practice for a few months and when he asked me to marry him I said yes, never expecting for a moment that he would want to throw you out of the house. When he confessed that he’d told you to find somewhere else to live and that you’d gone that same night I was appalled and called the wedding off. So, my dear, you have the missing bride here before you.’
‘You!’ Emma exclaimed incredulously, with the memory of Jeremy’s hurtful revelations about him not being her father just as painful now as they’d been then. ‘You gave up your chance of happiness because of me? I wouldn’t have minded moving out, especially as it was you that he was intending to marry.’
She couldn’t tell Lydia the rest of it. Why she’d gone in the night, feeling hurt and humiliated, desperate to get away from what she’d been told, but holding no blame against her mother. She’d dealt with women and teenage girls in the practice in the same position that her mother had been in and had sympathised with their problems.
The practice manager was smiling. ‘Your disappearance saved me from what would have been a big mistake, marrying Jeremy. I’d never been married before. Had never wanted to, but as middle age was creeping up on me it was getting a bit lonely and … well you know the rest. But happiness doesn’t come at the expense of the hurt of others … and ever since I’ve looked upon it as a lucky escape.’
‘I’m so glad you’ve explained,’ Emma told her. ‘From the first moment of my return I’ve wondered why the house felt so empty and cheerless. I’ve felt that I couldn’t possibly live in it under those conditions, but now I might change my mind and make it fit to stay here.’
Feet on the stairs and voices were coming down towards them. It was twelve o’clock Saturday lunchtime, the practice had closed, and as friends of yesterday and newcomers she had to get to know crowded round her, for the first time it felt like coming home.
‘Where is Glenn this morning?’ she heard someone ask, and before a reply was forthcoming he spoke from up above.
‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’ he asked from the top of the stairs, and as he came down towards them he smiled across at her and asked the assembled staff, ‘So have you done anything about arranging a welcome night out for Dr Chalmers?’
‘We were just about to,’ someone said. ‘It’s why we’re all gathered below decks, but first we need to know if Emma would like that sort of thing.’
‘I would love it,’ she told them with a glance at Lydia, who had brought some clarity into her life and was smiling across at her.
‘So how about tonight, at one of the restaurants on the Promenade that has a dance floor?’ Mark Davies, a young GP trainee and a stranger to her, suggested. ‘Any excuse for food and fun.’
As the idea seemed to appeal to the rest of them it was arranged that they meet at the Barrington Bar at eight o’clock. As they all went home to make the best of what was left of Saturday, Emma felt that it was beginning to feel more like a homecoming, although she had no idea what to wear.
There had been no time or inclination to dress up where she’d been. It had been cotton cropped trousers and a loose shirt with a wide-brimmed hat to protect her face from the heat of the sun, and any clothes that she’d left in the wardrobe here would be reminders of the hurt that being told she had been living there on sufferance had caused. They would also smell stale.
So after a quick bite in a nearby snack bar she went clothes shopping for the evening ahead and found the experience exhilarating after the long gap of wearing attractive outfits. Her euphoria didn’t last long.
There was the arranging of Jeremy’s funeral that had to be her first priority after the weekend, and if she’d needed a reminder the amount of black outfits in the boutiques and big stores would have given her memory the necessary prod.
As she made her way homewards with a dark winter suit and matching accessories for the funeral, and, totally opposite, a turquoise mini-dress for the night ahead with silver shoes and a white fake-fur jacket, Emma was remembering that it was the new head of the practice who had prompted the staff to arrange the welcome-back occasion of the coming evening. Would he be there?
Glenn Bartlett knew her less than anyone and, having seen him in the smart black overcoat, she imagined that he would turn up well dressed.
He did come, looking more like an attractive member of the opposite sex than a sombre well-wisher, and suddenly the evening felt happy and carefree after her time of hurt and toiling in hot places.
For one thing, Lydia had solved the missing wife mystery that had been concerning Emma, and for another the surgery crowd, apart from a couple of newcomers, had been delighted to see her back in Glenminster. And to feel wanted was a wonderful thing.
The Barrington Bar, where they were gathered, was one of the town’s high spots as it boasted good food in a smart restaurant area beside a dance floor with musicians who were a delight to the ear, and as she looked around her the new head of the practice said from behind her, ‘So is it good to be back, Emma?’
‘Yes,’ she said, sparkling back at him, and he thought that the weary-looking occupant of what had been a drab, deserted house had come out of her shell with gusto. The dress, jacket and shoes were magical.
Some of the practice staff had brought partners with them but not so Glenn Bartlett. There was a look of solitariness about him, even though he was being friendly enough after their uncomfortable first meeting.
Did he live alone in the converted barn that he’d mentioned when he’d rung her bell last night? she wondered. Someone had said when they’d all been gathered at the practice earlier that he’d been taking his father with the big appetite home.
At that moment James Prentice, a young GP who had recently joined the practice, appeared at her side and asked if she would like to dance. As Emma smiled at him and took hold of his outstretched hand, the man by her side strolled towards the bar and once he’d been served seated himself at an empty table and gazed into space unsmilingly.
He’d been a fool to come, Glenn was thinking. The fact that he’d suggested a welcome homecoming for Jeremy Chalmers’s daughter would have been enough to add to switching on the heating and filling the refrigerator in that ghastly place, without turning out for a night at the Barrington Bar. It would have been a tempting idea at one time but not now, never again.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that Emma Chalmers had returned to the Cotswolds for a very sad occasion he would have left her to it, but common decency had required that he make sure she had food and warmth and the pleasure of tonight’s gathering to make her feel welcome because she’d looked tired and joyless on her arrival, which was not surprising after a long flight and a funeral to arrange as soon as possible.
Glenn finished his drink and, rising from his seat, told those of his companions who were nearest that he was leaving, going home to enjoy the peace that his father’s departure had restored.
Emma was still on the dance floor in her partner’s arms and as she glanced across he waved a brief goodbye and was gone.
Back home he sat in silence, gazing out into the dark night with the memory of Jeremy Chalmers’s last moments on the golf course starkly clear. He’d known him before stepping into the vacancy that his passing had left.
The then head of the practice and his father had met at university. Jeremy, who had been on the point of retiring, had invited his friend’s son, also a doctor, to stay for the weekend to familiarise
