‘Can I show you something?’ he asked, having to raise his voice as a police car flew past, sirens screaming.
‘Sure.’
Lachlan pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket, turning it over so Duncan could see the photograph. He passed it to his brother, who lifted it close to his eyes, his lips pulling down as he looked at it. ‘What’s this?’
‘I was given it at Glencarraig. I can’t even remember it being taken.’ Lachlan shrugged. ‘According to the estate manager we were both a pair of thugs. He didn’t know what to do with us.’
‘It’s hard to look like a thug when you’re wearing a kilt,’ Duncan murmured. His frown had gone, but the look of confusion hadn’t. ‘What the hell were they thinking, dressing us up like that?’
‘I think it’s the only time we wore the same clothes.’
‘Like twins.’ Duncan’s eyes met Lachlan’s, and for a moment neither of them said a word. They simply looked at each other.
‘I wanted to tell you about Glencarraig,’ Lachlan finally said, as a crowd of partygoers walked past them. ‘Are you staying in New York next week?’ he asked. ‘We could meet to talk.’
‘Sure.’ Duncan nodded. ‘I’ll get my lawyer to call yours.’
Lachlan shook his head. ‘No, no lawyers. Just us two for now.’
‘Okay then, just us.’
From the corner of his eye, Lachlan saw his car pull up to the kerb. The driver climbed out, and opened the door for him. ‘That’s my ride. I’ll speak to you next week.’
It was Duncan who put his hand out first. Lachlan looked at it for a moment, staring at his half-brother’s outstretched arm as though it was an alien object. It took him that long to realise that he was offering him a handshake.
Feeling the blood flooding his face, Lachlan reached out his own hand, clasping Duncan’s palm in his. The contact lasted for only a few seconds, before Duncan stepped back, offering his brother the smallest of smiles.
‘Good night, Lachlan.’
‘Good night.’ Lachlan gave him a final glance before climbing into the car. The driver closed the door behind him, and Lachlan leaned his head back on the leather seat, letting a mouthful of air escape his open lips.
‘Are you going back to your apartment, Mr MacLeish?’ the driver asked, turning around from his position in the front seat.
‘Yes, please,’ Lachlan said, running his hand through his hair. He wanted to jump in the shower, pull on some sweatpants and climb into bed, resting his head on the pillow that still smelled of her.
Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.
31
Let us not burden our remembrance
with a heaviness that’s gone
– The Tempest
At first it was a relief to walk back into her flat in Edinburgh. Even the cat’s sneaky – and successful – attempt to run inside didn’t ruin Lucy’s sense of calm. But as soon as she looked at the breakfast bar and remembered how they’d shared dinner there the day he’d flown into Edinburgh, it felt less like a sanctuary and more like a prison. She couldn’t look at the kitchen without remembering cooking with him, or glance at the sofa without remembering making love with him there. Everything held memories of the man who had touched her everywhere.
From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of tabby fur, as the cat stole her way into Lucy’s bedroom. Picking up her box again, Lucy walked into the kitchen, laying it gently down on the breakfast bar. As she pulled the lid off, she felt her throat get congested. The flight attendant had been right – it had come to no harm as they’d crossed the Atlantic Ocean. It had survived the journey from London to Edinburgh, too, as Lucy had placed it on the seat next to her on the train, guarding it as though it was something precious.
Maybe because it was.
Holding her breath, she took hold of the delicate object, lifting it gently from the foam packaging that had kept it safe. She placed it on the counter, running her fingers across the smooth porcelain, taking in every inch of it.
It was a black plate – much bigger than one you’d use for dinner. The curator in the gallery had explained that it had probably been part of a larger set at one point, from the Edo period in the early nineteenth century. But it wasn’t the provenance that enchanted her – it was the beautiful gold repairs that criss-crossed the china, turning something banal and workmanlike into a work of art.
As soon as she saw it, she’d known she wanted to buy it for Lachlan. A thank-you gift for having her stay with him. But for some reason she’d taken it with her when she left New York, unable to give it to him without an adequate explanation.
He wouldn’t have wanted it anyway.