He let his head fall back in the chair, until it met the cushioned back, and took in a deep breath of cleansing air. Everything he had was hard fought for – and won – and Glencarraig wouldn’t be any different. He could sit here in Miami or New York and wait for things to happen, or he could take the fight to the place it mattered most.
Maybe it was time to go to Scotland.
‘Marcus took over the meetings,’ Grant told him. ‘And I’ve couriered over a whole set of documents for you to sign. They need to be back with our attorneys this week. How’s your mom doing?’
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‘A lot better. She’s being discharged tomorrow.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ Grant sounded genuinely pleased. ‘Her recovery is continuing then?’
‘Yes. They’re moving her onto oral antibiotics. And the care home is ready for her.’
‘That must be a weight off your mind.’
‘You could say that.’ Lachlan smiled.
‘When do you think you’ll be back in New York?’ Grant asked. ‘Do you want me to book your flights?’
Lachlan took a sip of his coffee. In the days since he’d arrived in Miami, he’d made this corner of the hospital café his own. He’d found it surprisingly easy to run his business from there – with Grant’s help. ‘I’m not coming back to New York,’ he said, placing his cup down on the Formica. ‘I want to meet with my brother’s attorney,’ he said. ‘And I want to do it in Scotland.’
‘Are you sure?’ Grant asked, sounding confused. ‘You’ve already been out of the office a while.’
Lachlan smiled. Grant wasn’t used to him being so impulsive. But really, flying to Scotland made sense. It wasn’t just about taking the fight to his brother, but also about seeing that land in the Highlands. Reminding himself exactly what it was he was fighting for.
And if he had to see Lucy Shakespeare again… well he could handle that, too, couldn’t he? She was his attorney and she had a boyfriend. That was all he needed to know.
‘Yes, I’m sure. Find me a flight to Edinburgh,’ he said, the smile still curling his lips. ‘And let Miss Shakespeare’s assistant know I’ll be arriving next week.’
There it was. The game was on, in more ways than one.
11
Pray, do not mock me. I am a very
foolish fond old man
– King Lear
‘Are you okay? You keep checking your watch.’ Cesca was sitting in the chair opposite Lucy’s, with their father between them. It was lunchtime in the Wickstead Care Home – a well-regimented affair that allowed the patients – or guests, as they insisted on calling them – to have some familiarity around them. The same menu every week, the same seat every day. Even the music, piped in through the speakers in the dining room, was repetitive.
‘Do you need help with that, Dad?’ Lucy asked, watching their father push his chicken around the plate. ‘Would you like me to cut it up?’
‘I’m not a child.’
Lucy swallowed, painting a smile on her face. ‘I know.’ She turned her attention on Cesca. ‘I’m fine. I was just wondering if my client had arrived at Heathrow yet. He’s flying in from New York.’
‘Surely you get the day off on Sundays,’ Cesca remarked. ‘You don’t have to meet him or anything do you?’
‘Oh no. He’ll be catching a connecting flight to Edinburgh.’
Cesca looked confused. ‘So why does it matter what time he arrives in Heathrow?’
‘It doesn’t.’ Lucy frowned. ‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’ She shook her head at herself. Even Cesca was noticing how weirdly she was behaving. It was all Lachlan MacLeish’s fault, with his deep blue eyes and dimpled smile, not to mention that voice that made her skin tingle every time they spoke.
Oh God, she needed to get a hold of herself. She didn’t have time to spend all weekend thinking about him. And now he was going to be in the same city as her – the same office as her, come to that – she needed to take control. It was just for a few days, after all.
She could handle that. She’d handled much worse.