His Perfect Bride?

by Louisa Heaton

  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

  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.’

  His voice was solid and reassuring to hear.

  ‘Oliver?’

  ‘Lula? What’s up?’

  ‘You need to come over.’

  ‘I’m about to start morning surgery.’

  ‘Can your father do it? I need you here. Now.’

  He paused for a moment, but he must have been swayed by the quiet desperation in her voice because he said, ‘I’ll be right over.’

  Lula paced the floor—back and forth, back and forth—humming tunes, gently jigging the baby up and down, trying to keep it monitored, checking on its breathing. She had no idea if it was a boy or a girl, or even if it had all its bits and pieces—there’d been no time to check. When Olly got there maybe they could check the baby together.

  Suddenly she remembered she ought to have asked him to bring his call-out bag, and hoped he’d have heard from her tone that it might be needed.

  Why didn’t I tell him it was needed? So stupid!

  Because the shock of finding the baby had been so great. It wasn’t what you expected to find when you went out through the front door in the morning. At the most you might expect a present from the cat, if you kept one, or perhaps a friendly offering from a night-time fox on your doorstep. But a baby…?

  No.

  She knew what would happen. The police would arrive, and they’d take everything. The baby, the blankets, the hot water bottle, the box. They’d try and trace its mother, but it would be difficult. There were never enough clues in this sort of situation, even if the mother left a note…

  She rummaged in the box.

  No note.

  Where’s the mother?

  More importantly, who was the mother? She had to have been desperate to do this. To leave her baby in a cardboard box, in the middle of winter, on the doorstep of a stranger. She couldn’t have known that the baby would be found early. Could she? What if Lula had been on a late shift? The baby would have frozen to death. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  It might be a teenage girl—someone afraid to tell her parents that she’d been pregnant. But how would you hide something like that? The baby looked a decent size—about seven pounds. It was obviously full term, so the pregnancy must have shown.

  Perhaps it was an older woman who’d had an affair, and then her husband had come back from Afghanistan, or somewhere, and she’d had to get rid of it?

  No, Lula, too far-fetched.

  Or was it?

  Finding a baby on her doorstep would probably have sounded too far-fetched yesterday.

  There was a hammering on her front door and she rushed over to open it, letting Olly in. He stopped and stared at the baby and she saw the puzzlement on his face.

  ‘It’s not mine!’

  ‘Where did it come from?’ He closed the door behind him, pulling off his jacket.

  She explained what had happened and they laid the baby on the rug in front of the roaring fire to examine it.

  She was newborn. Barely hours old. The umbilical cord was tied off with navy blue string and still fresh. Vernix—the grease that covered a baby in the womb, to stop its skin getting waterlogged—was in the armpits and creases of the baby, indicating that maybe she was a little before term.

  She was a little cold, but otherwise well.

  She was extremely lucky.

  ‘She can’t have been outside long,’ Olly said.

  ‘Perhaps she’d only just been left by someone?’

  ‘Did you see anyone when you went outside? When you opened the door?’

  Lula tried to think. But the shock of finding an abandoned baby had overridden everything. She couldn’t recall looking around the cottage or past the garden. She’d noticed the box, heard the crying and snuffling, and when she’d seen it was a baby had hurried back inside.

  ‘I didn’t look.’

  ‘Lula…’

  ‘I didn’t think! I was in shock! I…you don’t expect this, do you?’ She wrapped the baby up again and scooped her up, holding her tight against her body.

  Olly watched her pace back and forth. ‘There must be a mother somewhere. She could be at risk if she doesn’t get proper medical attention.’

  She nodded. ‘I know. I figure it has to be a teenager. Who do you know in the village that fits the bill?’

  Olly sank onto the couch. ‘There are a few teenagers in the village—about twenty or so, I think. Most of them catch the school bus to go to the comprehensive in South Wold. I don’t see them very much—they don’t tend to come and see the doctor.’

  ‘Have any come to you about going on the pill? Any who you think could be sexually active?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I honestly haven’t seen any for a while. I think the last teenager I saw was the Blakes’s daughter, and that was for an ear infection.’

  He racked his brains, but Olly could think of no one he’d seen at the surgery lately. Nor had he seen any teenage girl about the village on his day-to-day travels who had aroused his suspicion.

  Surely he would have noticed a pregnant teenager?

  But, then again, the same could be said for the girl’s parents. How did you not notice?

  Olly made them both a drink, cringing at the sight of Anubis on the kitchen counter. All darkness and legs.

  He’d just taken the tea through to the lounge when the police arrived.

  There was a lot of questioning, a lot of hustle and bustle. Lula gave a statement, and then Olly told them the little he knew—that he couldn’t think of anyone who might have been concealing a pregnancy.

  Lula felt quite protective of the little mite, and almost didn’t want to hand her over, but in the end she did, her heart sinking a little at the thought of what the future might hold for the little girl. Would she get lost in the system? Be passed from family to family?

  She could only hope that they would find the baby’s mother. Before it was too late.

  After the police had gone, and the small lounge and kitchen had emptied of uniformed bodies, she sank down into the seat by the fire and stared at Olly, ignoring the way t
he firelight flickered in the reflection of his blue eyes.

  ‘What a welcome to the village!’

  He attempted a smile. ‘We did what we could for her.’

  ‘I worry that it’s not enough. Poor thing.’

  ‘We’ll find the mum.’

  ‘But what if we don’t? That baby will enter the system and there’s no guarantee of a happy ending for her, you know? Not all foster homes are great.’

  He cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

  She met his gaze, noticing how beautiful his dark blue eyes were, framed by thick dark lashes. Men could be so lucky with their eyelashes, it seemed.

  Lula nodded, deciding to be open with him. ‘I was like that little baby once. But I wasn’t left in a cardboard box in the snow in the middle of winter. My mother left me in a Moses basket on a beach.’

  ‘You were abandoned?’ He sat forward.

  She gave a wry smile. ‘From what I know, I was found by a family who were packing up their beach hut. They’d been with their kids by the water’s edge, paddling and stuff. When they came back they found me. My mother had left a note, saying how sorry she was, how much she regretted doing it, but that she couldn’t keep me. With the note was this.’ She reached into her neckline and pulled out a silver necklace with a heart charm on the end. ‘She signed the note with the initials “EL”.’

  ‘“EL”? That’s all you were left with?’

  ‘And that she’d called me Louise.’ Lula sipped her drink and smiled at him. ‘You don’t have to feel sorry for me, you know. I’ve lived my life to the full.’

  ‘It’s not over yet. You’ve got years left.’

  ‘We never know, though, do we? I could get knocked down by a bus tomorrow.’

  He frowned. ‘Actually, you couldn’t. There’s no bus service tomorrow.’

  She smiled, but then Olly was serious again. ‘What happened to you?’

  Lula shrugged. ‘I went from home to home till I was about seven and then I got put with a family who decided they wanted to adopt me.’

  ‘The Chances?’

  ‘Yes. They were lovely—really sweet people—but I knew I didn’t belong to them.’

  ‘They’d chosen you. Out of all those children looking for a permanent home, they picked you. You should be pleased about that.’

  ‘They had other adopted children and each of them had a problem, too. A health problem. Peter and Daisy Chance seemed to go after all the hard-luck cases—don’t ask me why.’

  ‘Perhaps they thought that children with issues needed the most love?’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But what was wrong with you? If you don’t mind me asking?’

  She smiled. ‘I had leukaemia. Childhood leukaemia. They had no idea if I was going to live or die, and still the Chances wanted me. That was pretty brave of them, huh?’

  He nodded, thoughtful.

  ‘I got better—though the chemo did some horrible things.’

  ‘But you got through it okay?’

  ‘As okay as I could at that age.’

  Olly smiled. ‘You seem well now, though, and—as you say yourself—you pack everything into life. You work as a doctor, which is hard work and stressful, and you do other stuff, too.’

  ‘I made the decision to be happy and enjoy life and take my medicine every day.’ She smiled at him.

  He looked at her strangely and she laughed at the curious frown on his face. ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘It was your face!’ She chuckled.

  ‘Thanks. A man likes to know his looks are amusing.’

  ‘It’s not your looks, Olly. There’s nothing wrong with those. But it was the way you looked at me.’

  ‘I was admiring you,’ he protested. ‘I mean, I was admiring your attitude to life. Not admiring you, per se. Not with that hair,’ he added with a wry grin.

  She pursed her lips with amusement and then stood up and looked in the mirror over the fireplace. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my hair.’ She checked some of the strands, tweaking and rearranging her colours.

  He stood up next to her and they both looked at each other in the mirror’s reflection. ‘No, of course not—it’s very…conservative.’

  ‘Hah! Now you’re being a snob. I thought I might add another colour to it, actually.’

  ‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows in question.

  ‘What do you think to making the rest of it green?’

  ‘You can’t be serious?’

  ‘I’m deadly serious.’

  He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His open-mouthed flustering made her burst into more laughter and she punched him playfully on the arm. ‘I’m just joshing with you. Of course I’m not going green.’

  ‘Thank God for that!’

  ‘I was thinking more like letter-box red.’

  He didn’t believe her this time. He picked up his jacket and threw it on. ‘Well, though it has been fun, Dr Chance, deciding whether you want to look like your head has been in a collision with a paint factory, you and I need to put in an appearance at work. Otherwise the whole village may well fall foul of a deadly plague without our being in our chairs, ministering to the sick.’

  ‘Hmm… I’m not one to turn down the chance of fighting an epidemic.’

  ‘Ready to go, then?’

  She put on her own coat and the incredibly long scarf that she’d been wearing earlier. ‘As I’ll ever be.’

  ‘You don’t need to feed the animals before we go?’

  ‘Already done.’

  ‘Any closer to picking up Anubis?’ He meant the tarantula.

  ‘No. But I gave him a damned good look this morning, and I got within two feet of the tank without shaking.’

  ‘Progress!’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Do you want to sit in with me this morning? We could do the clinic together and it would give me the opportunity to fill you in on some of our frequent flyers.’

  He meant the regulars who always turned up to the surgery, no matter what the state of their health. Every surgery had them. They were the people you could depend upon to turn up, who had nothing wrong with them but had got themselves appointments because they were lonely, or they wanted to chat about their problems in life in general.

  Then there were the hypochondriacs, who turned up over every little niggle—real or imagined. But you had to take them seriously each time, and check them out no matter what, or you’d get The Boy Who Cried Wolf syndrome. If one day you decided to ignore their call for help it would be the one time that they were actually ill and really needed you.

  ‘Sure. I think that would be a good idea.’

  ‘And if I introduce you they won’t think that you’re some sort of fairy.’

  She was closing her front door and locking it. ‘You think I look like a fairy?’ She tried to sound offended, even though she wasn’t.

  ‘It was my first thought.’

  Her head cocked to one side. ‘And you, Dr James, look like a blond Clark Kent. Do I need to warn everyone that you don’t actually wear your underpants over your trousers?’

  Olly seemed to take the hint. And the reprimand. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She perked up and smiled. ‘You’re so serious! I was joking! I quite like the fact you think I look like a fairy. I’d hate to look boring and normal.’

  ‘What’s wrong with boring and normal?’

  ‘It’s boring. And normal. Be different. Stand out from the crowd. Have a list!’ She laughed and he almost looked dismayed at her enjoyment.

  ‘You think I’m wrong to have a list?’

  ‘Not wrong, per se. Everyone has certain requirements for a partner.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘They just don’t usually write them down.’

  He stopped her from trudging through the snow by grabbing hold of her arm. ‘How do you know they’re written down?’

  She stopped to look at his hand,
trying hard not to think of how close it was to her smouldering skin. She met his gaze instead. ‘Your father told me.’

  ‘Dad did?’

  She nodded and he let go.

  They were crunching through the snow now, past Betsy and Olly’s car and towards the surgery. It was picture-postcard perfect, with everything blanketed in white.

  Lula turned to him. ‘You know, Olly, a man like you shouldn’t need a list.’

  ‘A man like me? What does that mean?’

  ‘A young man. Educated. Good-looking. An eligible bachelor. Though you could do with a different look.’

  ‘What’s wrong with my look?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Olly. You think I don’t already know that you’re considered to be the “hottie” of the village? All the ladies last night at the belly dancing think you’re a babe.’

  He preened a little. ‘Really?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘And me what?’

  ‘Do you think I’m a babe?’

  ‘Well, as gorgeous as you are, I can tell your look hasn’t changed for decades. Side parting…bit conservative. It would surprise me if you didn’t have a pair of brown corduroy trousers in your wardrobe. You need to spice yourself up a bit.’

  She stopped to look at him, at his dark hair, his bright blue eyes and solid jaw. He was narrow at the waist and broad at the shoulders. He might have been a male model. Olly was the epitome of male good looks, handsome and attractive, and if she was in the market for a man then he’d be the type that she would go for.

  But I’m not. And I won’t.

  ‘You’re okay, though.’

  He laughed out loud, plumes of his warm breath freezing in the cold winter air. As she watched him chuckling to himself beside her, she felt a little twinge of regret that she’d sworn off men for good.

  *

  Olly wasn’t sure what to make of Lula’s assessment of his character. He was amused and offended at the same time. What was wrong with having a pair of brown corduroys? They were comfortable and warm and… Oh. Sensible.

  Was he very sensible? Yes, he was, but he’d always thought of that as a strength. He was a loyal, dependable guy who enjoyed living a quiet life. Better than having to live in a big, noisy city, where no one talked to each other or looked out for their neighbours. Where there was no community spirit.