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'So what's the problem?' she asked softly.

'There are a few.'

'Such as?'

'The fact that you haven't known me long is one. Me being your employer is another, and some time ago I had a bad relationship that caused me a lot of heartache.'

'And you don't want to risk having another?'

He shook his head. 'It isn't that, as I wasn't entirely blameless. But over the years I've come to the conclusion that he who walks alone lives the uncomplicated life.'

'That is crazy and you know it,' she said flatly. 'You are
adopting the once bitten twice shy way of life and I would have expected more than that of you.'

He didn't take her up on that. Instead he told her, 'I'm going before your mother comes back and gives me a blast for upsetting her daughter.'

'Mum has enough of her own affairs to think about at the moment,' she told him dispiritedly. 'Simon is due to be discharged next week. She'll be moving into his place to look after him, which leaves me queen of the castle. She has signed the cottage over to me.'

'Great! Except for one thing.'

'What?'

'It's a bit isolated for you to be living alone up here.'

'I might not be. Someone told my mother that many years ago two old ladies lived here. They worked in one of the mills in the area, and in what little free time they had in those days they smoked clay pipes, one at each side of the fire, and that sometimes you can smell the tobacco smoke.'

'Are you sure that it isn't just the chimney that needs sweeping?'

She ignored the jest and went on to tell him, 'We can't all live in up-market converted barns a stone's throw from the village. Not when we're ex-students with a loan to pay off.'

'Ah, yes. I gave you the tour, didn't I, when you first started working at the practice? I could smell your perfume for hours afterwards.'

'I'm sorry about that.'

'You needn't be. It was delightful.'

'As delightful as kissing me senseless on a summer night and then wishing you hadn't?'

He touched her cheek gently but she jerked her head away. 'We have all the time in the world, Fenella,' he told her. 'Remember that.'

When Fenella arrived
at the church hall the following evening, her glance went over those present and registered that there was no sign of Max's commanding presence.

Those who had the interests of the village at heart were chatting in small groups around the room, waiting for the meeting to start, and she hesitated on the threshold.

'Would you be Fenella?' a voice said from nearby, and when she looked up she found a tall youth with short dark hair and a strong resemblance to the missing Max observing her.

'Yes. I am,' she told him. 'And you have to be Will Hollister.'

'That's me, ma'am,' he said with a grin. 'I have a message from big brother.'

Her spirits sank. Max wasn't coming for some reason, she thought, and, sure enough, Will said, 'He had a phone call from the police just as we were leaving the house. He was coming here and I was on my way to the pub, so he asked me to make a detour to let you know that he mightn't be able to make it.'

'Oh, dear. Well, thanks for letting me know.'

'Why don't you come to the pub with me instead?' Will suggested, looking around him. 'These things drag on for hours.' The grin was there again. 'Max hasn't mentioned what a looker you are. I'd have introduced myself sooner if I'd known.'

'Listen, sonny,' she said laughingly. 'Don't get too fresh, or the next time you have to come to the surgery I might prescribe castor oil or an injection with a big needle.'

'It could be worth it,' he parried, and strolled off to the place where they were more interested in what was in their glasses than what was going on at the village hall.

So much for that, Fenella thought dismally as she found a seat and waited for the meeting to start. She and Max had met up that morning at the practice and with the happenings of the night before uppermost in their minds had exchanged guarded greetings. Any other conversation had been about the practice and its patients.

'Could you come in on my next consultation?' Fenella had asked him in the middle of the morning.

'Yes, of course,' he'd replied immediately. 'What's the problem?'

'I'm not sure. A Mrs Taverner has been passed on to us by the hospital. She has an infection in her leg that won't clear up. Apparently she broke her ankle some time ago and when they were cutting off the cast after the fracture had healed they caught her leg with the scissors and she's developed an MRSA-type infection.

'She's been going to the hospital for dressings, but now they've suggested she comes here to have it seen to as she is elderly and we are so much nearer. She has made an appointment for the leg to be seen by one of us before the nurses do anything with it and I don't feel qualified enough to handle it on my own.'

Max had frowned.

'I'm not surprised. It will be a mistake on the part of the receptionists to have passed Mrs Taverner on to you. I know her well, but this is the first I've heard about the infection. Yet I suppose it's understandable if they've been treating her at the hospital. It would seem from the sound of it that the scissors hadn't been properly sterilised, which is not acceptable. But unfortunately, due to human error, those sorts of things do happen. Where is she now?'

'Waiting for me to call her.'

'Then do it and we'll see what's what.'

Jane Taverner was a sprightly seventy-year-old and seemingly not too concerned about the sore place on her leg.

'I've been having it dressed at the hospital for twelve months now,' she told them, 'and, though it gets no worse, neither does it get any better. They've suggested a skin graft. How long I'll have to wait for that I don't know.'

'Does it hurt?' Max asked as he examined the area of inflamed skin with the weeping sore in the centre of it.

She shook her head. 'No. I would be happier if it did. It's as if that part of my leg is dead.'

She was fishing in her handbag and produced a sealed envelope.

'They gave me this to pass on to you. It's the details of the treatment.'

'Fine,' he said reassuringly when he'd read the letter. 'We'll hand you over to the nurses, but if it should get worse between appointments you must come to the surgery immediately to have it looked at. Do you understand, Mrs Taverner?'

'Yes, Doctor, I understand.' She twinkled back at him. 'But I've had it that long I've stopped worrying about it. What's a bit of bandage as long as they don't have to take my leg off?'

'Yes, indeed. What
is
a bit of bandage?' he'd agreed as he'd helped her to her feet.

When she'd gone he exclaimed, 'What did you think of that? The leg? Her light-hearted attitude? The hospital passing her on to us when they are to blame from the sound of it!'

'I suppose the fact that it hasn't got any worse is reassuring,' she said, just as amazed as he.

'I suppose you could say that, but in future any appointments regarding Mrs Taverner's leg must be dealt with by me. Or maybe we could team up on it. I don't want you having the responsibility for that.'

The meeting had commenced with the vicar explaining Dr Hollister's absence, and once that had been done the discussions began.

But after only a matter of minutes a woman sitting near the front of the hall rose to her feet and strolled out. She was of medium height, auburn-haired, and dressed in expensive casual clothes, and Fenella thought whimsically that she was either disappointed that the dashing doctor was not going to be joining them or she'd forgotten to turn the oven off. Having no idea how close she was in her first surmise, she tuned into what was being said and dismissed the woman from her mind.

There was much enthusiasm amongst those present, coming from their love of the place and their pride in it.
Someone suggested that to accelerate the idea of a village in bloom they should have a flower queen, to be crowned on the green on the afternoon of the ball.

The idea was quickly taken up and it was arranged that notices would be put up to inform girls between the ages of fourteen and seventeen that they could enter a competition to be the village's first queen of the flowers.

At the end of the meeting there was still no sign of Max and, loth to call it a day, Fenella went to the village's most popular pub, The Moorhen. She'd been one of the last to leave the hall and had told the caretaker, who had been clearing up, where Dr Hollister would be able to find her if he came back within the hour.

When she entered The Moorhen's cosy interior she saw that Will and some of his friends were seated at a table near the bar and he came over when he saw her.

'So Max hasn't turned up, then?' he said.

'Er.. .no,' she told him.

'Can I get you a drink, Fenella?'

She smiled. 'It is I who should be buying you one,' she told him. 'It isn't so long ago that I was a hard-up student myself.' As he opened his mouth to protest, she said, 'An orange juice would be very nice, thank you.'

'Would you like to join us?' he asked after he'd ordered the drink.

Did she want to sit with a gang of youths with spiked- up hair and voices not long broken? she was thinking, but she liked this young brother of Max's and wouldn't want to damage his street cred, so she said, 'Yes, if your friends don't mind.'

* * *

A couple out walking had found the body of a middle-aged woman in the woods on the hillside behind the village and Max's presence had been required. She was lying face down in thick mud that was the aftermath of heavy rain and appeared to have only been there for a short time as rigor mortis was only just beginning to set in.

Max groaned when the call came through and asked Will to let Fenella know that he'd been called out. He'd been looking forward to seeing her again, away from the surgery, and had been going to invite her back to his place for coffee after the meeting, but as a police surgeon he knew only too well how soon the best-laid plans could be disrupted.

'Do you recognise her at all?' the police sergeant in charge asked as Max knelt beside the body, which lay face down in the mud. 'I expect you would know if she came from round these parts, you being the local GP.'

'At first glance, I would say she's a stranger, but I can't see her face properly,' Max told him. 'I don't want to move her until the scene of crime boys get here.' He pointed to the back of her head. 'Something has gouged into the base of her skull with a great deal of force. The attack came from behind so she would have stood little chance of defending herself, and landing in the mud won't have helped. She would have had difficulty breathing if she was still alive. There has been a lot of heavy rain recently, as I am discovering to my cost.' He glanced down wryly on to his shoes and the bottoms of his jeans.

'Would the blow, or blows, be severe enough to kill her?' the policeman asked.

'Yes. I would think so. Some folks' skulls are thinner than others,' Max replied. 'How long before the scene of crime people get here once you've reported my findings?'

'Hard to say,' he was told. 'Depends who is available. Why? Are you in a hurry?'

Max shook his head. 'Not so much that I'm going to leave the scene until I'm satisfied that I haven't missed anything. Did she have any personal belongings with her to help with identification?'

'We haven't found anything so far but my men are going over the area. I have a feeling that she might be a traveller. There's a gypsy site not far from here.'

It was a quarter to eleven when Max got back to the village and found the caretaker locking up after the meeting.

'The young lady doctor said to tell you that she'll be in The Moorhen,' the sprightly pensioner told him. After a quick word of thanks Max made his way to where the lights of the public house beckoned.

His spirits were lifting. At least he would have a short time with Fenella, he thought. Maybe the evening wasn't entirely spoilt and he quickened his steps, but as he passed the open window of The Moorhen he halted.

Fenella wasn't alone. She was with Will and his crowd and from the looks of it having the time of her life, laughing with them and singing to the jukebox.

So much for him thinking she would be waiting for him in solitary disappointment, he thought wearily. It was quite clear he hadn't been missed. He'd had a tiring and depressing evening and had been looking forward to making up for it when he found her. But it looked as if she was enjoying herself too much to be concerned about his absence. Turning swiftly, he went back to his car and drove home.

Only seconds after he'd departed Fenella got to her feet with the feeling that if she had to listen to any more loud music, or fob off one more youthful admirer, she would go crazy.

When she'd asked where all their girlfriends were there'd been some lame excuses and she'd accepted that for tonight she was the only woman. They were a nice lot of lads, well mannered, well behaved, and she knew they wouldn't step out of turn, but she could only endure their company for so long.

She wanted to be with Max, in spite of his doubts regarding their relationship. Wanted to get to know him better, find out what made him tick, what his likes and dislikes were, his hopes and fears. Everything about him was of importance to her. But it was not to be and as she bade Will and his friends goodnight it occurred to her that she had no transport home.

Her mother had given her a lift to the meeting and she'd been expecting that Max would be there to drive her back to the cottage when it was over, but as it hadn't worked out like that she had a choice of ringing Ann to ask her to come and pick her up, get a taxi or walk back on her own.

After a moment's thought she decided that the walk would be pleasant after an evening spent inside and set off with a purposeful stride.

When Will arrived home some time later Max was in the shower, and when he came out his brother said, 'I've been in the pub with Fenella. She's great!'

'Yes, she is,' he agreed dryly. 'What time did she leave?'