TOOK Meagan a couple of seconds to realise where she was when she woke up the next morning. It had been dark when Colin had dropped her off the night before and, exhausted, she had gone straight to bed. Despite her tiredness, she had lain awake, thinking about Cameron. Why had he never tried to get in touch with her? She had been so sure that he had felt the same way she had that night they had met. She had waited for him to contact her, but eventually anticipation had turned into disappointment with the realisation he was never going to. She had been badly mistaken about him and the kind of man he was. Now he was here and they’d be working together and, God, help her, he still made her feel week at the knees.
The day stretched before her to do as she pleased. Determined to make the most of it, she jumped out of bed and headed for the shower. Once she was dressed she would spend the day re-exploring the island and refamiliarising herself with her surroundings.
The cottage Colin had arranged for her was a renovated black house. Although it was tiny—with a small bedroom on one side and a kitchen/living room on the other and a bathroom in the middle—it was very cosy. There was just about enough room for her and her suitcases—if she was very organised. The sitting room had an open fire that Meagan surveyed with some trepidation. She hadn’t a clue how to go about setting and lighting a fire. Next to the fire, which had been set ready to light, was a basket of peat and some kindling. The same person had also left a basket of provisions, including, Meagan noted, coffee, milk, scones and even pancakes for her breakfast.
Meagan dressed warmly after her quick shower, surveying her appearance in the long mirror in the corner of her bedroom. She had pulled on her old but still stylish jeans, which she knew emphasised her long legs and slim figure. She straightened her hair until it fell to her shoulders in a sleek curtain and darkened her lashes with black mascara. That was all the make-up she normally wore, unless she was going out somewhere in the evening when she would add glossy red lipstick. To complete her outfit for walking the moors, she grabbed her green jacket in case the weather changed to rain, and pulled on her favourite leather boots.
Stepping out the front door, she gasped with surprise and pleasure. It had been dark when she had arrived the night before and she hadn’t been aware of how her new home was situated. She was delighted to see that the house had been built on a piece of land that projected into the sea, giving the impression that it was on its own small island. The day was glorious. Bright sunlight reflected on the water, which hugged the shore on three sides, turning it from deep blue to aquamarine where the waves lapped the shore. She listened to the sensuous sound of the waves gently washing over the rocks and a the feeling of peace wash over her.
The back of the house was sheltered from the wind by some rowan trees and had the best view. Meagan could imagine spending her evenings sitting outside, watching the wildlife as the sun went down. At the front was a rough drive leading up to the main road. A few sheep grazed, lazily turning disinterested eyes on Meagan before returning their attention to the grass. The place was perfect. Perhaps here she could at last really begin to put the past behind her.
Hearing a car’s engine, Meagan looked around and watched a battered Land Rover making its way down the track to the house. The car pulled up and a tall, elegant woman wearing faded jeans and wellingtons got out.
The woman eyed Meagan for a moment before extending a hand.
‘Hi, you must be Dr Galbraith,’ she said. ‘I’m Rachel—from Grimsay House.’ She indicated an imposing building on the top of the hill with a nod of her head.
She was one of the most beautiful women Meagan had ever seen. Long blonde hair hung to her shoulders, framing high cheekbones and sculpted lips. Violet eyes were accentuated with thick dark lashes that looked as if they owed nothing to mascara. Beside her, Meagan felt plain if not downright dowdy.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Meagan took the proffered hand, aware of the briefest pressure before her hand was relinquished.
‘I’m sorry to impose on your day off but Jessie—the cook—her daughter’s not feeling well and she wanted Cameron to have a look at her. Unfortunately he’s tied up with another patient. He asked us to ring you instead, but I thought I may as well pop down in person and give you a lift. If you’re free, that is?’ Cool eyes regarded Meagan steadily. Meagan surmised that this was a woman who expected people to do as she asked.
‘I’d be happy to see her. If you could give me a moment, I’ll get my bag.’
Uninvited, Rachel followed her inside the house.
‘Its years since I was in here,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten how tiny it is. It used to be a staff cottage.’
‘I think its lovely,’ Meagan said, collecting her bag from the sitting room. ‘Absolutely perfect.’ Inexplicably Meagan felt defensive about her new home. ‘Shall we go?’
The journey took just a few minutes. There was only enough time for Rachel to point a few landmarks out to Meagan before they were at their destination.
As Rachel swung the Land Rover into the large gravel car park of Grimsay House, Meagan marvelled at the majestic building before her. To describe it as a house was rather like referring to Mount Vesuvius as a steaming kettle. Two elegant stone columns framed wide stone steps leading up to a beautiful oak door at the entrance. Honey-coloured stonework hinted at the imposing age of the building. Meagan noted gentle puffs of smoke emanating from the large gable chimneys at either end of the house, which was framed by a breathtaking tangle of trees, shrubs and wildflowers. Dragging her eyes away, Meagan gathered up her medical bag as she followed Rachel inside the house and into the flag-stoned entrance hall.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Meagan said, taking in the elegant furniture and ornate framed portraits that graced the walls.
‘I suppose,’ Rachel said dismissively. ‘Can’t say I notice it much any more. Jessie and Effie are up here.’
Meagan followed Rachel up two flights of stairs into a bedroom that led off a narrow hall. The bedroom was light and airy and pleasantly furnished. On the large bed covered with a pink quilt on which elephants and rabbits gambolled, lay a small, pale child of around seven. Sitting next to the child, holding a book, sat a woman in her twenties who Meagan took to be Effie’s mother.
‘This is Jessie and her daughter Effie. Jessie, Effie—Dr Galbraith,’ Rachel made the introductions. She then strode towards the window and looked out, turning her back on the proceedings.
Jessie stood up. ‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ Jessie said. ‘Effie’s been complaining of stomach ache since the early hours of this morning. I’ve given her paracetamol but it hasn’t helped. Now she’s being sick.’ Jessie spoke quickly, clearly anxious. She turned to her daughter, who was watching Meagan with solemn eyes. ‘Effie, Dr Galbraith is here to see if we can make you better,’ Jessie continued.
Meagan approached the bed and smiled warmly at the young girl. Crouching next to her, she reached over to stroke the large pink cuddly toy the child was clutching.
‘A girl after my own heart, I see,’ she said soothingly. ‘You know, I had a bunny rabbit just like that when I was your age.’
Effie peeked out at Meagan from behind the rabbit. ‘My tummy hurts,’ she said plaintively, ‘and I’ve been sick. Four times,’ she added proudly.
‘Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that. If you lie down flat, I’d like to feel your tummy.’
Uncertainly, Effie looked towards Jessie.
‘Go
