The shakespeare sisters.., p.64
The Shakespeare Sisters--The Complete Box Set, page 64
Lifting her hand up, she smoothed her hair back, squaring her shoulders as the elevator approached her floor. She could do this – could be the professional she always had been. He might have been the most handsome man she’d laid eyes on, but she was better than that. And so was her professional reputation.
The elevator pinged, and she walked out onto her floor, pulling her room card out of her case and sliding it into the lock. And as she stepped inside, pulling off her shoes and carefully placing them into the closet, she felt a sense of relief wash over her.
A good night’s sleep would do her the world of good. Then she’d fly back home, and get back to her work, leaving Lachlan MacLeish thousands of miles away.
Life would go on, just the way she liked it, and that would be the end of that.
4
As they say, ‘When the age is in, the wit is out’ – Much Ado About Nothing
‘You missed a few calls. The list is on your desk,’ Lachlan’s assistant, Grant, said, following Lachlan into his office. He leaned down, pulling open the small refrigerator beside the bookcase, and took out a bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, he filled up a long glass and put it on Lachlan’s desk. ‘How was your workout?’
Lachlan grabbed a fresh towel from the cupboard hidden in the far wall of the room. His office had a small bathroom attached, perfect for cleaning up after his lunchtime training. ‘Hard. That’s what happens when you miss a few weeks.’
Grant Tanaka was a year younger than Lachlan, but had been by his side since the day he’d set up in business, the same way they’d been for most of their lives. They’d grown up in next-door apartments – Grant was the child of Japanese-American parents who had practically adopted Lachlan as one of their own. With Lachlan’s mom working all the hours God sent, the Tanakas had made sure he was fed, did his homework, and didn’t get into trouble.
Well, not too much trouble, anyway.
‘I forgot to ask you, how was Miami?’ Grant asked him.
‘Warmer than this place, that’s for sure.’ Through the plate-glass window of his office, Lachlan could see the New York skyline. Grey, overcast, barely acknowledging the fact that spring was supposed to have arrived. ‘It was worth it just to meet the Scottish attorney. Hopefully we managed to strategise the Glencarraig case.’
Grant cocked an eyebrow. ‘You’re still stuck on this Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod thing?’
‘Hey, don’t knock it. According to this attorney, I get to intervene in clan disputes.’
‘There can be only one.’
‘Are you going to quote Highlander to me all day, or can I go grab a shower before my next meeting?’
‘Yeah, you really should do that.’ Grant screwed his nose up. ‘You stink. Go.’
‘Thanks, man.’
‘Oh, and Jenn wants to know if you can make dinner a week on Friday. She’s making sushi.’
Lachlan looked back over his shoulder at Grant. ‘In that case, it’s a date. A gorgeous woman and gorgeous food are too good to turn down.’
Grant lifted his hands up. ‘Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about. I’ll be there too.’
Lachlan winked. ‘I know, I know. But when she makes sushi, I don’t have eyes for anybody else.’
‘Yeah, well keep your eyes to yourself,’ Grant warned, still grinning. ‘That girl is mine.’ He glanced at his watch then back at Lachlan. ‘Best hurry, your next meeting’s in ten minutes.’ Suddenly, they were back to being boss and assistant.
‘I’m on it.’
‘You want me to bring you in a coffee?’ Grant asked, turning to leave the room.
‘Sure thing.’
Lachlan watched as Grant walked out of his office, pulling the door softly closed behind him. Not for the first time he felt a strange combination of envy and confusion when it came to his friend. In the years since they’d been working together he’d tried to promote him countless times, knowing Grant would make an excellent director. But Grant refused, telling Lachlan he preferred to have a work–life balance that allowed him to spend time with his wife.
He was a great assistant, and Lachlan’s oldest friend. Some would say his only friend. Either way, Lachlan was glad to keep him around, even if it meant being constantly nagged.
The lights in the outer office were dimmed, Grant having long since gone home. The rest of the floor was silent too, save for the occasional ring of a phone that wasn’t answered, and the stealthy footsteps of the cleaning crew as they gave the desks the once-over, emptying trash cans and filling up the water coolers before they wheeled their trollies away.
Behind him, through the floor-to-ceiling glass, darkness had descended over Manhattan. The hum of the traffic had quietened, and Lachlan didn’t need to look out to see that every second car was a cab. Full of people leaving work and heading out for dinner, and tourists exploring the city while the cab drivers fleeced them.
Not Lachlan, though. It was one of the rare evenings when he didn’t have a late-night meeting or a business dinner.
He picked up his phone, intending to scroll through his contacts, then put it down again. The thought of an evening on the town didn’t light him up with enthusiasm – the opposite, if anything. It must be the jet lag, the heightened emotions of his father’s funeral and the surprise of his bequest. Maybe an early night would do him better, instead.
He reached forward to give his emails one final check before he switched off his laptop for the night. Clicking on his mouse, he scrolled through the updates, the circulars, the invitations – each one personally scrutinised by Grant before he’d passed them on.
Halfway down, he saw a message from Lucy Shakespeare. Raising an eyebrow, he clicked on it, his eyes scanning the content.
* * *
Dear Lachlan,
Many thanks for dinner on Monday, and for taking the time to meet with me. Attached to this email is a client care letter, outlining the terms of our agreement and the fees you’ll be charged. Please read through it carefully, and return one signed copy to me. A scanned version will be fine.
As agreed, I’ll send you a strategy document by the end of the week, and perhaps we can then arrange a videoconference to discuss next steps.
Kind regards,
Lucy Shakespeare
* * *
It was a simple business message, brief and concise, yet he could hear every word in her elegant English accent.
He glanced at his watch, twisting his arm until it appeared above the line of his shirt cuffs. It was seven thirty in New York, which made it past midnight in Edinburgh. He let his mind wander for a moment, remembering the way she’d looked when he stepped into the restaurant. The way she held herself, her chin pointed up, revealing the perfect lines of her profile against the backdrop of the inky sky. She was as intriguing as hell, and beautiful with it.
Yeah, and she’s also your attorney.
Shaking his head, he reached forward to switch off his laptop, then rolled his chair back and got up to grab his jacket. He was in a funk after his father’s death, that was all. Nothing more than that. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, clicking on the contacts and placing a call. When the woman on the other end picked up, he was walking out of his office and heading over to the bank of elevators on the other side.
‘Hey, Julia,’ he said, his voice echoing down the line. ‘It’s Lachlan. I was just heading off to my club and I thought of you. Would you like to join me for a drink?’
5
I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream – Henry IV, Part I
Lucy turned her key in the lock, opening the black-painted door to her smart Edinburgh apartment. It smelled of polish and cleaning cream – Elena must have given the flat the once-over that morning. She’d left Lucy’s mail in a pile on the table by the entrance way, plus a fresh vase of spring flowers. One of the perks of having a cleaning service.
With the door wide open, she turned to grab her suitcase, as a flash of orange and white dashed across the tiled hallway. A small, tabby cat slid past Lucy’s legs, her fur soft against Lucy’s calves. She lingered for a moment then made a dash for the warmth of the apartment.
‘Come here, cheeky,’ Lucy crooned, grabbing hold of the pint-sized feline. ‘There’s nothing for you in here. Where did you come from anyway?’
As she gently placed her back in the hall, the cat purred, her body vibrating against Lucy’s hands. Standing back up, Lucy went to grab her case and walk inside, and of course the cat ran back in before she could stop her.
Even with an intruder inside, stepping inside her apartment made Lucy smile. She loved this place – had done ever since she’d bought it five years ago. A converted Georgian townhouse, in the heart of Edinburgh’s New Town, her home was an elegantly decorated two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment, with a huge, modern kitchen that she hardly ever used. Though she liked the pale painted walls and the polished wooden floors, the thing that sold it to her when she first saw it had been the garden. A small, walled escape, filled with greenery, it was her favourite place to spend the afternoon in the summer.
Unpacking her clothes and throwing most of them in the laundry basket – Elena would sort them out – Lucy walked into her rainfall shower, letting the steamy droplets soothe her skin. When she stepped out, twisting a towel around her hair in a turban, and wrapping the rest of her body with a stark, white robe, she walked back into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it with fresh water.
Elena had restocked the fridge, too. There were some Waitrose ready meals and a couple of bags of salad, plus the usual milk, cheese and bread. Lucy grabbed the milk and a small bowl, filling it up and putting it on the floor. The tabby sashayed her way over and took a lick.
‘This is just me being polite,’ Lucy pointed out to the cat. ‘Don’t think you can take advantage, because when that milk’s gone, so are you.’
As if the cat could understand, she looked up, glancing at Lucy over the china bowl, before lowering her head and licking at the milk.
Lucy was about to make a coffee when her telephone started to buzz. She looked at the display, frowning when the number flashed up. She didn’t recognise it.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Miss Shakespeare? Lucy Shakespeare?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘My name’s Martha Crawford. I don’t know if you remember me, but I live two doors down from your father.’
Lucy clicked the kettle off, frowning. ‘Hello, Mrs Crawford, I remember you. Is everything okay?’
‘There’s nothing to worry about, not really. I mean, he’s okay; well, as okay as he ever is. He’s not really one for saying much, is he?’
‘Has something happened to my father?’ Lucy asked.
‘I didn’t even know if I should call. He told me not to, but you never know, do you? And then I spoke with Deidre, she’s the lady who lives on the other side of your dad, and she said it was for the best.’
‘Could you tell me what’s happened?’ Lucy tried – and failed – not to sound impatient.
‘My husband found him wandering around in his pyjamas this morning. Well, he spotted him out of the kitchen window when he was making our tea. We both love an Earl Grey first thing. I know a lot of people like breakfast tea, but as far as I’m concerned it’s a waste of a tea leaf.’
‘Dad was in his pyjamas?’ Lucy asked, sitting down on a stool. She leaned her elbows on the breakfast bar. ‘Where did he go?’
‘He was walking up towards the shops. So Bernard – that’s my husband – followed him up there. Luckily he wasn’t in his pyjamas. Bernard, that is.’ Martha gave a little laugh. ‘When Bernard caught up with your dad, he was a bit confused. Didn’t seem to know where he was. Luckily that girl, his carer – what’s-her-name with the short hair – she was just arriving and helped get your dad back into the house.’
‘So he’s okay?’
‘He was a bit shaken up. Bernard said he didn’t recognise him, and you know the two of them used to spend a lot of time talking roses back in the day.’
‘Do you know if his carer called the doctor?’ Lucy asked.
‘No idea, love. I just thought you should know, that’s all. Luckily Deidre had your number from the last time you were down here. I hope you didn’t mind me calling you.’
‘No, no, I’m glad you did. Thank you.’ Lucy gave a quick smile, even though Martha was four hundred miles away. ‘I should go now,’ she said, already making a mental list of people to call: the care company, her father’s doctor, and of course her sisters. ‘But thank you so much for letting me know. I appreciate it.’
‘Any time.’ Martha lowered her voice. The woman was as hard to brush off as an ardent suitor. ‘Though between you and me, I think it’s all getting a bit much for him. Have you thought of putting him in a home?’
‘Well, thanks again, Mrs Crawford, and please pass on my thanks to your husband,’ Lucy said with a loud voice, quickly ending the call before Martha could start talking again. She grabbed the notepad and pen she always left next to the microwave, and started to write on the lined paper.
If in doubt, make a list. It worked every time.
‘So how was Miami?’ her sister Juliet asked, her voice echoing down the line. Lucy had almost managed to catch up on the work she’d missed while travelling to Miami. That’s when she wasn’t on the telephone to London, talking to doctors and her father’s carer, trying to agree a plan of action. It hadn’t exactly been the peaceful return to Edinburgh she’d hoped for.
She wedged her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she tapped a few amendments to the document she was working on. It was late afternoon in Edinburgh, and another rainstorm had whipped itself into a fury, lashing water against her windows. The cat had found her way into the flat again, and was curled up on Lucy’s lap as she typed. She’d discovered it belonged to the downstairs neighbours, but liked to roam around the building as though it owned the place. And maybe Lucy liked it a little bit, too. ‘It was brief. I flew in, had a couple of meetings then flew out again.’
‘Sounds exhausting,’ Juliet replied. ‘You should be in bed now, not calling me.’
‘I’m fine. I’ll have a lie-in at the weekend.’ Lucy highlighted some words and inserted a comment. ‘I think only being there for a day was good for me. Not enough time for the jet lag to take hold.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Juliet said, a grin in her voice. ‘If anybody can beat jet lag, you can.’
Juliet was younger than Lucy by two years. Growing up, she’d been the lieutenant to Lucy’s general, the two of them ruling the roost, and lording it over their younger sisters, Cesca and Kitty. Then, when Lucy was fifteen, their mother died, and the play-roles they’d taken on somehow became real. Maybe that’s why her father had been so insistent that she moved to Edinburgh to study law when she was eighteen. To make her start living her life again.
‘I wish I could beat old age,’ Lucy said softly. ‘Dad’s not been himself again. One of his neighbours found him wandering around the village in his pyjamas.’
‘Oh no,’ Juliet sounded alarmed. ‘Is he okay? Did he catch a cold? What does the doctor say?’
Lucy spent the next few minutes filling her sister in. ‘It’s all under control,’ she reassured Juliet. ‘I just wanted to let you know what’s happened.’
‘He’s getting worse, isn’t he?’
‘It’s to be expected.’ She kept her voice gentle. Even though she was the second oldest, everybody was always gentle with Juliet. ‘I spoke to the doctor, and he’s sent me up some details of care homes near dad. He thinks it’s time we look into them.’
Juliet was silent for a moment. Lucy could picture her in her big American living room, with the huge sofa and the plump easy chairs.
‘It will all be fine,’ Lucy promised her. ‘I’ll speak to a few of the homes and report back. You don’t need to worry.’
‘But I do worry …’
‘So tell me,’ Lucy said, choosing to change the subject, ‘how’s Poppy getting on?’
Juliet sounded as grateful as Lucy was for the distraction. ‘She’s doing great, really enjoying school. Did I tell you what she said to my mother-in-law the other day?’
As Juliet regaled her older sister with stories of her fearless daughter’s escapades, Lucy found herself smiling, her whole body relaxing at Poppy’s antics. That little six-year-old really was a chip off the old Shakespeare block, and it was a relief to finally talk about something else.
‘You in a rush to be somewhere?’
‘Nowhere – in – particular.’ Each word came out with a gasp of air. It felt as though every muscle in Lachlan’s body was burning. But he wasn’t going to stop, not until Grant did. It was a question of honour.
Central Park was teeming with people. The benches were full, the green lawns peppered with blankets, children weaving in and out between the checkered wool, and swarming over the grass like ants attracted to a morsel of food. The aroma of hot dogs and popcorn floated with the breeze, the carts surrounded by tourists and locals, jostling to make the front of the line. It was as though nobody had seen the sun before. The first warm day of spring had brought them all out to enjoy the greenery.
‘You’re running faster than normal. I thought maybe you had a girl waiting for you.’
Lachlan shook his head, grinning in spite of the pain in his legs. ‘If I had a girl waiting for me, I wouldn’t be wasting time with you, my friend.’ Sometimes bantering with Grant beat the need for air. This was one of those times.
‘Hey, if you had a girl waiting for you at home, I’d be beating the hell out of you for leaving her.’
‘You think you could beat me?’ Lachlan laughed, as the two of them came to a stop next to the duck pond. He leaned against the nearest tree, the rough bark pressing into his palm. His breaths were short, more gasps than anything else. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
