His Perfect Bride?. Louisa Heaton

whose initials are EL.’

      ‘EL … like your mother? You think Eleanor Lomax might be your mother?’ He looked incredulous.

      ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

      ‘What makes you think your mother is in Atlee Wold? There must be hundreds, if not thousands of women in the UK with the initials EL.’

      ‘Well, it’s complicated …’

      ‘When isn’t it?’

      ‘When I was abandoned there was obviously some press coverage.’

      ‘Right.’ He was listening intently, his brow furrowed.

      ‘The papers asked for my mother to come forward, to let them know she was all right, to see if they could reunite us—that sort of thing. Well, the paper in Portsmouth—the Portsmouth News—was sent a letter by someone signing it “EL”. The letter explained that she couldn’t come forward. That her parents had made her give up the baby, there was no chance of us being together, and that she hoped they would leave her alone.’

      ‘She sounded desperate?’

      Lula nodded. ‘There was a postmark from the Petersfield sorting office, and the handwriting was very distinctive. A journalist took it around the local post offices, to see if any of the staff could remember franking it, and one did. He also remembered the woman who’d posted it, because she’d been upset and had had red eyes from crying.’

      ‘I can see why he’d remember a crying customer.’

      ‘Anyway, they questioned this man and he said he’d seen her before. Getting off the bus from Atlee Wold.’

      ‘That’s what you’re going on?’ he asked incredulously. ‘It’s tenuous, at best.’

      ‘It’s all I have.’

      ‘Did the journalist come here? Try and track her down?’

      ‘He said there were a number of women with the initials EL in Atlee Wold and that none of them would talk to him.’

      Olly looked at her. ‘Oh, Lula … I wish I had something more constructive to say, but I think you’re taking a long shot. It’s all hearsay and secondhand, and relying on the memory of a guy who thinks he saw a woman get off a bus once. And EL—whoever she is—could have got off the bus from Atlee Wold to throw people off track.’

      ‘It’s better than having nothing at all, Olly. Imagine having that. No idea at all. You’re close to your father. You know your family history. You have roots. Just think for a moment how you’d feel if you had none of that. Wouldn’t you feel … adrift? A bit lost? Wouldn’t a part of you want to know?’

      He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. ‘I guess so. My mother died when I was very young, so I don’t remember her. I’ve always felt something’s been missing.’

      ‘So you understand that I have to try? Because if I didn’t then I’d never forgive myself if it turned out my actual birth mother was living within a few miles of me and I never looked for her.’

      ‘And if she is here? If you do find her?’

      Lula smiled. ‘Then I’ll know where she is. And that will be enough. I’m not silly enough to expect that we’ll suddenly fall into each other’s arms and have a mother-daughter relationship.’

      ‘And if she rejects you?’

      ‘Then I can’t hurt any more then I already do. She already did that once. Remember?’

      Olly didn’t often find himself not knowing what to say. He was usually the person people went to with their problems and he always had some sort of advice to give. But this … this was different. ‘I think, Dr Lula Chance, that you are a very brave lady indeed.’

      She looked up at him through her purple fringe and her eyes twinkled with appreciation. ‘Thanks, Olly. I appreciate your help.’

      ‘My pleasure. Not that I actually helped much.’

      ‘You listened. And sometimes that’s all someone needs.’

      ‘For you, Lula, my ears are always open.’

      He passed her another piece of cake and they sat there in companionable silence.

      Before afternoon surgery began Olly spoke to his father over the phone.

      ‘So she’s looking for her mother? Here in the village?’

      ‘Looks like it.’

      ‘Well! Can’t say I blame her … but I can’t imagine who it might be.’

      Olly nodded, doodling with his pen absentmindedly. ‘Neither can I. But I want to help her if I can.’

      ‘You like her, don’t you?’

      ‘Dad!’ he warned. ‘Don’t start.’

      ‘I’m not starting,’ he replied innocently. ‘Just encouraging you.’

      ‘Let me get this straight. You’d want to see me with a woman like Lula?’ He almost couldn’t believe his ears. His father was the most strait-laced man he knew!

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Well, because she’s …’

      ‘She’s what?’

      Olly wasn’t sure how to answer him. ‘Out there!’

      ‘She’s just what you need. After all that business with Rachel.’

      As if he needed reminding. That had been a really dark time. Rachel had barged into his life like a wrecking ball and left just as much devastation behind.

      Would Lula do the same?

       CHAPTER THREE

      AFTER WORK, LULA TOOK herself over to the village library. It wasn’t huge. In fact it was barely a library at all—just one small room, lined with books. Since the funding had been cut it was no longer staffed, and it relied on the goodwill of its customers to ensure it was looked after and that they signed out their own books.

      It was a strange set-up, and for a while Lula felt odd, standing there alone, looking around the small room. One side was fiction, in alphabetical order, and the other side non-fiction, all in the Dewey decimal system. In the centre were racks of children’s books and some old DVDs. In one corner, beneath a window, sat an ancient computer and a microfiche reader, alongside a filing cabinet. She headed over.