest was hurting, my dear, and when you’re all alone you convince yourself you’re about to kick the bucket at any moment so I rang up. But I had a damned good belch and felt a lot better. Just indigestion, I think—all stuff and nonsense. No need for you to have come out and checked on me.’

She shook her head, smiling, and patted the back of his hand. ‘There’s every need to check on you. Now, while we’re here, let’s check your blood pressure and pulse—is that okay?’

He let them do their tests, and he seemed quite well. His blood pressure was in the normal range for him and his pulse rate was steady and strong. He had no pain, and they could see that he’d eaten a particularly strong curry, so perhaps he was right and it was just indigestion he’d experienced.

‘You’re on your own out here, Mr Maynard?’ Lula asked.

‘Call me Donald, dear.’

‘Donald.’ She smiled.

‘I am. Been this way for years—lost my Teddy eight years back.’

‘Teddy?’

‘The dog,’ Olly said. ‘Gorgeous Border collie, he was.’

‘That he was,’ said Donald.

‘Don’t you miss getting out and about, Donald? You must get bored, being here in these four walls all the time?’

‘I do … but what am I going to do? I don’t like bingo, and I don’t like going down the pub—it’s not my thing. I like a bit of culture, me, and there ain’t no culture in Atlee Wold.’

Lula nodded in understanding. ‘You like wine?’ She pointed at his glass.

‘Only the good stuff!’ He chuckled.

‘Well, you leave it with me, Donald. Let me see what I can arrange.’

When they got back in the car Olly looked at her questioningly. ‘What are you planning?’

‘I know someone who knows someone else. I think we can get Mr Maynard out and about and enjoying life again. Why should he be stuck at that farm with just memories? There’s life in the old dog yet.’

He smiled. ‘He seemed to like you.’

‘He’s a nice guy.’

‘He is a nice guy. But I’ve been trying to get him involved with village life for years and he’s never budged from that chair.’

She smiled mysteriously. ‘Perhaps he needs something more than just this village? Never underestimate the power of a good woman.’

He looked at her askance. What was wrong with ‘just’ the village?

Perhaps she bewitches her patients, too.

The next morning Lula telephoned a colleague’s friend in Petersfield, who ran coach holidays, and told him about Donald Maynard. After a quick discussion they found a trip for Donald that they thought would suit him down to the ground. It was a tour of wineries in the Loire region of France, over three days, stopping off at some lovely B & Bs along the way and all at a greatly reduced price.

Lula rang Mr Maynard and asked him if he could be ready in a week’s time to catch a bus, if it collected him from the end of his driveway.

Donald was thrilled. ‘Chuffed to mint balls’ was his expression, and he couldn’t thank Lula enough. She put the phone down at her end, feeling delighted that she’d been able to help a wonderful old man who deserved to enjoy life, despite his years.

She got herself ready for work. Determined to walk to the surgery, she rooted around for her wellies. With her woolly hat and scarf on, she was ready to go, and she opened her door, expecting to set straight off. She wanted to make a good impression on her very first day at the surgery.

But someone had left a cardboard box on her doorstep.

And inside something was crying.

CHAPTER TWO (#u4c33a401-aa48-5981-822b-325965fdcb12)

LULA TOOK A sharp intake of breath in the cold morning air. There had been no more snow after their trip home from Mr Maynard’s farm last night, and the top layer had frozen to a crisp. The cardboard box was from a biscuit manufacturer, and the top had all four corners folded into each other, with some air holes punched through by something like a ballpoint pen.

Lula almost couldn’t believe her eyes.

This sort of thing didn’t happen twice in a lifetime …

Kneeling down, she peeled back the corners and looked inside to see a newly born baby, swaddled in tight blankets and towels.

‘Oh, my God!’

Lula scooped up the baby and stood up, holding it to her, undoing her coat buttons and scooting the baby inside her greatcoat. Beneath the baby there was a blue hot water bottle, and it was still quite warm, so Lula could only hope that the baby hadn’t been left outside in the cold for too long. With her free hand she picked up the cardboard box and brought it inside, kicking the door closed, then she went back over to the fire to add more logs and get it really going again.

When that was done she picked up her phone and dialled the police. There was no police station in Atlee Wold itself, but there was one in the next village over—South Wold. She could only assume they’d send someone from there.

She wanted to examine the baby, but the need to keep it warm and monitor its breathing overrode all other instincts. Next she called the surgery, assuming one of the receptionists would answer, but Olly did.

‘Atlee Surgery.’