A Summer Wedding at Willowmere
Abigail Gordon
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
Table of Contents
For David, with all good wishes
Abigail Gordon loves to write about the fascinating combination of medicine and romance from her home in a Cheshire village. She is active in local affairs, and is even called upon to write the script for the annual village pantomime! Her eldest son is a hospital manager, and helps with all her medical research. As part of a close-knit family, she treasures having two of her sons living close by, and the third one not too far away. This also gives her the added pleasure of being able to watch her delightful grandchildren growing up.
CHAPTER ONE
LAUREL MADDOX groaned as the train pulled into the small country station that was her destination. She had two heavy cases to unload and there wasn’t a porter in sight. Just two deserted platforms and an unattended ticket office were all that were visible as the doors began to open.
For someone used to the big city where platforms and staff were many and varied it was a depressing introduction to the place that was going to be her home for some time to come. Yet all was not lost as she prepared to heave the cases out onto the platform.
A voice said from behind, ‘Can I help?’ and when she turned the man it belonged to didn’t wait for an answer. He moved past and swung the offending luggage out onto the platform, then turned and offered a firm clasp from a hand that was protruding from the cuff of a crisp white shirt.
As she thanked him Laurel was thinking that he was the only part of the scenery that she could relate to. Tall, tanned, trimly built, wearing a dark suit, he seemed more in keeping with the place she’d come from than the countryside that her aunt had described in such glowing terms.
‘I need a porter,’ she said. ‘Is there such a person in this place?’
‘Just one,’ he replied. ‘Walter does the job of porter, mans the ticket office, collects them when necessary.’ He gave a wave of the arm that took in the spotless platforms and the tubs of summer flowers gracing them. ‘And also keeps the place clean and attractive. Willowmere won the prize for best country station last year. But he does stop for lunch at this time of day.’
‘So what about a taxi?’ she asked wearily, obviously unimpressed by his description of the absent Walter’s devotion to duty.
‘There is one, but…’
‘Don’t tell me. Amongst all of that he drives the local taxi.’
‘No. His brother does that,’ he said with a smile of the kind not soon forgotten, ‘but it doesn’t look as if he’s around at the moment. I have a car and it’s parked just here. Can I give you a lift to wherever you’re going? I know we’re strangers, but I’m a doctor in the village surgery, if it helps.’ He showed her his ID, which proclaimed him to be Dr David Trelawney.
‘Well, OK. Thank you,’ she said, trying to smile despite feeling weary and irritable and wishing she hadn’t allowed herself to be persuaded to move to the Cheshire village of Willowmere. ‘So you must know my Aunt Elaine. I’m going to stay with her for a while.’
‘Elaine Ferguson, our practice manager? Yes, of course,’ he said in surprise, and bent to pick up her cases. ‘So you’ll be wanting Glenside Lodge, then. If you’ll follow me.’
As she tottered after him across the cobbled forecourt of the station on high-heeled shoes Laurel was feeling nauseous from lack of food and the journey. It had been a month since she’d been discharged from hospital and she was gradually getting stronger, but at that moment she felt as weak as a kitten and was wishing she’d stayed put in her own habitat.
‘There’s a vacancy coming up at the surgery for a practice nurse,’ Elaine had phoned to say. ‘Why don’t you give James Bartlett, the senior partner, a ring?’
‘You
