He’d expected tears. Possibly tantrums, especially from Poppy, who simply adored her gran. Oliver was just as attached, of course, but he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like Poppy. He was more like himself, in guarding his heart and not letting others see any private misery. His children were his life—both of them—but he did worry more about Ollie. Because he knew just how much misery it was possible to hide?
But the moment had come. They’d all been out there to say goodbye to Catherine. Even the unknown quantity that was the new arrival of the temporary nanny because his mother wouldn’t let her hang back from the family farewell. She’d been standing there beside the children—looking remarkably like a wayward, teenage sister—getting one of those warm hugs that Catherine was so good at. And then she’d whispered something in Ollie’s ear and his little boy had given a solemn nod and turned to lead the way back inside. Poppy had jumped up and down and tugged on Emma’s hand and she was bursting with excitement as she dragged Emma back up the steps.
‘We’re going to see the kit-ar,’ she informed Adam as they went past. ‘I love kit-ars.’
Benji had bounded in their wake, of course. It was Bob who was sitting by Adam’s feet and he saw the dog shiver. How long had he been standing here, wondering how on earth something he’d been dreading had turned out to be so easy?
Long enough for his dog to shiver noticeably.
‘Come on, then, old boy.’
Back in the warmth of the house, he pushed the heavy door closed and then he heard it.
The sound of music coming from the kitchen.
Expertly plucked guitar strings. A song being sung in a clear, sweet voice that filled the air and made it somehow more of a pleasure to breathe.
A childish song, he realised as he stepped closer to the bright glow of the kitchen door. A nonsense song with tongue-twister words about a copper coffee-pot.
And it wasn’t just Emma singing. Poppy was getting the words wrong and giggling but Oliver must have learned the song at school because he was joining in part of the chorus.
Not very loudly but he knew his son’s voice.
He stopped again. Puzzled.
What was it about this girl?
His mother had seen it instantly. Poppy was prepared to love everybody. But Ollie …?
How on earth had she put her hands on a key to that little heart so quickly?
Adam shook his head and Bob lay down and put his nose on his paws to wait.
He knew when something big was changing. And he knew that it took longer for his master to recognise any joyful possibilities that something new could offer. His job was simply to keep him company while he had a little think about it all.
CHAPTER THREE
‘SO MRS MCALLISTER’S likin’ Canada, then?’
‘Aye.’ Adam glanced over his shoulder, reaching for the file on the end of Eileen’s desk, as his next patient joined him for the short walk to his consulting room. The waiting area was still full, and while the women amongst the group seemed busy with their knitting or magazines, he knew perfectly well that they’d all been discussing his business while he’d been taking Shona Legg’s blood tests.
Or, to be more accurate, they’d been comparing notes on the new arrival in the village. Emma had been here for a few days now and there was nothing like a bit of new blood to stimulate opinions.
Eileen had overheard the comment by way of greeting from the elderly woman who was moving slowly beside him. She sniffed audibly.
‘Don’t hold wi’ havin’ Christmas in foreign parts,’ he heard her mutter. ‘It’s no’ natural to be away from your home.’
Adam suppressed a sigh as Miss McClintock’s progress slowed even more as she turned her head. ‘Canada’s no’ so foreign,’ she informed Eileen. ‘And Christmas is about people, no’ places. Dr McAllister’s sister’s there and she’s having a bairn. It’s where the first Mrs McAllister should be.’
‘Come in, Joan.’ Adam closed the door firmly behind them. ‘And tell me what’s brought you here today.’
‘I’m a bit peaky is all.’
‘Oh?’ Adam smiled encouragingly but his heart was sinking. It had been, ever since that reference to the first Mrs McAllister. The title had come from the need to distinguish Catherine from the new woman with the same name—Tania. This was really what that overfull waiting room was about, wasn’t it? It had happened all those years ago, too, when he’d brought his new wife home from the bright lights of Edinburgh. Who knew what interesting piece of information he might let slip when faced with the relentless curiosity of people who’d known him all his life?
They loved him. He knew that. They’d been prepared to accept and admire Tania, too, despite her being a foreigner from the bright lights of Edinburgh, and the excitement that her pregnancy and the birth of the twins had generated had kept the older biddies happy for months. So had the tragedy of her death. They’d closed ranks around him now and anyone who might pose even the smallest threat was going to be regarded with deep suspicion.
How on earth was Emma coping with that side of village life?
‘What sort of peaky?’
Joan McClintock removed her hat. Adam obediently took it and placed it on his desk as she began unwinding her hand-knitted scarf from around her neck.
‘I don’t feel quite right,’ his patient said vaguely. ‘A wee bit giddy in my head when I stand up sometimes.’
Adam’s nod was brisk. Blood pressure first, then. Possibly an ECG to check for an arrhythmia. At the very least a review of the medications Joan was taking. It was unlikely he’d be finished within the fifteen-minute slot that Eileen would have allocated in her appointment schedule but he would have to try.
‘I saw the bairns in the square yesterday,’ Joan told him as he helped her off with her thick coat. ‘Watching the decorations go up on the tree. It’s such a blessing they don’t remember, isn’t it?’
‘Aye.’ The agreement was as terse as Adam could make it without causing offence. A warning that discussing his private life was not an option. ‘No, you don’t need to take off your cardigan, Joan. We can just roll up your sleeve for me to do your blood pressure.’
It was a blessing that his children couldn’t remember the dreadful Christmas of three years ago. Had Emma been given the story in lurid detail, as she’d done her chores in the village over the last few days? December wasn’t just about a season of goodwill in Braeburn. It marked the season of remembrance for Tania McAllister.
His mother was lucky she was in Canada. She was getting a reprieve from being the unspoken centre of attention when family was being celebrated. Away from a village where Christmas had a distinct flavour of being a shrine to someone who had been elevated to the status of a saint.
Dear Lord … if they only knew the truth …
But he hadn’t known so why should they? Oh, they’d all seen how she’d escaped the village more and more often but, while eyebrows had been raised about her time away from the children, it had been accepted as part of a glamorous woman’s life and it had been forgiven and forgotten after her tragic death.
What none of them knew was that she probably hadn’t been alone on any of those trips away.
He’d only found out because fate had stepped in and provided the evidence and Adam had made sure that the scandalous information had gone no further.
Maybe that was the real blessing here. That the village—and therefore his children—would never know.
It was his burden and that was only fair, wasn’t it? If he’d been a better husband, Tania wouldn’t have needed anyone else. And it was a burden he was getting used to carrying. In many ways it was getting easier and he could hope that some time in the future he’d be able to cope with this particular time of year. Enjoying it was too much to ever hope for but another few weeks and things could get back to normal. A normality he would never have chosen, of course, but he could live with it.
He had no choice.
‘That English lass
ie was wi’ them.’ Joan only just managed to wait until Adam was removing the stethoscope from his ears. ‘I hear she’s made friends with Caitlin McMurray at the school?’
His grunt was intended to express a lack of interest in his temporary nanny’s social life. Why did some people assume that a monosyllabic response simply needed more effort on their part?
‘I hear she’s been singing.’
‘Aye.’ Adam was still having difficulty getting used to the sound of Emma singing. She did it all the time. When she was busy with some mundane task, like doing the dishes or sorting laundry, and a session of songs with the children was already a favourite part of their evening routine. She probably thought the nursery wing was far enough away from the rest of the house for him not to notice but she was wrong. He’d heard her late last night, too, well after the children were sound asleep. Alone in her room, playing her guitar and singing softly.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like the sound. It was just … different. Nothing like normal.
‘She’s no’ a teacher.’ Joan clicked her tongue. ‘What’s she doing at the school every day?’
It was the tone that did it. Adam was jolted out of his automatic defence mechanisms by the unexpected urge to defend his new employee. ‘She has been a music teacher and she plays the guitar. The school’s piano is apparently broken and the children want to learn carols. Now … stand up, please, Joan. I’m going to take your blood pressure again to see if position makes any difference.’
Joan levered her ample frame out of the chair. ‘We knew about the piano. The committee’s talking about whether to use the hall fund to replace it, but if we don’t fix the hall it’s going to get condemned and what would we do without the village hall? Where would the children put on their Christmas play?’
Adam resorted to his customary grunt and put the earpieces of his stethoscope into place to signal an end to the conversation. As he held the disc over Joan’s elbow and pumped up the cuff, he took a quick glance at the clock on his wall and remembered the number of people in the waiting room.
It was going to be a long day.
The conversation stopped as soon as Emma entered the general store that was between the greengrocer and the bakery. She lifted her chin and put on her brightest smile.
‘Good morning. I’m looking for some coloured paper. Do you have the kind that’s sticky on the back?’
The blank stare made Emma reconsider her decision to shop in the village instead of driving for half an hour to get to the nearest larger town. It wasn’t easy to keep the smile on her face.
‘I want to make paper chains,’ she explained. ‘For Christmas decorations.’
The women exchanged heavily significant glances.
‘Christmas decorations?’ one of them murmured. ‘In Dr McAllister’s hoose?’
The subtext was in capital letters. You couldn’t really celebrate Christmas in the McAllister house. Not without being duly reluctant anyway. Even the children were all too aware of that and it wasn’t fair. She’d taken them to watch the big tree in the square being decorated yesterday and Poppy’s eyes had been huge.
‘I love Christmas trees,’ she’d whispered. ‘They’re so pretty.’
‘We’ll make your Christmas tree just as pretty at home, you’ll see.’
‘We don’t have a tree at home,’ Oliver had said. ‘Gran says it’s because it makes Dad sad.’
‘It makes me sad,’ Poppy had said, ‘not having a tree.’
Emma had lain awake last night, mulling this over. She was here for the children, wasn’t she? And she was here for Christmas.
And Christmas was for children.
It was a no-brainer, really. Surely she could find a way to persuade the taciturn Dr McAllister to put up with a few decorations? When Catherine had called from Canada early that morning to talk to the children before they went off to school, Emma had gathered her courage and asked quietly if it would be such a terrible thing to do.
‘It would be the best thing to do,’ Catherine had assured her. ‘It’s no guid for anyone, being stuck in the past. I’ve tried but …’ The sigh said it all. ‘Maybe you’ll succeed, pet. He can’t afford to chase you away, can he? Not before Christmas, anyway.’
The tone that suggested it wouldn’t be an easy task was being heavily underlined by the shocked look these women were now sharing.
‘It’s for Poppy and Oliver,’ Emma said firmly. ‘They’ve been making decorations at school and they want to make some at home, too. Paper chains are what I always made when I was their age.’
The mention of the children made one of the women nod. ‘Aye,’ she sighed. ‘It should be all about the bairns, shouldn’t it?’
‘The paper’s over yon,’ the shopkeeper told Emma. ‘Beside the magazines.’
The conversation didn’t stop this time as she returned to the counter.
‘Poor man,’ one was saying. ‘To lose the love of his life so young.’
‘Like a princess, she was,’ another agreed. ‘Always so well dressed.’
Emma felt the collective scrutiny of her jeans and oversized jumper beneath her puffy anorak and she was perversely delighted that she was wearing her Tibetan knitted hat with its rainbow stripes and ear covers that trailed into long tails she hadn’t bothered tying. That would really give them something to disapprove of at length as soon as she went out the door.
Her bravado faded as she picked up the guitar case she’d left by the umbrella stand at the shop door and went out into the chilly, grey afternoon, however. If making a paper chain or two was such a big deal, maybe she was only going to make things worse? How happy would the children be if their father was even more upset by someone who wasn’t prepared to spend Christmas in a kind of muted mourning?
The Christmas tree in the square had taken days to decorate but it was looking magnificent now, with big, coloured lights and enormous red and silver baubles. Despite the cold, Emma perched on a bench near the church. She had half an hour before she was due at school. Checking her watch, she made a quick calculation. They were about eight hours behind Californian time and that meant that Sharon was probably at home. She hit the speed dial.
‘Emma … I was just thinking about you. Is it snowing in Scotland?’
‘Feels like it could be any second. I’m in the village square and it’s absolutely freezing.’
‘Ohh … I’m homesick. It’s too warm to be Christmastime here. It’s just wrong. But … you shouldn’t be sitting out in the cold. Go and find somewhere warm, for heaven’s sake. You have to take care of yourself.’
‘I’m fine. It’s too cold for bugs to survive here and my immune system is pretty much back to full power. I’m just killing some time before I go to the school for carol practice.’
Sharon laughed. ‘I got your email. I can’t believe you’ve got involved with village life that fast. No … on second thoughts, it doesn’t surprise me at all. You’ll be starring in the Christmas pantomime by next week.’
‘No. That’s Ollie and Poppy. They’ve been chosen to be Joseph and Mary for the school nativity play. They’re so excited. I’m going to have to make costumes for them.’
‘Uh-oh … Do they know you can’t sew?’
Emma laughed. ‘No. They don’t even know I can’t cook yet. Their gran left so much food in the freezer I’ve been able to keep my lack of talent well hidden.’
‘Imagine if you gave the only doctor in town food poisoning?’
‘Hey … that only happened once. I give chicken a wide berth now.’
‘Good thinking. He wouldn’t be happy.’
‘He’s not happy anyway. Do you know I haven’t seen him smile once yet?’
‘He’s Scottish. He’s supposed to be dour.’
‘He still wears his wedding ring and it’s three years since his wife died.’
‘Hmm. He must have loved her.’
‘Who wouldn’t? From what I’ve heard, she was either a princess, an angel or some kind of sai
nt.’
‘Nobody’s that perfect. People just forget the bad stuff when they’re dead.’
Emma smiled but couldn’t help wondering if Sharon would forget about the food poisoning incident if …
‘Oh, my God … what is that horrendous noise?’
Laughter chased away the dark thought. ‘There’s an old guy in a kilt near the Christmas tree. He’s warming up his bagpipes.’
‘What? Sounds like a tribe of donkeys braying.’
‘No. That’s even worse. You should hear Jemima waking us all up in the mornings. She’s very cute but remind me that I never want a donkey as a pet in the future, will you?’
‘What was that? I can hardly hear you.’
‘I’d better go, Sharon. I’m due at school. Talk soon. Love you.’
The piper was playing a real tune by the time Emma tucked her phone into her pocket and, instead of the brisk walk she had intended to get her circulation moving again, she sat there and listened for a minute.
It was such an evocative sound with a haunting edge that was a song of what … courage? Loneliness?
Maybe it was just the quintessential Scottishness of it but it made her think of Adam McAllister.
Did he ever wear a kilt?
The notion gave her an odd curl somewhere deep in her belly.
What was it about men in kilts that could be such a sexy image?
Or was it the image of Adam in the attire that was making her feel a little odd?
It was easy to dismiss such a ridiculous idea because something else was happening in her head.
Or maybe her heart.
Perhaps it was the Christmas tree she was looking at in combination with the haunting music. Or maybe it had something to do with that moment in her phone call to Sharon when she’d wondered if her friend would only remember the good things.
A Little Christmas Magic Page 4
