The shakespeare sisters.., p.67
The Shakespeare Sisters--The Complete Box Set, page 67
Moving the cursor to Lucy’s message, he clicked it open, quickly reading through her words before downloading the attachment. Her emails were so similar to the way she talked that he could almost hear her voice as he skimmed her concise note. Could almost picture her typing it, her eyes slightly narrowed, her lips pursed in concentration.
In the weeks since they’d first met at his hotel in Miami, she’d proved to be exactly the attorney he needed. It was crazy the way he looked forward to their discussions, so much that he’d called her that morning when the sun had hardly risen in the New York skyline, the desire to hear her voice outweighing any good sense he had left. Even crazier that his morning run, accompanied by their conversation, had been the best part of his day.
He’d never had a crush before, if that was what this was. Grant hadn’t been wrong when he’d said women came to Lachlan. He liked their company, enjoyed their conversation, and yes, sometimes they went to bed together. But that was as far as it went. He certainly didn’t spend his free time thinking about them.
Until she came along.
He shook his head at his own thoughts, a half-smile lifting the corner of his lip. She was good at what she did, and that’s what he liked about her. She was key to him getting the inheritance he wanted so much, and that was what mattered.
Not her beauty, not her poise, nor the way she pulled him in every time they spoke. She might have been unlike any other woman he’d ever met, but that was all irrelevant. She was his attorney and she lived two thousand miles away. His life was complicated enough – he didn’t need to add to it.
A glance at the clock on the far side of his wall told him it was almost eleven p.m. He rubbed his dry eyes and sent a message to his car service, asking the driver to pick him up in half an hour. That left him enough time to reply to Lucy’s message and then read through his other emails, before getting home and heading straight for bed.
All work and no play was definitely making Lachlan an exhausted man.
‘So it’s all agreed, then?’ Cesca asked. ‘Thank goodness the home can take him, it’s going to be so much better for everybody.’
‘I still hate the idea of him being in a care home.’ Juliet screwed up her nose. ‘I just feel so … guilty, you know? Like I’m neglecting him. I haven’t seen him for more than two years.’
‘You’ve got nothing to feel guilty about,’ Lucy said. ‘None of you have. He wouldn’t want you to give everything up to take care of him. If anybody should be taking care of him it’s me. I’m the one who lives closest.’
A barrage of ‘No’s came through the laptop microphones. Lucy’s screen showed her three sisters all sitting in different parts of the world. Cesca was still in Budapest, where Sam was filming on location. If you looked close enough you could see the telltale signs of her hotel room – generic paintings on the walls, plain yet elegant bedding, not to mention the three suitcases in the corner of the screen.
Juliet, on the other hand, was sitting in her kitchen in Maryland, USA. Expensively modern and beautiful, and yet somehow soulless. Poppy was in the corner, colouring in her usual way – full of gusto. Thomas, Juliet’s husband, was nowhere to be seen.
Then there was Kitty. The baby of the family. She was sitting outside a coffee shop in LA, the morning sun illuminating her long, blonde curls. In her hand was a supersized insulated cup, and she was sipping on it as they spoke. She looked beautiful – and no wonder. Falling in love had been good for her.
‘So what about the house?’ Cesca asked. ‘Will the insurance let us keep it empty? We can’t rent it out while it’s got all that stuff in.’ They all knew their father was a hoarder.
‘I’ve spoken to a couple of companies that specialise in house clearance,’ Lucy told them. ‘I don’t think we should do anything until he’s settled, but after that we’ll have to look at selling it – we’ll need the money to pay for his care.’
‘It feels horrible, selling the family house,’ Kitty said. ‘Dad loves that place. So did Mum.’
Lucy glanced over to the side table, covered with a collection of family photographs in silver and black frames. On the left-hand side was a small black-and-white print of a tall, handsome man and a beautiful woman, laughing as they ran down the steps of the register office. Her mother was resplendent in a short, cream dress; their father wearing a smart suit and perfectly knotted tie. It looked more like a vintage advert than a family snap.
‘We don’t have much choice,’ Juliet said quietly. ‘We want Dad to have the best care, and the house will pay for it.’ She swallowed, her voice lower still. ‘Anyway, it’s not as if he’s ever going to be able to live in it again, is it? He’s only going to get worse.’
That silenced them all for a minute. When Lucy glanced at the screen her sisters were all looking down.
‘We’re doing the best we can for him,’ Lucy finally said. ‘And that’s all we can do. I know it’s horrible, but at least this time we get to do it right.’
‘Of course we are,’ Cesca agreed.
‘Anyway, tell us about Budapest. Is the Danube as pretty as they say it is?’ Lucy asked. The change of subject was like a weight lifting from all their shoulders, and suddenly they were chatting again, their expressions softening as they exchanged news, talking about husbands and boyfriends , jobs and houses.
Lucy leaned back in her chair, surveying them all with a warm smile. She loved her sisters fiercely. Since she was fifteen years old, it had been her job to take care of them, to make sure they were happy.
To all intents and purposes, it still was.
9
My mother came into mine eyes and gave me up to tears – Henry V
There should be a car waiting for you in Miami. I’ve rescheduled tomorrow’s meetings, and cancelled your appointments. Give my best wishes to your mom. Grant
Lachlan skimmed the text then shoved his phone into his pocket, pulling his small, expensive case behind him as he walked into the airport arrivals lounge. Cabin-sized, it contained everything he’d had time to throw inside it, before racing to JFK Airport for the first flight he could get on.
It was eleven p.m. local time. Darkness had descended, lending Miami International a quieter atmosphere, suiting Lachlan’s mood completely. He strode across the tiled floor to the man holding the sign with his name on, nodding and allowing the driver to take his case as they walked out to the car.
A few minutes later they were pulling onto the freeway. The driver made a couple of half-hearted attempts to begin a conversation, but Lachlan’s replies were terse, almost taciturn. He preferred to stare out of the window, or check his messages to see if there were any updates from his mother’s nurse.
‘It’s the university hospital, right?’ the driver asked, pulling into the fast lane.
‘That’s right.’
‘I’m guessing it’s not a regular appointment at this hour.’
‘My mother’s been taken sick. I’ve flown down from New York to see her.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ the driver said.
‘Thank you.’
‘My father was in Mercy last year,’ the driver continued. ‘Heart attack. They gave him a week at best. Within two months he was dancing at my sister’s wedding. They said it was a minor miracle.’
Lachlan half-smiled. He wasn’t expecting any miracles – minor or not – for his mom.
It was less than fifteen minutes before the car pulled up outside the hospital. The driver flicked his hazard lights on and climbed out to grab Lachlan’s case from the trunk. Lachlan stood and looked up at the cream stuccoed building. If it wasn’t for the green-and-orange University of Miami Hospital signs, you could mistake it for a high-end hotel. Hell, some of the top-level rooms had fantastic views of the beach and city.
Slipping the driver a twenty-dollar tip, Lachlan grabbed his case and walked through the glass sliding doors and into the entrance, immediately heading for the information desk. It was quiet inside – regular visiting hours were over, and the general public were safely at home for the evening. Even the staff spoke softly as he asked for directions to his mom’s room.
When he made it to the Pulmonary and Critical Care ward, the nurse quietly directed him down the hallway. ‘The pulmonologist has gone home for the evening,’ she told him, her voice low. ‘He’ll be back in at eight for ward rounds. You’ll be able to speak with him then. But in the meantime if you have any questions, I should be able to help.’
‘How is she?’
‘Critical but stable,’ the nurse told him. ‘She had a chest infection which developed into pneumonia. She’s being treated with an antibiotic drip, and she’s on oxygen, but her heart is weak. We should know more tomorrow.’
‘Will she make it?’
The nurse’s face softened. ‘It’s hard to tell. There’s a fine line between treating her and exacerbating her pain. As you know, COPD is progressive, we can only treat the complications. But we’re doing all we can to help her fight.’ She stopped outside the room, pushing the door open. Lachlan stepped past her, his eyes immediately drawn to the pale woman resting on the hospital bed. She was hooked up to a machine, lines leading from her wrist up to a drip. An oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth, and every time she inhaled he could hear a rattling from her chest.
‘That’s a venturi mask,’ the nurse explained. ‘It delivers high levels of oxygen to her lungs. It’s more effective than a nasal cannula.’
Lachlan nodded, though he was barely listening.
‘She’s also had two steroid injections to improve her lung function. I expect they’ll send her down for another chest X-ray tomorrow.’
Tomorrow. Seeing his mother lying on her bed, he wondered if she’d even see it. Leaving his case by the door, he walked over, pulling the chair close to the bed. Picking her hand up, he clasped it between his own.
‘She feels hot,’ he said.
‘She’s had a fever. It’s coming down. We’ll be taking her vitals again in half an hour, hopefully she’ll be a bit cooler by then.’ The nurse checked her watch. ‘I’ll leave you in here for a while. If you’d like some refreshments, the café is open all night, it’s just down the hall. And if you need one of us, you can either press that button,’ she said, pointing to the red button on the wall, ‘or come find us at the nurses’ station.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied, still staring at his mother.
‘You’re welcome.’
He spent the next hour sitting with his mom, listening to the regular beeps from the heart monitor, and her irregular breathing as she struggled still for air. The wheezing rattle from her chest made him wince, it sounded as though with every breath she took she was going in to battle. A couple of times her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at him glassily, not recognising who he was, or if she did, unable to find the energy to acknowledge him.
By midnight he’d fallen asleep on the padded leather chair, his head lolling to the side as his long legs stretched out in front of him. But his slumber didn’t last for long. Every hour the nurse came in to check the machine and the IV, making notes on her tablet to record his mom’s hourly stats.
The second time the nurse woke him up, his neck was stiff, his back muscles complaining at the awkward position. He circled his head a couple of times, feeling the knots clicking against each other. ‘Where did you say the café was?’ he asked. Right then, the lure of a caffeine injection was too strong to ignore. It was a shame they didn’t serve anything stronger.
‘Down the corridor and to the left,’ she told him, adjusting the machine. ‘If you’re lucky the terrace might still be open. It has a nice view of the city.’
There was no queue at the counter. The barista served him quickly, using the same low tones everybody else seemed to have in the hospital. Did they put them on some kind of training course? Lachlan handed over a note then carried his coffee over to a corner table. The doors to the terrace were locked but the sounds of the city still found their way through the gaps. His phone screen told him it was half past one in the morning, and it felt like it, too. Sitting there in the corner of the deserted café, Lachlan felt a pang of loneliness sting his stomach.
Do you have anybody you’d like us to call? Wasn’t that what they said when a patient was close to death? If the nurse asked him there and then if there was somebody she could call, who the hell would he say?
Grant probably cared, but only because he was Lachlan’s friend. And he’d be fast asleep at this time. He couldn’t imagine Jenn would be very impressed if Lachlan woke them up just to talk.
Did he even have any other friends? Maybe, but not the kind you’d call in the middle of the night, looking for sympathy. He spent his life surrounded by work colleagues, employees, friends who liked to have a good time, but would a single one of them be there for him if he sent them a message right then?
He didn’t think so, no.
Taking a sip of his coffee, he let the bitter taste swill around his tongue, and then swiped his phone, checking the time once again. One thirty-three a.m. – only a few minutes since he last checked. It was as though time moved at a slower pace in the night, the same way the nurses lowered their tones once the midnight hour had passed. He checked his emails, his messages, his diary. Took another sip of his drink. Two nurses walked into the café and headed straight for the counter, then left as soon as their to-go drinks were made.
He glanced at the news, the weather forecast and the closing share prices across the globe. His coffee was half-drunk now, the liquid cooling fast in the air-conditioned café, and he pushed the cup away with one hand, still holding the phone with his other.
Sighing, he pressed on the search box in his web browser. What could he look up next? He wasn’t interested in gossip, didn’t follow any TV shows, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d read a book. The keyboard popped up on the screen, and he slid his fingers across the boxes, making letters appear on in the search.
The MacLeish clan.
As soon as he pressed the little magnifying glass icon, a list of results appeared. An online shop selling Scottish tartan, a Wikipedia page, and then the website that Grant had told him about. Lachlan pushed on the third result, and it immediately took him to the same page he’d seen before, the one with a tartan background, and a photograph of Glencarraig Lodge in the banner.
The menu held a number of options, and he clicked on the history one first. He glanced through it, reading about the clearances in the eighteenth century, and how they resulted in so many poorer Scottish families being evicted by their aristocratic landlords, leading to a mass emigration to the New World. He read about Bonnie Prince Charlie, and how the head of the MacLeish clan had supported him in his quest to defeat the English occupation, leading to the clan chief being forced into exile, a hunted man.
There was so much information in there, Lachlan could barely take it all in. Who had written this? He couldn’t believe his father had either the interest or the technical expertise to run a website. There was no information about the author – just links to the forum, which as Grant had said was pretty deserted – as well as details of the accommodation that Glencarraig Lodge offered to paying guests, and an annual gathering.
Interested, Lachlan clicked on the gathering page. A photograph of Glencarraig castle came up again, but this time there was a host of people standing in front of it. Men wearing kilts in the traditional MacLeish tartan, ladies in longer skirts wearing tartan blankets wrapped across their shoulders. There were even children, boys in kilts and flat tam-o’-shanter hats, girls in shorter skirts and long socks. At the bottom of the photograph was a caption: MacLeish Clan Gathering 2017.
He blew up the photograph, scanning the people to see if he recognised anyone. But none of them looked familiar. Neither his father nor his brother were there, and that gave Lachlan some satisfaction.
The café door opened again, and this time there was a bigger influx of people. He glanced at the time and was shocked to see that over an hour had passed. He stood quickly and headed back to see his mom in her private room.
Learning more about the MacLeish clan would have to wait.
10
Scotland has enough treasures to satisfy you out of your own royal coffers – Macbeth
‘Mr MacLeish?’ Dr Farnish walked out of the hospital room, pulling the door closed behind him. ‘I’ve had the results of the X-rays back. Your mother’s chest is looking clearer than yesterday. The antibiotics seem to be working.’
Lachlan nodded quickly. The relief made his muscles feel loose. ‘She’s more lucid than yesterday, too. We managed to exchange a few words.’
‘Yes, that’s a good sign. If her recovery continues we should be able to discharge her before the weekend. The fact she has twenty-four-hour care at her home should make things easier.’
‘Will there be any lasting damage?’ Lachlan asked. ‘Do we need to review her care?’
Dr Farnish shook his head. ‘As you know, each episode of exacerbation causes some damage to her lungs, which will make breathing harder for her. But she already has a ventilator at the care home, and that should be sufficient for now. I’ll want to review her in a week, and then monthly from then. But if she’s well enough to discharge, then she’ll be well enough to go back to her care home.’ He lowered his voice, enough for Lachlan to have to lean a little closer. ‘At some point you’ll need to have a discussion with her about her wishes. Maybe think about a living will. Her COPD will have an effect on her quality of life, and eventually the pain is going to outweigh any positives.’
Lachlan leaned back on the painted wall. A nurse walked past them, pushing a trolley of equipment, the rubber wheels squeaking against the tiled floor. The doctor was right – he knew that. They’d consulted enough experts to know there was no way but down for his mother.
