Absent in the Spring (The Shakespeare Sisters 3)

‘When are you coming back to the office?’ Marcus asked. ‘There are a couple of things I need to take you through in person.’

Lachlan put the phone down and concentrated on the screen. ‘I’ll be back on Monday afternoon. Ask Grant to slot you in for an hour, I should be at the office by one.’

The meeting was winding down. He could hear Sean, his marketing director, murmuring about leaving at lunchtime to head to the Hamptons. From what Lachlan could see it was a fine spring day in New York, with temperatures almost in the seventies, according to his weather app. A contrast to the cold front that had followed him up to Glencarraig, and the biting wind that was howling around the windows of the lodge.

‘How about you, are you staying in Scotland until Monday?’ Marcus asked.

‘No.’ That was one thing Lachlan was certain of. He wanted a distraction, a way to quell his thoughts. His body still thrummed with the memory of her touch, giving him an ache that he couldn’t quite shake off.

He’d tried, God knows he had. And yet he still felt this discomfort, this unbearable itch that he couldn’t quite reach. It was aggravating.

‘But you’re not back in town until Monday?’ Sean said. ‘Are you heading somewhere else for the weekend?’

‘I might head to the mainland,’ Lachlan said quietly. Surely somewhere in Europe could provide him with a distraction.

The videoconference had barely ended before he grabbed his phone, impatiently unlocking it and pulling up his emails. There was her name, right at the top of the list. He stared at it for a moment, trying to work out if he was angry or relieved.

Maybe a little of both.

We’ve had another offer in from your brother’s solicitors (see below). Nothing unexpected. Please let me know how you’d like me to proceed. Kind regards, Lucy

That was it. No friendly note, no hint of flirting, just pure professionalism. It was as though their trip to Glencarraig had never even happened. His lip curled down as he read her words again, then closed the email as quickly as he’d opened it.

He needed to go somewhere that didn’t hold memories of her smile. Somewhere that he wouldn’t spend the whole time thinking about how she felt as he moved inside her.

&nbs

p; Paris. He’d go to Paris.

Anywhere was better than here.

It was eight o’clock on Friday evening. Lucy was curled up on her sofa, mindlessly flicking through the television channels, finding nothing worth stopping to watch. The rain was pattering on her window, a not-so-welcome change from the snow she’d seen in Glencarraig earlier that week, and she’d cranked the heating up even though it was April, and it really shouldn’t be needed.

An hour ago she’d called Juliet, wanting to check on her sister, but she’d been diverted to voicemail. Then she’d called Kitty, and got her voicemail too. She hadn’t bothered calling Cesca – not wanting to hear a recorded voice for the third time. Even her furry house-invader had better things to do – she hadn’t seen the neighbours’ cat since she got back from Glencarraig. It was as though she was the only one without plans, and Lucy couldn’t help but feel lonely.

After another half-hour of reality shows that managed to kill off more than a few of her brain cells, she turned the television off, and carried her half-eaten meal for one over to the kitchen, scraping the remnants into the bin and sliding the plate into her dishwasher. She’d just closed it when her phone started to ring – the loud beeps making Lucy almost run to answer the call. A chat with one of her sisters was just what she needed to get herself back on track, to remind herself who she was.

And then she saw the name on the display and everything turned upside down.

She hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over the call button the same way her fist had hovered near his door that night. Watching, waiting, debating.

She hadn’t spoken to him since she’d left him in Glencarraig on Thursday morning. He hadn’t responded to the email she’d sent, either. Was he angry at her, or was he as regretful as she was? Lucy wasn’t sure which she’d prefer.

Her phone rang for the seventh time and she knew it was now or never. One more beep and it would go to her voicemail, and any courage she had might disappear for ever. Taking a deep breath, she finally pressed accept and slowly lifted the phone to her ear.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello?’

He hadn’t expected to feel the relief he did when she answered the phone. His whole body relaxed into his chair, the tightness in his shoulders dissolving into the quilted fabric. Crazy how just one word made all the tension disappear.

He’d been in Paris for three hours. In spite of his best intentions, the city had done nothing to stop him thinking about her, and nothing to stop him wanting her. Instead, it had just made him obsess about her even more. As the taxi had weaved its way through the pretty Parisian streets, he’d found himself wanting to point things out to her. Wanting to show her the way the Eiffel Tower lit up at twilight, the way the bars in the side streets had spindly metallic tables that people spilled out onto. The way everybody smoked here like it was still 1989, the blue plumes twisting up into the cool night air.

‘Lucy, it’s Lachlan.’

She didn’t answer. He leaned forward, picking up the whisky he’d ordered half an hour ago. The ice had melted, but the drink was still strong as it hit the back of his throat.

‘What are you doing right now?’ he asked her.