Absent in the Spring (The Shakespeare Sisters 3)

– Richard III

‘Well, this all seems in order,’ Alistair’s solicitor said, passing the document to him. Thick pages of black type had been scrutinised and annotated, each one initialled at the bottom. ‘I’m happy for you to sign it.’

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Alistair asked, looking over at Lachlan. ‘It’s not too late to back out.’

‘I’m certain,’ Lachlan agreed. ‘Everything’s as it should be. You just need to sign and transfer the money.’

‘Very well.’ Alistair pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, twisting it until the nib came out. He turned the pages, then signed the last one with a flourish, dating it, then passing it back to his solicitor.

‘And the payment?’

‘Here you are.’ Alistair walked across the room, placing a Scottish bank note in Lachlan’s hands. He looked at the blue note, seeing the rolling Cairngorms mountains printed across the thick paper. ‘Five pounds, as we agreed.’

The solicitor brought the contract over to Lachlan. ‘It just needs your signature now.’

Lachlan took out his own pen and signed quickly, dating it then passing it back. ‘So that’s that.’

‘Pretty much. Some “i”s to dot and some “t”s to cross, but everything else is done.’

Lachlan looked at Alistair. ‘Are you ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be.’

‘Then let’s go.’

The two of them stood, leaving the library and walking out through the kitchen door to the land beyond. A stage had been set up opposite the loch, with audio equipment and lights on the rigging. They made their way across the grass, skirting around the crowd that had gathered in front of it. Locals mingled with MacLeishes from across the world, creating a sea of blue and green tartan.

As soon as they reached the microphone, Lachlan tapped it, a dull ‘boom’ echoing across the grounds. He cleared his throat, his eyes scanning the crowd, but he couldn’t see her.

Where was she?

‘Good evening,’ he said, leaning in so his mouth was closer to the microphone. ‘First of all I’d like to welcome you all to the annual MacLeish gathering. It’s a pleasure to have so many of you here, from near and far.’

A loud cheer went up.

‘As you know, my father, the Laird of Glencarraig, died a few months ago. In his will, he left the estate and his title to me. And though I was very flattered, and fell in love with this estate as soon as I saw it, I realised something.’

He took a breath, scanning again. He could see Duncan near the front, along with his wife. And in the corner he could see Lucy’s family – Cesca and Sam, Kitty and Adam. But no sign of the woman herself.

‘The thing I realised was that I didn’t deserve this place.’ He waved his arm. ‘Or rather, it didn’t deserve me.’ He glanced at Alistair, standing stoically beside him. ‘An estate like Glencarraig doesn’t need an absentee landlord, or just to become another bland corporate retreat. It needs love and dedication, somebody who not only understands the land but its heritage. In short, it deserves Alistair MacLeish.’

A hum of conversation rippled across the crowd. People were craning their heads to look at Alistair.

‘Like so many of you, Alistair’s connection to Glencarraig stretches back generations. And like you, he’s part of our blood line. And I’m delighted to announce that he has purchased fifty-one per cent of the Glencarraig estate, which makes him Laird of Glencarraig, and leader of the MacLeish clan.’

A roar of approval followed his announcement, and for a minute Lachlan couldn’t be heard over the cheers. As the noise died down, he leaned into the microphone a final time. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m delighted to introduce to you Alistair MacLeish, the Laird of Glencarraig.’

A movement at the back of the stage caught his attention. He saw her from the corner of his eye, his Hitchcock blonde with the steel determination.

‘It’s all yours,’ he whispered to Alistair, backing off as the new laird addressed the crowd. He walked over to the corner where she was waiting for him, a huge smile on her face.

He stood and looked at her for a moment, taking in her golden hair, swept up at the back of her head, a few tendrils hanging down. At her elegant neck and soft shoulders, leading down to her dress.

That dress.

It had taken him more than a few phone calls to find the right person to work on it. And the cost of repair had been more than the dress itself. Yet it had been important to him – to them both – to mend it, and to make it even more beautiful than when she’d first bought it.

When he’d presented it to her this morning, Lucy had called it a ‘Kintsugi dress’. Though the repairs were almost invisible, they both knew they were still there. They weren’t embarrassed about their scars, they weren’t embarrassed about their pasts. Today was a celebration of everything they were, and everything they hoped to be. Beautiful scars and all.