Christmas In Bluebell Cove. Abigail GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.
She had placed her life’s work in his capable hands. For as far back as anyone could remember she’d provided those who lived in Bluebell Cove with first-class medical care and was now a semi-invalid, barely able to walk and relying on him to carry on the good work.
He and Francine had met at university where they’d both been studying medicine. They’d fallen madly in love, had had a fairy-tale wedding in Paris, and for twelve years she’d seemed content living on the Devon coast in beautiful Bluebell Cove.
They’d joined the practice originally as newly qualified G.P.s and she’d taken time out to have the children, returning when they were older on a part-time arrangement.
He’d known that she’d been homesick sometimes and had understood, agreeing that they should spend holidays and weekends with her parents whenever possible, but homesickness had never been the big issue that it was now.
It had been losing them and their house becoming hers that had made Francine want to go back home to live at the very time when there was nothing to go back for, or so he’d thought, but he hadn’t taken into account the property on the outskirts of Paris.
Heartbroken, it had been her only comfort when those who’d lived in it had been taken from her. In the end it had won the struggle for her affection and he’d thought despairingly that he must be the only man living whose marriage had been destroyed by a house. Not because of adultery, or incompatibility, but by an attractive detached dwelling near Paris.
The farmhouse had just come into sight in a blaze of light, and as Ethan pulled up on the drive Francine thought this was what Bluebell Cove was all about, friends and neighbours looking out for each other, a caring community in a coastal setting that had welcomed her into its midst as a young French bride all those years ago.
The wedding couple were just inside the hallway, waiting to greet their guests as they arrived, and when Jenna saw Francine she beamed across at her in welcoming warmth and exclaimed, ‘Francine, how lovely to see you!’
From Jenna’s new husband there was just a cool nod and she got the message. Lucas would have seen what she’d done to Ethan and crossed her off his ‘people I like’ list, and she was prepared to accept that on the premise that maybe he’d never been so homesick he couldn’t think straight.
During the evening people came up and said how nice it was to see her there. No one asked any questions, but it was there in their manner, an awkwardness that came from curiosity unsatisfied and a desire to cause no embarrassment for the respected head of the village practice.
There was one person it didn’t apply to, however—the woman who had done the job for many years previously that Ethan was doing now. ‘So you’ve come back to us,’ Barbara Balfour said unsmilingly when they came face to face, ‘and not before time. I’m glad to see that you’ve found some sense.’
‘I’m just visiting for Christmas, Dr. Balfour,’ she told her politely. ‘I live in Paris now.’
‘I see!’ was the cold reply. ‘And you’ve taken the children with you. Ethan doesn’t deserve any of it.’
He wasn’t around at that moment. Her husband was dancing with his daughter. Only Ben was with her and his mind was on other things as he observed the banquet that would shortly be available to everyone.
‘Jenna is a lovely bride. I’m sorry I missed the service this afternoon,’ she said smoothly, as if she hadn’t just been taken to task. ‘And now if you’ll excuse me…’ Moving away, she hurried towards the cloakroom before the tears she was holding back began to fall.
When the dance was over Ethan and Kirstie went to where Ben was standing still transfixed by the food and his father asked, ‘Where’s your mother, Ben?’
‘Er, I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘She was talking to Dr Balfour and then she went.’
‘Went where?’
‘I don’t know.’
It added up, Ethan thought grimly. Francine talking to sharp-tongued Barbara and then disappearing. She must have gone home.
‘I won’t be long,’ he told them both. ‘I’m going to find her.’
As he hurried out into the lamp-lit gardens his step faltered. She was standing beside an ornamental pool, looking down into it sombrely, and he sighed. Francine had been right, he thought. It would have been better if she hadn’t come.
If he’d been there when Barbara had accosted her he wouldn’t have allowed it, but he hadn’t been and where everyone else had been pleasant enough, that wasn’t her style.
‘Do you want to go home?’ he asked when he reached her side.
She shook her head, ‘No, Ethan. I’m sure I deserved to hear what Barbara had to say. You told me not to spoil the children’s Christmas and I won’t. I just came out to get a breath of air, that’s all. Let’s go back inside.’
For the rest of the evening she was how she used to be. Smiling and relaxed. Dancing with the children in turn and laughing when Ben said, ‘I don’t mind dancing with you, Maman, but I don’t want to do it with soppy girls.’
‘What about you and Kirstie dancing all the way to the headland?’ she teased. ‘You didn’t mind that, did you?’
‘No, not really, but Dad said I had to because he wanted to dance with Phoebe.’
‘Oh, I see.’ And she felt she did.
Phoebe Howard was a lovely, uncomplicated girl who, the story went, had been deserted by her partner when pregnant. It was understandable that she might be attracted to someone like Ethan, and that he should be attracted to her after what she’d done to him over the last few months.
Yet Phoebe wasn’t there tonight and it wouldn’t be because she hadn’t been asked. Surgery staff would have been invited because the bride worked there and the district nurse would be included, but as Phoebe would still be on maternity leave and didn’t live locally, maybe she didn’t want to spend too much time away from the baby.
On the other hand, it could be that the young single mother had seen her when she’d danced back to the square with Ethan and had gone because she’d observed that his wife had turned up.
It was time to leave, the wedding couple were starting their honeymoon in the morning and Ethan was having a last word with Lucas before they left regarding him being in charge of his property while they were away.
On their return his friend would be bringing Jenna to The Old Chart House next door to theirs, which Lucas had bought and refurbished when he’d come to live in the village.
When Ethan joined them and the four of them went to where he’d parked the car there was silence amongst them. Kirstie and Ben were tired because it had been a long and exciting day. Ethan was contemplating the misery of spending the night with Francine in the spare room, and she was envying the wedding couple for the freshness and simplicity of their love.
Theirs had been like that for a long time, hadn’t lost the magic, until Ethan had taken charge of the practice and been so keen to make a success of it that she’d thought a few times that she and the children came second, just as Jenna and her father had come second to it during Barbara Balbour’s reign.
She’d been twenty-eight and Ethan thirty years old when they’d had a fairy-tale wedding in a church in Paris, and now the precious thing that they’d had was dying because neither of them would give way to the other.
The children were in bed and after making sure they were settled with no televisions being switched on or mobile phones being used, Francine came downstairs to find Ethan making coffee in the kitchen.
‘Thanks,’ she said awkwardly as he passed hers to her. ‘I’ll take mine upstairs if you don’t mind.’
He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll be going to bed myself soon. It’s been a long day, but I want