Absent in the Spring (The Shakespeare Sisters 3)

Another pause. Jesus, this was such a bad idea. But then she answered and he immediately felt better.

‘I’m thinking about going to bed.’

‘And what are you doing tomorrow?’

‘Working. I’ve got lots of emails to catch up on, plus one of my clients is in court next week. I need to make sure everything’s ready.’

He took another mouthful of whisky, letting it warm his tongue the same way her voice warmed his soul. ‘Come to Paris.’

‘What?’ The shock in her voice reverberated down the phone line.

‘You’ve never been here, right? So come over and join me, come and see some sights. Tick another thing off your bucket list.’

‘You’re in Paris?’ She sounded confused. ‘I thought you were in Glencarraig?’

‘I had some air miles to use up.’ He smiled. Edinburgh to Paris would barely make a dent in his air miles.

‘What are you doing there?’

‘Right now? I’m sitting in a bar on the Rive Gauche, watching the world go by. And I’m thinking how much better it would be if you were with me.’

He could hear her take in a deep breath of air. ‘I’m your solicitor, Lachlan. What we did at Glencarraig… it should never have happened. We should pretend it never did. Just go back to being client and attorney.’ She sounded as unconvinced as he felt.

‘I know we should. But it’s Friday night. You’re not an attorney right now, and I’m not a client. We’re just a man and a woman without anything better to do. So why not throw caution to the wind and get on a plane? Spend the weekend with me, and then we’ll pretend that none of this ever happened.’ He hadn’t realised how much he needed this until he heard her voice. Now his whole body was tense again, as he bit down on his jaw, waiting for her response.

‘It’s nine o’clock at night,’ she said. He could almost picture her shaking her head. ‘I wouldn’t be able to get a flight until tomorrow, and that wouldn’t leave us any time.’

‘There’s a flight leaving Edinburgh in an hour and a half,’ he told her. ‘And if you look outside your window, you’ll see a car there. I’ve told him to wait for twenty minutes, long enough for you to pack a bag and get in. He’ll drive you to the airport.’

He heard the pad of footsteps as she was walking across the room, then the swish of curtain as she pulled it back. He was on tenterhooks, waiting for her response, desperate for her to say yes.

‘Oh my God, there is a bloody car there.’ She laughed, and it made him smile. ‘You really are crazy, do you know that?’

Yes, he did. But she was the one driving him crazy. ‘I’ll have another car pick you up as soon as you land. You can be here in a couple of hours.’

‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ In spite of her words, she didn’t sound annoyed. More intrigued than anything else. ‘So I fly out, we spend the weekend together, and then we go back to being professional?’

‘I just want to show a beautiful girl a beautiful city. So what do you say?’

Another swish as she closed the curtains, then the knock of her feet as she walked somewhere in her apartment. Lachlan found himself holding his breath, waiting for her answer, desperate for it to be the right one.

‘Okay,’ she finally said, her voice soft. ‘I’ll get on a plane and I’ll meet you. But you’d better have a big glass of French wine waiting for me.’

‘It’s a deal,’ he said, ending the call, a huge grin breaking out on his face. As far as he was concerned he’d buy her every damned bottle in France if she wanted it.

17

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it were

made for kissing, lady

– Richard III

Lucy looked up at the hotel in front of her, the white brick façade looming high above the street, illuminated by the bright Paris moon. Before she could even walk towards the entrance a doorman had appeared, taking her suitcase from her and ushering her into the entrance hall. ‘Mademoiselle Shakespeare?’ he asked, rolling the ‘r’ of her name. ‘Monsieur MacLeish is waiting for you in the lounge.’

Lucy followed the direction of the doorman’s arm, past the elegant chairs in the lobby, and towards the old paintings that adorned the walls. Past them was a door, the word ‘Salon’ painted in gold above it.

‘I’ll have the bellhop take your case to your room,’ the doorman told her.