“Madam has the constitution of an ox,” Jamison replies in a perfectly neutral tone. “She’ll bury all her doctors.”
I stop abruptly.
“Then why?—”
I don’t finish the sentence.
There’s no point.
Jamison won’t say a word. Butlers never betray their employers. It’s probably written into their contracts somewhere.
We reach the front door. Jamison opens it, letting in a gust of damp cold air.
“Thank you for your visit, doctor. I’m certain Mrs. McGregor appreciates your attention.”
I’m about to step outside when something catches my eye on the wall of the hall.
A large framed photograph.
A family picture, clearly taken at a wedding. Dozens of people pose in front of the castle, smiling and elegant.
And there, in the front row slightly to the left?—
My heart jolts violently in my chest.
It’s her.
The woman from the road.
The one I pulled out of the ditch less than an hour ago.
The one I insulted by telling her she didn’t know how to drive.
She’s wearing a green dress that highlights her auburn hair. She’s smiling at the camera, though the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She looks proud.
Independent.
Fierce, even.
“That’s...” I begin.
“The McGregor family,” Jamison says, following my gaze. “The photograph was taken at Mr. Callum McGregor’s wedding last year.”
“And who is that young woman?”
I gesture toward her figure while trying to sound detached and professional.
“That is Miss Mary McGregor, Madam’s granddaughter. A newly qualified veterinarian. She recently returned to Glenfield to take over Dr. MacNeil’s clinic.”
Mary McGregor.
Veterinarian.
Granddaughter of my impossible patient.
And the woman I “rescued” before informing her she was an incompetent driver.
