Return of Dr. Maguire
Author
Judy Campbell
Reads
19,1K
Chapters
11
Chapter One
‘I JUST DO not believe it!’ muttered Christa Lennox. ‘What the hell is that man doing?’
Titan, the Border terrier, lying at the foot of Christa’s desk, sprang up and looked at her enquiringly with head cocked to one side.
‘Don’t bark, Titan!’ she warned him sternly.
She opened the window and leaned forward to get a better view of the opposite wall, squinting through the dancing shadows of the trees nearby. Her gaze was riveted on a man perched precariously at the top of a ladder, hacking away at the guttering and filling a sack suspended from a rung.
Yet another thieving toerag trying to take what he could—and in broad daylight too! Well, she’d darned well show him he wasn’t going to get away with it—two burglaries in a fortnight were two too many! On top of the tragedy of dear Isobel dying so suddenly three weeks ago, it was just all too much...
Christa swung away from the surgery window and raced through Reception, closely followed by Titan. She ran towards the ladder at the side of the car park, her auburn hair escaping from its clips and springing out in a mad bob. No point in ringing the police on a Sunday—it would take hours for them to come.
She and Titan skidded to a halt at the bottom of the ladder.
‘If you’re trying to nick lead from the roof, you’re too late—it’s all gone!’ she yelled up at the man. ‘Get down now, or I’ll call the police!’
Titan joined in by barking ferociously and adding an extra growl or two for good measure. The man twisted round and looked down, frowning. He had tied a large handkerchief round his lower face so that only his eyes were visible. Trying to remain anonymous, thought Christa scornfully. ‘Titan! Titan! Be quiet!’ she commanded.
The dog lay down, panting with its tongue lolling out, and watched her adoringly. The man’s glance flicked over to Christa, slowly taking in her angry upturned face and sweeping over her indignant figure.
There was a pause before he said rather irritably, ‘Well—what is it?’
Christa, put her hands on her hips. ‘I want to know what on earth you’re doing up there!’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Could you tell me why you’re on the roof?’
The man leaned on the ladder, a flash of annoyance in the clear blue eyes that met hers, then whipped the handkerchief from his face, revealing tanned good looks and an irritated expression.
‘Not that it’s anything to do with you, but I’m examining the guttering—it looks as if it’s on its last legs.’
Christa wasn’t to be put off. ‘Examining the guttering, my foot!’ she said angrily. ‘Come down now!’ she ordered. ‘I can’t carry on a conversation when you’re up there!’
He shrugged, half-amused. ‘Oh, for God’s sake...of all the bossy women...’ He descended the ladder, leaping lightly down the last three rungs, and the little dog sprang up and would have thrown himself at the man’s legs if Christa hadn’t grabbed his collar.
‘Don’t worry, Titan—I can handle this...’
Titan sank back unwillingly and Christa turned back to the man and demanded peremptorily, ‘Well? What have you got to say for yourself?’
He leaned against the wall in front of her with hands stuffed into his pockets, his eyes narrowed, ranging coolly over her. ‘Do you always sound like a headmistress? Now just what’s bugging you?’
A moment’s doubt—could this guy really be a thief? He seemed so assured, so...brazen. Surely a thief would have taken off by now? He stared at her boldly, and she decided that he was just bluffing it out, conning her into thinking he was a legitimate builder.
Christa drew herself up to her full five feet six inches and said majestically, ‘I want to know what excuse you’ve got to give for this daylight robbery—taking a chance because it’s a Sunday and the place is empty, I’ll bet!’
He laughed out loud and Christa blinked. He didn’t seem a whit worried by her threat to call the police or her accusation—in fact, he looked totally relaxed, in charge of the situation, no sign of being intimidated. She glared at him, looking him straight in the eye, and he stared impudently back at her, making fun of her. The cheeky bastard!
She shouldn’t have looked at his eyes—massive error! She was taken aback by their compelling shade of deep, clear blue, fringed with black lashes and...well, they were incredibly unusual...even sexy—which, of course, was nothing to do with the situation whatsoever, she thought irritably.
The man had a tall, spare figure, dressed in faded shorts and a ripped shirt, revealing a muscled torso. He could have got a job playing the lead in a James Bond movie or doing ads for some exotic men’s shaving lotion, reflected Christa... And for a split nanosecond she felt an unexpected flutter of excitement somewhere in the region of her stomach.
It took her unawares, made her cross because after her experience with Colin Maitland, she was off all men for a very long time, wasn’t she? She crushed the desolate, empty feeling that seemed to be a reflex action whenever she thought of that unmitigated rat, and told herself to stop reacting like a teenager being turned on by some celebrity just because the man in front of her was reasonably good looking.
She cleared her throat and said sternly, ‘If you’re not pinching lead, who gave you permission to look at the guttering—if that’s what you were doing?’
‘I don’t have to ask anyone’s permission—I own the house.’
She stared at him witheringly. ‘You own the house? Don’t be ridiculous! How can it belong to you? Dr Maguire only died three weeks ago and probate can’t have been granted yet.’
He said quietly and without apparent emotion, ‘Isobel Maguire was my mother. She left me Ardenleigh in her will.’
‘Oh, my God...’ Christa’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with embarrassment. ‘I’m really sorry—I didn’t realise...’ Her voice faltered, and she gazed at him in a stunned way. So this was the mysterious son, Lachlan, that Isobel had rarely mentioned, and who, as far as she was aware, had never visited his mother...
‘Perhaps you should make sure of your facts before making accusations,’ the man suggested coldly, an edge of sarcasm to his voice.
‘I had no idea who you were. If you’d let us know you were coming I wouldn’t have leaped to conclusions when I saw you with a handkerchief over your face on the roof,’ she protested, slightly stung that he was putting all the blame on her for not knowing who he was. ‘We’ve had such a spate of burglaries I thought you were yet another thief.’
He nodded rather wearily, pushing his spikily cut thick hair back from his forehead. ‘The handkerchief was to protect my lungs from the showers of dirt I was disturbing—but, yes, I guess you’re right. I should have told the practice I was coming. It’s all been a bit of a rush.’
Her tone softened. ‘We knew Isobel had a son, but we had no idea where you lived...’
‘I flew in from Australia on Friday and came up from Heathrow yesterday. I stayed in a pub last night, but tonight I’ll stay here if there’s a habitable room.’
‘You couldn’t make it to her funeral?’
‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘It was too late by the time I was contacted by her solicitor—I didn’t even know she’d died until a few days ago.’
Christa bit her lip. How could she have been so tactless? It was shocking that no one had known how to find him to tell him about his mother. He must feel terrible about that.
‘I’m so sorry...’ she repeated, and her voice trailed off, but the man had turned his attention back to the building. Christa looked at him more closely. Now she knew who he was, she saw the family resemblance to his mother, who had also been tall and with those clear blue eyes. There was no doubt he had inherited the good looks that ran in the Maguire family.
The man looked sadly at the vast untidy lawn, the dense undergrowth beneath the trees at the end of the garden. ‘Everywhere looks very neglected... When I was young the garden was always immaculate, and that little copse well managed. I guess my mother had no interest in the place.’
‘She was too busy,’ said Christa defensively. ‘Isobel’s work meant everything to her—and being on her own, of course, it can’t have been easy, having to look after everything.’
‘I don’t suppose it was easy, but frankly it looks as if it’s falling down. I can’t believe she left it in such a state...’
‘I know she kept meaning to have things done. There never seemed to be time...’
‘A great pity,’ observed the man with some asperity.
He didn’t seem to have much sympathy for his mother, reflected Christa, even though Isobel had been alone and had worked so damned hard that it had probably contributed to her death. There was something rather...well, callous about his attitude.
‘It may have been that latterly she wasn’t feeling very well and hadn’t the energy to turn to domestic matters,’ suggested Christa rather coldly.
Lachlan nodded. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he conceded. ‘But just look at the state of those windows and woodwork... I used to escape through that window when I was a kid and was about to get a belting for something I’d done—I think it would fall out now if I opened it!’ He turned and held out his hand, saying briskly, ‘Anyway, it’s about time we introduced ourselves. I’m Lachlan Maguire...and you are...?’
‘I’m Christa Lennox, and I am...or rather was...your mother’s colleague, her junior partner in the practice.’
The expression on Lachlan’s face changed subtly from pleasant to wary, the blue eyes widening slightly. He repeated tersely, ‘Christa Lennox? You worked with my mother?’
‘Why, yes...’ Christa looked at Lachlan, puzzled. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘No...no, of course not.’ Then he added casually after a pause, ‘I used to know a man called Angus Lennox—are you a relation, by any chance?’
A look of wry amusement flickered across Christa’s face. ‘Ah...the black sheep of the family...wicked Uncle Angus,’ she remarked. ‘How did you know him?’
Lachlan idly kicked a stone away from his foot. ‘Oh...he used to come to the house sometimes...’ He looked up at Christa, a spark of curiosity in those clear blue eyes. ‘And do you know what he did to deserve that reputation?’
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?’
Christa jumped with surprise and looked round at him, relieved to see that he was now more modestly attired in jeans and a T-shirt under a corduroy jerkin. ‘Yes, please, with a splash of water.’
She watched him as he poured out the drink, his movements neat, unfussy. He handed her a tumbler and she twirled the amber liquid around in her glass, watching the light catch it, and then looked at him warily.
‘So. When are you going to decide on whether or not to follow your mother’s wishes?’
‘I’ve almost decided, although I do have some matters to discuss with the solicitor,’ he admitted. ‘If those matters can be resolved and I can find a way to pay for the repairs to the house, then I’m tempted to come back.’
‘That’s a big decision—to give up your life in Australia,’ commented Christa. ‘Did you like it there?’
‘Certainly I did...’ A slight change in expression flickered across his face. ‘But I’ve been there a good while and perhaps it’s time to come back to my roots.’ He looked across the rolling fields to the side of the house and the sea beyond, lacy with white breakers, and smiled. ‘Who wouldn’t want to live in the beautiful surroundings of Errin Bridge?’
‘And are you married—would your wife mind you moving away from Australia?’
Lachlan laughed. ‘No—I’ve no ties, I’m entirely free... And you? Are you someone’s wife or mother?’
Christa took a gulp of the whisky and it trailed fire down her throat. ‘Oh, no,’ she said airily. ‘I’m not into commitment—far too much to do with my life first.’
‘How very wise,’ he murmured.
Christa changed the subject abruptly—she certainly didn’t want to dwell on the past, especially her relationship with Colin Maitland. She drew out her list of bullet points from her bag and looked at Lachlan challengingly.
‘Now, can we get down to business? I have to say bluntly I’m not happy that you can just leap into the practice here as senior partner—I can’t believe that Isobel wouldn’t understand how I’d feel about it all.’
Lachlan put his hands up. ‘Hey! Not so fast! You have a habit of jumping to conclusions, don’t you? I’m certainly not proposing to leap into anything, but if I’m to have full responsibility for the buildings, I need to have at least an equal say.’
‘Fair enough...but, to be blunt, I’d like to know what experience you have. I know nothing about you.’
‘Of course!’ The austere face broke into a grin. ‘I’ve been with the Flying Doctor service in Australia for a few years, and I’m quite brilliant at small ops...a dab hand at dealing with every imaginable situation, from snake bites and childbirth to extracting teeth and acute dehydration...’
Christa couldn’t resist smiling at him, her cheeks dimpling. He certainly had all the Maguire charm of persuasion, and underneath that sometimes dour expression he seemed to have a sense of humour. But there were still questions as to why he’d leave his life in Australia so easily.
‘You have an interesting job there—why give it all up, even if your mother has left you Ardenleigh?’ she asked curiously.
He swirled the whisky round in his glass, the smile fading from his face. ‘Time to move on, I guess. I’d been thinking of leaving for some time—it was a great life, but it wasn’t Errin Bridge. I think I always hoped to come back here some day.’
But not while your mother was alive, thought Christa, puzzled as to why that should be. She tapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully. ‘We’d have to get on with each other...’
A raised eyebrow. ‘You’re bound to be able to get on with an easygoing guy like me!’
She looked at Lachlan sardonically. ‘You think? Suppose we don’t, and incredibly I find you’re impossible to work with? I’m certainly not going to be the one leaving the practice.’
‘Let’s give it six months—if the incredible happens and you find you can’t work with me, then I shall go!’ He took another swig of his drink. ‘I’ll give you the e-mail address of my boss near Sydney—I can guarantee he’ll give me a good reference.’
Christa nodded coolly. She wasn’t about to go overboard and welcome him with open arms yet. ‘I imagine it will be very different from the Australian Outback. You ought to know something about the practice here...’’
‘People still have the same illnesses, I suppose. What about local hospitals?’
‘St Luke’s, about eight miles away, is the nearest, but we have a small cottage hospital in the town, mostly for post-operative use when patients living in outlying districts have no one to look after them. And we have a minor injuries unit at the surgery.’
‘Sounds good. Anything else?’
‘You’d have to be good at walking up mountains. We’re the back-up team if things go wrong up there—and you’d be amazed how often that happens in the summer with the tourists.’
He raised an impressed eyebrow. ‘You’re a Jill of all trades, then. I remember going out to help before I went to medical school. I enjoyed it, so you can count me in.’
‘You sound as if you’ve made up your mind!’
‘I suppose I have,’ he said cautiously. ‘A germ of an idea came to me when I was resting upstairs about how I might raise some money to restore Ardenleigh House—and that makes me feel quite excited about the future here.’
‘So that’s a yes, is it?’
He nodded and smiled. ‘Probably. As I said, there are just one or two things I need to clarify, but I think they can be resolved.’
‘Then we’ll need to hammer out some sort of an agreement for the partnership...’ A moment’s misgiving as Christa flicked a glance at his self-assertive face—she could imagine he’d want his own way on quite a few matters, and she certainly wouldn’t give in easily! ‘When can you start? How much notice do you have to give?’
‘I’m due a few weeks’ holiday—I’ll use that in lieu of notice.’
‘What about your stuff—won’t you have to go back and pack?’
He shrugged. ‘I travel light so I’ve brought all I need. I’ve a friend who’ll arrange to have things shipped out if I need them.’
Christa bit her lip. Was she being foolish, leaping into work with someone she knew nothing about? Then she gave a mental shrug. The man was here and available and she was desperate for help, and in any case how could she stop him? She’d just have to hope he was efficient.
‘I’ll see you, then, in a week, with the proviso of a six months’ probationary period to see if it works, and that we’ll be equal partners. I’ll put it in writing.’ She looked at her watch and stood up. ‘I’ve got to fly and see my mother. I usually pop in on a Sunday evening.’
‘Your mother still lives in the area?’
‘Oh, yes. She has a little flat near me and she loves it there. She’s made a good life for herself since my father died.’
Christa got up and Lachlan went with her to the door. It was getting dark now and the courtyard light made deep shadows against the walls. Drops of rain had started to fall, and there was a soft, sweet smell of damp earth on the cool air. Autumn was on its way, and soon the soft purple heather and greens of the glens would be replaced by sparkling frost and snow on the hills.
He’d missed those definitive seasons, and although he’d had a ball in Australia, there had been times when a certain tune, the waft of scent of the sea, or a Scottish voice passing him on the street, would stir a longing in him to be back in Errin Bridge. He should have come back before, he thought sadly, and not allowed his stubborn nature to dictate his life.
Titan, standing beside Christa, suddenly stiffened, the hackles on his neck rising. Then he gave a low growl before breaking into a cacophony of barking.
‘What is it, old boy? Calm down...’
Titan took no notice and suddenly darted across the yard, still barking at full pitch.
‘There’s someone there,’ said Lachlan in a low voice, putting a restraining hand on Christa’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if this turns out to be one of your pesky thieves.’
