Absent in the Spring (The Shakespeare Sisters 3)

A daydream she’d allowed herself to indulge in – one where he felt as deeply about her as she did about him. But he didn’t. That much was clear from their telephone conversation. She’d blurted out that she loved him and he hadn’t said a word. If she stayed and went to the gala – like one of his ‘girls’, as Jenn had described them – she was putting this thing between them above her family. And she couldn’t do that.

She’d been as selfish as her mother had been. It needed to stop. She needed to go back home and be Lucy Shakespeare, the woman who had everything under control. Maybe then everything would go back to normal.

It had begun to rain by the time the car pulled up at his apartment block, and the doorman appeared with an umbrella, shading Lachlan from the dampness. ‘Good evening, Mr MacLeish.’

‘Hi, John. Thanks for checking on Lucy for me.’

‘No problem,’ John said, matching Lachlan step for step as they walked towards the lobby. ‘Whatever she’s got must have come on very quickly. She was fine earlier.’

Lachlan frowned, walking through the door John held open for him. The doorman remained outside, shaking the dampness from his umbrella. Nodding at the concierge, Lachlan made his way to the elevator. It arrived almost straight away.

As soon as he unlocked the door to his apartment, something seemed off. He stepped into the entrance hall, taking in the pale walls, the polished floor, the table with the large Kintsugi vase. It all looked the same.

But there was another addition – well, two if he was counting. Her case was by the table, along with a big blue box. Resting on top were all her documents.

‘Lucy?’ he called, taking another glance at her luggage. ‘Are you okay?’ He could feel his chest tightening, like somebody had tied a rope around it and pulled hard. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m in here.’

He spotted her as soon as he walked into the living room. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a cream cashmere sweater – the soft wool somehow complementing her complexion. But when he brought his gaze up he saw the redness of her eyes, the paleness of her face, her milky skin covered with livid blotches.

‘You look awful,’ he said, reaching for her. But she pulled away from his outstretched hand.

‘Thanks,’ she said, rolling her lips between her teeth. ‘I’m not feeling the best.’

‘Can I get you something? Some Advil? Are you sick or in pain?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, looking anything but. ‘I just need to get home.’

‘What?’ He blinked, trying to let the words sink in. ‘But you are home.’

‘No.’ She shook her head, wincing as if in pain. ‘I mean, I’m going back to London.’

‘You’re flying on Sunday, not today.’ She was making no sense. ‘You can’t leave when you’re ill, that’s crazy. Get to bed and we’ll see how you are in the morning. I’ll call my doctor if you’re no better.’

‘My flight leaves in four hours,’ she said, ignoring his suggestion. ‘I’ve got a cab coming. It should be here in five minutes.’ Her face was shiny beneath the glow of his chandelier. As he came closer her could see her skin looked raw, as though she’d been scrubbing away her make-up with a brush instead of a cloth.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. If you’re sick then you shouldn’t leave. Let me take care of you.’ This time when he touched her, she flinched. ‘Lucy?’ he said, still not comprehending what was happening.

‘I’m not sick.’ Her voice was dull. ‘I have to go home. My sister needs me.’

‘Which sister? What’s happened to her?’

Slowly Lucy brought her gaze to meet his. Her eyes were bloodshot and yet somehow dull, as if a screen had been pulled down over them. ‘Cesca. She found out…’ She trailed off, pulling her lips together in a thin line. When she blinked a tear escaped.

‘Found out what?’ He hated the way the air between them felt solid. Like an invisible barrier.

‘She found out about my mum. About her affair. She said I’m a liar, she hates me.’

‘Why would she hate you?’

Lucy stifled a sob. ‘She thinks it’s all my fault. She won’t talk to me.’

He stroked her arm. It was freezing cold. ‘It’s just a shock for her, that’s all. It would be for anybody. You should have told them about your mom years ago.’

‘Do you think this is all my doing?’ she asked him. ‘You think this is my fault, too?’ She pulled her arm away and held it by her side. Her body was as tightly wound as her words. At that moment she looked impenetrable.

He frowned, reaching around in his brain, trying to find the right answer. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. But you couldn’t keep this a secre