The shakespeare sisters.., p.86
The Shakespeare Sisters--The Complete Box Set, page 86
The day they all lost a mother and somehow Lucy took on the role herself.
30
That I have shot mine arrow o’er the house and hurt my brother – Hamlet
The office was like a ghost town – not a big surprise, since it was a Saturday. When he’d walked through the frosted-glass doors that led to MacLeish Holdings, Lachlan had been greeted by sleeping computers and dim security lights. The movement sensors detected him as he made his way to the oak doors leading to his office, causing the lights to flash above him as he moved, like a strange upside-down homage to Saturday Night Fever. Not that he intended on dancing.
He put his Styrofoam mug of coffee on his desk, flicking on his computer as he leaned forward on his elbows, his palms cradling his stubbled jaw. It had seemed like a good idea to come here – anything to avoid his memory-laden apartment – but now it just felt sad.
Maybe he should have gone for a run instead. Or called Grant and seen if he wanted a pre-gala drink or two. What was it that normal people did on Saturdays anyway? For the past few weeks, he’d spent most of his time talking with Lucy. Or looking at Lucy. Or sleeping with Lucy.
Dammit, he didn’t need to think about that right now.
He pulled his emails up, quickly deleting the ones that meant nothing, flagging those he wanted to read. Some were easy wins – forwarded to the appropriate department, or to Grant to set up meetings. The others would wait until Monday. Nobody was hanging around at the weekend just to hear from him.
Then he saw the email from Alistair. Your Official Invitation to the MacLeish Gathering. When he clicked on it, the email opened, revealing a photograph of Glencarraig, the lodge nestled in its highland surroundings, the loch as perfectly clear as he remembered it. And of course there was the MacLeish tartan, forming a border around the invitation.
* * *
Lachlan MacLeish,
Laird of Glencarraig.
Plus one.
* * *
His first thought was to forward it to Lucy, but why the hell would she care?
She’d gone, and he’d pushed her away with every piece of strength he had. All those words, said in the heat of the moment, came back to him with a force that made him wince.
If you walk out that door now, don’t bother coming back. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to erase the memory.
The fact he called the dress payment for services rendered. Christ, what a dick he was. No wonder she walked away. He’d all but bundled her out of the door himself. The pain of it was like a blunt spoon digging at his heart. He’d lost her and it was all his own damn fault.
The urge to call her was almost impossible to ignore. Only the need to curl up and lick his wounds stopped him from grabbing his phone and hitting her number.
Shaking his head, he turned off the screen. There was little point in doing any work when he could barely concentrate for more than five minutes at a time. It was almost four in the afternoon – only another three hours to kill before he needed to get ready for the gala.
He was pretty sure they were going to be the longest three hours of his life.
Lachlan stood at the entrance to the hotel, smoothing his dinner jacket as he waited for the people in front of him to make their way up the red carpet. Camera flashes were coming from both sides, as photographers and reporters in the press area shouted out directions and questions, and the guests stopped to pose in front of the sponsors’ banners.
‘Mr MacLeish, we’re so pleased you could join us tonight.’ The host walked forward to shake his hand. ‘I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your generosity.’
‘It was a cause close to my father’s heart,’ he murmured, watching as a beautiful couple walked past him, the man placing his palm in the small of the woman’s back. She was wearing a backless dress – a cream silk that rippled to the ground. His heart lurched as he remembered the torn dress hanging in his closet at home.
‘Mr MacLeish, will you be sitting at a table with your brother tonight?’
Lachlan turned, recognising the society reporter from the Post. ‘I don’t think so, no.’ His smile was wide and completely false. ‘MacLeish Holdings have their own table at the gala. I wouldn’t want to appear cheap.’
‘And who’s accompanying you tonight?’ The reporter looked around expectantly.
‘I’m here alone.’
Her face dropped. ‘You are?’ She looked as though he’d just told her the world was flat.
After a few more questions he was ushered into the lobby, crossing from the red carpet to the marble floor tiles. The table he’d bought for an extortionate price was half-full. He saw a few friends and clients filling the seats, and he smiled when Grant and Jenn waved at him from their position at the far side. He made his way around the table, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, having to speak loudly to be heard over the orchestra. By the time he made it to Grant, his friend had already secured him a drink.
‘I thought you might need this,’ he said, passing a glass of champagne to Lachlan. ‘You made it through the wolves okay?’
‘The same old, same old.’ Lachlan lowered his voice. ‘Is he here yet?’
Grant tipped his head towards the other side of the ballroom. ‘Yep.’ Lachlan followed Grant’s gaze, at the table right next to the stage. A man was sitting at the head – a little shorter than Lachlan, a little stockier, too, but with the same dark hair and strong nose.
For a moment their eyes met, before Duncan looked away, turning to talk to the person next to him. Lachlan waited for the familiar feelings of hatred to fill him, but instead he felt nothing at all. He didn’t feel any need to go over to talk to the man he shared blood with. Didn’t feel the need to do anything to him. At the end of the day, what did any of it matter?
‘Lachlan.’ Jenn stood, offering her cheek to him. He brushed his lips against her warm skin, smiling as she pulled him in for a hug.
‘Jenn, you look beautiful as always.’
‘You know what they say, you can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig wearing lipstick.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Are you comparing yourself with a pig? Jesus, you look all glowing and gorgeous. Stop putting yourself down.’
She patted his arm. ‘And that’s why I like you, Mr Charm.’ Her voice dropped, enough that he had to lean in to hear her. ‘I’m so sorry about Lucy. Grant told me.’
Lachlan looked over at his friend. Grant shrugged, in a don’t-blame-me kind of way. ‘Oh did he?’
‘I can’t help but feel some of this is my fault,’ Jenn said, rubbing her neck with her palm. ‘I hope I didn’t drive her away.’
Lachlan frowned. ‘Why would this be your fault?’
She bit her lip, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘I kind of said something about your other girls.’
‘What other girls?’ He shook his head. She wasn’t making sense. ‘I don’t have any other girls.’
‘And I told her you had trust issues.’
He blinked. ‘What?’
‘You’re not making it much better, babe,’ Grant warned.
‘I’m so sorry. I really liked her, Lachlan.’
‘Jenn …’ His voice was a warning. ‘What did you say to her?’
‘Remember, it’s illegal to hit a pregnant lady, okay?’ She stepped back, as though bracing herself. ‘I told her you pushed women away when they got too close.’
This time, Lachlan was the one frowning. ‘Why did you tell her that?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Jenn grabbed his arm again, her fingers circling around his bicep. ‘She’s so lovely. I was worried you were going to treat her the way you treat all the others. But then Grant told me how much you’re in love with her, and I realised I messed everything up. You have to forgive me, okay, otherwise you’re not going to be godfather to this baby.’ She was out of breath, and still clinging to him.
‘Calm down.’ Lachlan patted her hand. He was worried she was going into premature labour. ‘You weren’t that wrong. I did push her away. And what’s all this about me being in love with her?’ He turned to Grant, who was conveniently looking away.
‘He told me about you missing that meeting. And the way you tried to cancel another one in Paris. And about all the late-night phone calls you didn’t think he could hear you making.’
‘You don’t work late at night.’ Lachlan looked in Grant’s direction.
‘Lucy’s late night, not yours,’ Grant pointed out. ‘I thought you’d turned into the fashion police or something. You were always asking her what she was wearing.’
Lachlan wasn’t sure whether to be amused or appalled.
‘We had to talk business,’ he protested. ‘It’s hard to time transatlantic conversations right. It was the only spot we both had free every evening.’
‘You don’t even talk to your own attorneys every evening, so why would you need to talk to her? Face it, you’ve fallen in love with the girl.’ Grant shrugged. ‘Not that I ever thought I’d see the day.’
Lachlan opened his mouth to argue, but closed it swiftly. What was there to argue with? His phone calls definitely hadn’t been about business. Anything between him and Lucy had ceased to be about the Glencarraig inheritance a long time ago.
He slid his hand in his pocket, feeling the paper he’d shoved in there before he left for the hotel. Soft, shiny, and a little bit battered.
‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ he said, lifting his hand and grabbing another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. ‘It’s over. She’s gone.’ The expression on his face left them in no doubt he didn’t want to talk about it any more. What else was there to say?
He’d lost her, and at some point he’d have to accept it. And for now, he’d just bluster his way through.
He made it through the evening without bumping into his brother. He’d been deliberately avoiding that whole side of his family, sticking to his own table, the bar, and the occasional foray to speak to friends. But still, at least he’d be able to leave the gala without any fuss.
Inside the ballroom, the party was still in full swing: the low beat of the music, the constant stream of chatter reverberating through the doors, which opened regularly as people made their way to the bathroom. Lachlan nodded at the hatcheck man, sliding a ten into the bowl even though he hadn’t brought a coat. Glancing at his phone, he checked to see if his car was here yet.
Five minutes away, that wasn’t so bad. He decided to wait outside – the New York spring was slowly giving way to summer, and the evening was feeling warm. He loosened his tie as he walked out through the exit, and unfastened his top button.
He’d barely stepped onto the sidewalk before he came to an abrupt stop. In front of him was a man who shared the same hair and the same nose as him, though very little else.
‘Duncan.’ Lachlan nodded at him.
‘Lachlan.’ Duncan looked him up and down. ‘Are you leaving already?’
How long had it been since the two of them had exchanged more than a nod? Since they’d grown into men, the two of them had barely spoken. There was too much bad blood – and two many bad years – between them.
‘I have somewhere else to be.’
There was a twitch in Duncan’s jaw, as though he was clenching his teeth too tightly. ‘Well, thank you for coming anyway. Dad would have been pleased.’
It was strange the way those words made Lachlan feel. A mixture of pride alongside a dash of resentment that Duncan would know what their father would have felt.
Because Lachlan had absolutely no idea at all.
His thoughts turned to Lucy again, and her choice to always put her family first. It was hard to imagine ever feeling that way if his brother needed him. Not that Duncan ever did.
‘It was a good evening,’ Lachlan said. ‘I’m sure you’ll raise lots of money.’ He glanced at his watch. Where the hell was his car?
‘I was hoping we’d get to talk tonight.’ Duncan looked uneasy. ‘I wanted to speak with you about this court thing. I wanted to explain.’
Lachlan shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. ‘Nothing to explain. It’s business.’ And quite frankly he couldn’t give a flying damn about the inheritance. It didn’t matter, not any more.
‘No, it isn’t.’ Duncan took a step forward. ‘I didn’t want to take it to court. There’s nothing more distasteful than family suing family. I just don’t have a choice.’
Lachlan looked up at him, frowning. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s really important to Mom that I keep that part of our father with me. I promised her I wouldn’t give up.’ Duncan inhaled deeply, his shoulders lifting up. ‘I don’t want to fight you for it, but I don’t know what else to do.’
For a moment, Lachlan thought of Duncan’s mother – his father’s wife, even when Lachlan was conceived. She’d been a shadowy presence whenever he’d visited. Stoic, but clearly upset by his being there. And no wonder, Lachlan was a walking, breathing reminder of her husband’s infidelities.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, remembering the way Lucy had tried to hide her own secret for so long. How many years were the children expected to pay for the sins of their parents? Would they ever be able to shake off the shackles of their past.
‘My mother felt the same,’ Lachlan said when he opened his eyes. But he was really questioning himself. What his mother – and Duncan’s mother – wanted was irrelevant. Even their father’s wishes weren’t written in stone. It was up to them to decide how to deal with things, they were the ones in control here.
For the first time he saw himself and Duncan as they really were: puppets who were taking roles in somebody else’s play. As children, they’d obeyed their mothers, become their proxies in this crazy fight for their father’s love and attention, the same father who showed no interest in them. And he had sympathy for the boys they’d been then. They were only kids, after all.
But they weren’t kids any more. And the two of them had the power to change things.
‘Can I show you something?’ he asked, having to raise his voice as a police car flew past, sirens screaming.
‘Sure.’
Lachlan pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket, turning it over so Duncan could see the photograph. He passed it to his brother, who lifted it close to his eyes, his lips pulling down as he looked at it. ‘What’s this?’
‘I was given it at Glencarraig. I can’t even remember it being taken.’ Lachlan shrugged. ‘According to the estate manager we were both a pair of thugs. He didn’t know what to do with us.’
‘It’s hard to look like a thug when you’re wearing a kilt,’ Duncan murmured. His frown had gone, but the look of confusion hadn’t. ‘What the hell were they thinking, dressing us up like that?’
‘I think it’s the only time we wore the same clothes.’
‘Like twins.’ Duncan’s eyes met Lachlan’s, and for a moment neither of them said a word. They simply looked at each other.
‘I wanted to tell you about Glencarraig,’ Lachlan finally said, as a crowd of partygoers walked past them. ‘Are you staying in New York next week?’ he asked. ‘We could meet to talk.’
‘Sure.’ Duncan nodded. ‘I’ll get my lawyer to call yours.’
Lachlan shook his head. ‘No, no lawyers. Just us two for now.’
‘Okay then, just us.’
From the corner of his eye, Lachlan saw his car pull up to the kerb. The driver climbed out, and opened the door for him. ‘That’s my ride. I’ll speak to you next week.’
It was Duncan who put his hand out first. Lachlan looked at it for a moment, staring at his half-brother’s outstretched arm as though it was an alien object. It took him that long to realise that he was offering him a handshake.
Feeling the blood flooding his face, Lachlan reached out his own hand, clasping Duncan’s palm in his. The contact lasted for only a few seconds, before Duncan stepped back, offering his brother the smallest of smiles.
‘Good night, Lachlan.’
‘Good night.’ Lachlan gave him a final glance before climbing into the car. The driver closed the door behind him, and Lachlan leaned his head back on the leather seat, letting a mouthful of air escape his open lips.
‘Are you going back to your apartment, Mr MacLeish?’ the driver asked, turning around from his position in the front seat.
‘Yes, please,’ Lachlan said, running his hand through his hair. He wanted to jump in the shower, pull on some sweatpants and climb into bed, resting his head on the pillow that still smelled of her.
Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.
31
Let us not burden our remembrance with a heaviness that's gone – The Tempest
At first it was a relief to walk back into her flat in Edinburgh. Even the cat’s sneaky – and successful – attempt to run inside didn’t ruin Lucy’s sense of calm. But as soon as she looked at the breakfast bar and remembered how they’d shared dinner there the day he’d flown into Edinburgh, it felt less like a sanctuary and more like a prison. She couldn’t look at the kitchen without remembering cooking with him, or glance at the sofa without remembering making love with him there. Everything held memories of the man who had touched her everywhere.
From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of tabby fur, as the cat stole her way into Lucy’s bedroom. Picking up her box again, Lucy walked into the kitchen, laying it gently down on the breakfast bar. As she pulled the lid off, she felt her throat get congested. The flight attendant had been right – it had come to no harm as they’d crossed the Atlantic Ocean. It had survived the journey from London to Edinburgh, too, as Lucy had placed it on the seat next to her on the train, guarding it as though it was something precious.
Maybe because it was.
Holding her breath, she took hold of the delicate object, lifting it gently from the foam packaging that had kept it safe. She placed it on the counter, running her fingers across the smooth porcelain, taking in every inch of it.
