Absent in the Spring (The Shakespeare Sisters 3)

‘Are you sure?’ Grant winked. He put his hand to his ear. ‘You hear that? A thousand girls just threw themselves into the Hudson.’

‘Hey, stop trying to live your life vicariously through me. You’re the one who decided to tie yourself to one woman for the rest of your life.’ Lachlan bumped his shoulder against Grant’s. ‘And I don’t pick women up, they pick me.’

‘Whatever you say, Casanova.’ Grant stepped back, punching him lightly in the arm. ‘I’ll see you at the office tomorrow, man.’

‘See you tomorrow.’ Lachlan raised his hand in goodbye as Grant turned and ran down the steps to the subway, his footsteps echoing through the stairwell.

6

There’s a skirmish of wit between them

– Much Ado About Nothing

‘Do you have everything you need?’ Lynn asked, hovering in Lucy’s doorway as she wound her cotton scarf around her neck. ‘I need to leave on time tonight, Marnie has a school concert going on.’

It was nearly six o’clock, and the office had already thinned out. Laptops had been closed and locked away, coffee cups placed in the dishwasher which was whirring in the kitchen. Half of the partners’ offices were dark and the fast gunfire of emails arriving in her inbox had already thinned to the occasional ping.

Lucy glanced up from the letter she’d been reading. ‘I’m all good here, thanks, Lynn. And best of luck with the concert.’ She gave her assistant a quick smile.

‘I’ll need it. And thanks, I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll be the one who can’t hear anything because she’s been deafened by a thousand squeaky recorders.’ Lynn waved a goodbye, closing the door behind her and leaving Lucy alone in her office. She checked the time on the clock. She had time to draft a quick reply before her videoconference was due to begin.

But then her laptop lit up, a green camera icon showing her incoming call. She grabbed her mouse with one hand, patting the back of her hair with the other. A brief click on the screen and the call began.

‘Good evening, Lucy.’ Lachlan’s deep voice echoed through her laptop speakers. It was the first time she’d seen him since their meeting in Miami, but the time and distance had done nothing to dampen his attractiveness. He was sitting in what she assumed was his New York office, his tie loose but still knotted, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. Behind him she could see the blue sky, dotted here and there with wispy clouds.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said, inclining her head at him. The noon sun was shining through the window behind him, illuminating the Manhattan skyline. It looked glorious compared to rainy Edinburgh.

‘Thanks for making time to see me. I just wanted to go through your proposed next steps and make sure we’re on the same page.’ He smiled, and that dimple flashed in and out of his cheek, giving him a hint of youthfulness that he didn’t usually display. She dragged her eyes away, taking in the rest of his office. There was a painting on the far wall – almost out of shot. She could just see the edge, pale paint splatters arranged in a hypnotic spiral. Was that another Pollock? She opened her mouth to ask him, then shut it again. They were supposed to be talking about his case.

She grabbed the folder next to her laptop, opening it to the front page. ‘Did you get the draft letter I sent over earlier today?’ she asked, pulling her own copy out and taking the lid from her red pen. ‘It’s the reply I propose we send to your brother’s solicitor. I’d like to get it in writing that we completely refute his claims.’

‘I managed to take a look at it a minute ago,’ Lachlan said, glancing at his screen. ‘It all looked fine. But do we really need to send a letter? Aren’t we giving his claim credence if we reply to it?’

‘It’s all part of the legal process. They write to stake a claim, we refute it, they then file in court. I know it sounds long-winded, but if they miss any steps they could have their claim thrown out, and if we miss any we could forfeit. The real action won’t happen until we’re up before a judge. That’s if it gets that far.’

‘You think it won’t?’ he asked her.

‘That depends. There are a lot more steps to take before anything gets to court. Once their claim is lodged we’d have two weeks to respond. Then the judge would consider whether the case has any merit before allowing it to go further. It would be my job to convince him it doesn’t.’

There was a hint of a smile on his lips when she finished speaking. His eyes were softer than she remembered, but they still did something to her. She felt her stomach flip flop when their gaze met.

Dear God, she needed to get a hold of herself. She was twenty-nine, not nineteen.

Somebody walked into Lachlan’s office and placed a coffee cup and some papers on his desk. Lucy couldn’t see their face – only their hand as it came on screen. Lachlan murmured to them, and whoever it was said something just as unintelligible back.

‘Is it raining there?’ Lachlan asked, his eyes narrowing as he stared closer at the screen. Lucy automatically turned to look a

t the window behind her, the glass spattered with raindrops.

‘When isn’t it?’ she asked, turning back to her screen. ‘I spend half my life either scurrying under an umbrella or wringing out my hair. It’s one of the downsides of living in Edinburgh.’

‘But there are upsides, too, aren’t there?’

She smiled. ‘Yes, there are. It’s a beautiful city, full of culture and interesting people. It’s as vibrant as London, but it doesn’t feel anywhere near as vast and busy. It still has a small-town feel to it that I love.’ She could have spoken about the place all day.

‘I went there once as a child, I think,’ Lachlan said, narrowing his eyes as though he was trying to remember. ‘We visited the castle, and I remember being forced to eat some disgusting food in an old pub somewhere, but apart from that I know nothing about the place.’

‘Well, if you come over here to visit Glencarraig, you should definitely stop in Edinburgh. It’s a couple of hours’ drive from the Highlands, which feels like forever to us, but I imagine it’s a tiny distance to an American.’