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,
