‘And now I’ve a favour to ask you,’ Malcolm said, placing his coffee cup down and reaching for a buff folder on the far side of his desk. ‘Do you have space for an extra case?’
‘I think so.’
‘An interesting one has landed on our desk, from an American friend of mine. They’re looking for someone with expertise in Scottish estate law, and naturally you’re the person that sprung to mind. It involves some travel – that’s okay, right?’
‘Of course it is. I’m always free to travel when it’s needed.’ It was one of the best things about her job. She loved seeing new places.
‘And we appreciate it. It’s amazing how many of the team aren’t.’ He passed the folder across the desk to Lucy.
‘You can rely on me.’ She opened the front page, her eyes scanning the file notes. She licked her lips as she took
in the details of the case, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline through her veins.
‘That’s why you’re one of the best. And I think you’ll like this one. A family dispute over some property in the Highlands, except both members of the family live in the US. That’s where we come in. The other party’s already engaged a local solicitor, so you’ll be playing catch-up.’
From what she could see catch-up was an understatement. She looked at the first page again, her eyes sliding from left to right, before she brought her attention back to Malcolm. ‘That’s not a problem. I can get up to speed very quickly.’
‘That’s what I hoped you’d say. The client wants to meet with you as soon as possible.’
‘At his estate?’ She ran her finger down the paper, stopping at the details of the property. ‘Glencarraig Lodge?’ The name had a beauty to it, making her think of Landseer’s Monarch of the Glen. A majestic deer rising from the craggy highlands, violet hills in the background.
‘No, he’s too busy to come over here right now. He wants you to fly to Miami, that’s where he has one of his offices.’ Malcolm grimaced. ‘I know it’s short notice, but he wants to meet you early next week. I get the impression he wants to make sure you’re as good as I said you were.’ He cleared his throat. ‘He’ll foot the bill, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Lucy nodded. The first rule of being a solicitor – the client always foots the bill. She’d learned that as soon as she’d entered the firm as a trainee, and was shown the billing system before she even learned where the toilets were. ‘I can catch up over the weekend.’
Malcolm picked his glasses up, sliding them back up his nose. ‘I knew we could rely on you. The client’s booked your hotel, and Lynn’s already booked the tickets and taxis. If you go and see her now, she should have the itinerary all printed out for you. Your flight leaves first thing on Monday.’
‘Okay.’ She flashed another smile, even though her mind was already halfway out the door, making lists, locating her passport, and working out how many American dollars she had in her foreign currency wallet at home.
Of course she’d have everything she needed. Ever since she was a child organisation had been her middle name. And that was exactly how she liked it.
‘This one’s yours.’ The bellhop slid the plastic card into the dull steel mechanism, making the door whirr as it unlocked. ‘It’s the Biscayne Suite, one of our best.’ He wheeled her suitcase into the middle of the marble floor, stopping next to a white leather sofa that was facing a wall of glass. ‘The suite was refurbished last year, along with the rest of the hotel. I hope you like it.’ Grabbing a folding luggage rack from the closet on the far side of the room, he deftly lifted her case and put it on, before turning back to her with a smile.
Lucy slid a ten-dollar bill into his hand. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’
‘Is there anything else you need, ma’am?’ he asked, folding the money into his pocket.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’ A wave of fatigue washed over her, as she spotted the coffee machine in the corner. ‘I’ll just make myself a drink and unpack.’
‘Well, if you need anything at all, just dial zero on the phone. We’re here to please.’ He left, closing the door gently behind him. She stood on the spot for a moment, appreciating the view. The floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened out onto a balcony. Far below, a row of deep green palm trees led down to a pale, sandy beach and a cerulean ocean. Waves gently lapped onto the beach, sliding up the sand, until they almost met the row of red sunbeds that peppered the yellow. The sun was bright and warm – a contrast to the grey misery she’d left behind in Edinburgh, where winter was still clinging on to the city with every bit of strength it had.
She’d been travelling for over twenty hours, stopping over in Heathrow to catch a connecting flight, and her body was dog tired. She looked over at the bed – the pillows plump, the sheets crisp – and for a moment considered skipping the coffee and just lying down to catch her breath. The other part of her wanted to run out of the hotel and grab a cab, making sure she saw all the sights before she left the next morning. There wasn’t much chance of that, though – not when there was work to be done.
Rolling her shoulders to soothe her muscles, she unzipped her case and lifted the lid. Her clothes were still perfectly ordered – each piece wrapped in tissue paper to keep it smooth – and she took them out and hung them in the closet. Slipping her black Saint Laurent pumps from their cotton bag, she placed them carefully on a shelf, brushing a piece of lint from them.
She was about to take her L’Occitane toiletry bag into the bathroom when the telephone rang. Kicking her grey leather travelling shoes off, she walked across the room in her bare feet, and picked up the cream receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Miss Shakespeare?’
‘Yes?’
‘This is Maria, I’m your concierge. I just wanted to check if you needed anything.’
Lucy looked around the suite, at the stocked wet bar and the top-of-the-range television and speakers, and that view that drew the eye every time. ‘No, I have everything I need.’
‘Mr MacLeish has asked if you’d join him for dinner. I’ve made a reservation for eight o’clock if that works for you.’