Absent in the Spring (The Shakespeare Sisters 3)

Memories were strange and unsettling things. He’d much prefer to focus on the present.

The Glencarraig Inn was an old-fashioned family-run pub, perched on the edge of the village, next to the main road out to Inverness. Lachlan and Alistair had walked there – a fifteen-minute stride from the lodge gates – and though the air around them was cold and blustery, the snow seemed to have disappeared for now.

The pub itself was as old as the village, and for more than three centuries it had been refreshing both the locals and the drovers who would lead their sheep down the banks of the glen, stopping at the pub for food and drink before making their way south to the livestock markets.

As they walked inside, a wall of warmth hit Lachlan’s face. The interior was dark, the ceiling low, the burgundy-painted walls decorated with stags’ heads and old paintings. It was like stepping into the past.

‘Would you like a pint?’ Alistair asked, raising his voice above the drone of conversation. It was surprisingly busy for a week day, with most tables occupied by diners.

‘Let me buy you one,’ Lachlan said, reaching in his pocket for his wallet.

‘Not at all, this one’s on me. Put your money away.’

It took them ten minutes to get to their table. As they walked through the pub, everybody stopped them, talking to Alistair, slapping him on the back. They all looked pleased to see him. And when he introduced Lachlan, the locals’ smiles widened, as they asked him about his plans, whether he would be moving here, and offered condolences for his father. It was all a little overwhelming.

He couldn’t help thinking that if Lucy was here, he’d have felt more relaxed.

When they made it to the table – still laid for three – Lachlan took a long, deep sip of his beer. It was cool and refreshing, and he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling it slip down his throat and into his belly.

‘They’re all delighted to finally meet you, you know,’ Alistair said quietly. ‘The village gossip has reached boiling point. Everybody wants to know what’s going to happen to the estate.’

‘Hopefully we can get this all sorted soon,’ Lachlan said, ‘and things will settle down.’

‘That would be nice.’ Alistair’s smile was tight. ‘I even had an email from a MacLeish in Australia last night, asking if it was true you were fighting with your brother over ownership. Of course, I told them it was all stuff and nonsense.’ He lowered his voice further still. ‘We don’t want that sort of speculation around these parts.’

Lachlan bit down a smile. There was something about Alistair that he really liked. The man was honest and forthright, and clearly loved being in charge of the estate. ‘Of course we don’t.’

‘What can I get you to eat?’ the waiter asked, stopping at their table. ‘Or do you need a few minutes?’

Lachlan glanced at the menu and then back up at Alistair. ‘What do you recommend?’

‘The pie is always good, and of course there’s haggis if you want to be really traditional. But my favourite is the venison casserole and tatties,’ Alistair said, closing the menu. ‘That’s what I always

go for.’

‘Then we’ll have two of those.’

After the waiter left, Lachlan looked around again, noticing how more than a few of the locals were looking at him. He caught the eye of one woman, who turned away immediately, and started giggling with her friends.

‘Did I come here as a child?’ he asked Alistair.

‘Not that I know of. Your father never was very keen on coming to the village. He preferred to stay on the estate whenever he visited.’

‘From what I remember, he wasn’t keen on much of anything,’ Lachlan said, keeping his voice light.

‘Ach, he wasn’t so bad. A little taciturn, maybe, and hard to pin down. But he always sent the staff gifts at Christmas, and contributed to the village fair every year.’ Alistair lifted up his pint glass. ‘At least he didn’t parcel the whole place up and sell it off in lots. You’d be surprised how many Highland estates have been lost that way.’

Lachlan gave a wry smile. ‘A bit like buying companies and breaking them up before selling them on, you mean?’

‘Exactly like that.’

‘Yeah, well, my dad was all about building things. Me, not so much.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Alistair asked. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands.

Lachlan shrugged. ‘I tend to invest in other people’s dreams. It’s my job to make as much profit as I can out of them.’

‘And you enjoy your job?’ Alistair asked. It didn’t sound as though there was an agenda to his question – he seemed generally interested.