“You going to tell me why you phoned?” Hamish said when they were all caught up on his kids.
“Does a man need a reason to call his brother?” He was stalling and knew his brother would hear it.
“Aye, you do. Now tell me what’s going on,” Hamish ordered, proving that a man never grew out of his role as the elder brother.
Duncan let out a sigh. “I’m having some problems.”
There was silence, and then, “Are they of a suicidal nature?”
“What? No!”
There was a sigh. “Thank the Lord for that. I’m not equipped for that kind of crap. I was going to wake Shelley and have her deal with you.”
“You thought a high school teacher would be better equipped to deal with a suicidal man?”
“Dunc, if that woman can deal with hundreds of hormonal teenagers every day, she can sort out your sorry arse.”
He shook his head to clear that weird reasoning from it. “I’m not depressed. Well, not now anyway. I have a problem with…”
How did he explain his dilemma without sounding like a complete arse? He was talking about his housekeeper after all. He was in a position of authority over the woman, and even though he’d been living in his head the past few years, he’d hadn’t missed that there was a whole movement going on to put men who abused their power in their rightful place—on their arses with two black eyes.
“Is this a guessing game?” Hamish said. “Tell me when I hit the right one. You have a problem with…alcohol? Pornography addiction? Opioid abuse? Inappropriate thoughts about nuns?”
“Stop!” He wasn’t sure whether he should be insulted or laugh until he cried. “I have a problem with guilt.”
“So, it’s the nuns then?” Hamish said, but there was laughter in his voice.
Duncan let his head rest on the wall behind him, and he stared up at the pristine white ceiling. At some point in the past couple of years, there must have been a paint crew in here to give it another coat. Donna again. She was everywhere he turned.
“I’m having inappropriate thoughts, but not about nuns, you numpty, about my housekeeper.”
“Mrs Granger? Holy shit, man, that’s just wrong.”
Duncan burst out laughing again. Mrs Granger had been the housekeeper he’d fired before hiring Donna. She’d been old enough to be his mother, had a permanent frown, thought grey was a prime colour, and reminded him of a jar of pickles.
He wiped his eyes as he calmed down. Man, it felt good to laugh again. “Not Granger, I fired her in a drunken fit two years ago. It’s her replacement, Donna Sinclair.”
“Please tell me Donna is young and gorgeous?”
He looked at the canvases he’d covered with her image. “Aye,” was all he could say.
Hamish let out a heavy and clearly relieved sigh. “About time, brother.”
“No, not about time. I made promises to Fiona. Vows before God.”
“Ah, I see the problem.” His brother’s voice softened. “You feel like you’re betraying your wife. Like you’re cheating on her, maybe?”
“Aye.”
“I can understand that. The promises we make before God are serious business. But remember, you also only vowed to keep them until death did you part.”
He sucked in a breath, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. “Damn.”
“Aye.”
He stared at the paintings of Fiona and Donna, sitting side by side in his studio, while his brother waited patiently for him to talk.
“How do you let go?” he asked, almost to himself.
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve never been in your shoes, and I have no idea how I would cope if ever I was. Only you know how to move on from Fiona. I could give you all the clichéd advice we give people like you—that she wouldn’t want you to pine after her, that she wanted you to be happy, that you should live your life and not waste it. There’s truth in all of that, but I’m sure it rings bloody hollow when you’re the one going through it. I hate to say it, but you need to figure this out for yourself. Just know that I’m only a phone call away if you need me. And if things get desperate, I can hop a plane with the family and come sort you out in person.”
Duncan closed his eyes. “What if Donna doesn’t want me?”
“I’m going to pretend that you don’t sound like one of Shelley’s hormonal students and treat that as a serious question. Here’s what I think—if she doesn’t want you, it will suck to be you, but at least you tried.”
His eyes opened as he frowned. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? At least I tried?”
“That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. Can we talk about football now?”
“Fat lot of good you are.”
“I get that a lot.”
“It’s been nearly twenty years since I last dated.” Even the thought of going through that again made him feel awkward. Maybe it would be best if he stayed a grumpy-arsed widower forever. But at the rate he was going, his obsession with Donna would drive him over the edge—right off the cliffs of Arness and into the sea.
“You’re asking the wrong man for dating advice. I’ve been off the market even longer than you have. But, as far as I can see, the only thing that’s changed is you don’t have any physical contact until the tenth date. Up until then, it all happens online.”
“She lives in the same house as me, we talk in person, not online.”
“Well, you could just try the direct approach. Ask her out for dinner, talk to her about something that isn’t work-related—if that’s even possible for you—and then try to sneak a kiss on the way home. Oh, wait, it’s all ‘Me Too’ now. You can’t sneak a kiss. You need to ask permission first, so you don’t get slapped.”
“And people say I’m a caveman,” Duncan muttered.
“At least you don’t have far to go to get home after you walk her to her door.”
His brother was far too amused for Duncan’s liking. “Should you really be laughing at my expense?”
“When it’s this funny, aye.”
A female voice sounded in the background. “Who’s on the phone?”
A pang of sadness hit Duncan as he remembered conversations with Fiona in the middle of the night, when the phone had rung and disturbed them. It was the simple, everyday things that always hurt the most. Those memories seemed to blindside him.
“It’s Duncan, he fancies a lassie and doesn’t know what to do about it,” Hamish said.
“That’s not true,” Duncan bellowed. “Don’t tell her that, you arse.”
“Duncan”—Shelley’s Australian accent sounded down the line—“we’ve missed you, when are you coming to visit?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a sigh, “but I’ll think about it.”
“That’s good enough for me. Is the idiot right? Are you interested in someone?”
“Aye.” And he felt like he was thirteen again, and word about his crush had spread round the school playground. Hamish had been to blame that time too and had received a black eye for his interference. Lucky for his brother he was half a world away, or he’d be getting a repeat performance.
“That’s wonderful,” Shelley said. “Fiona wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone.”
He stifled a groan as Hamish chimed in, “We’re not telling him stuff like that because it’s clichéd and makes us want to puke.”
“Oh, okay.” Shelley sounded confused.
His brother must have wrestled the phone from his wife because he came back on the line. “Here’s my advice, stop screwing around, grow a pair, and go after the girl. If it all goes balls up, you can cry into your beer.”
“Hamish!” Shelley sounded outraged.
“Got to go,” Hamish shouted and hung up.
Duncan found himself shaking his head and grinning. His eyes fell on the painting of Fiona, and the smile faded. “What do I do, lass? Will it break your heart if I touch another?”
The silence was answer enough. Fiona no longer had a hear
t to break. It was long gone, just like the rest of her. He was on his own. And it was up to him whether he stayed that way or not.
Chapter 12
Donna hadn’t seen Duncan for days. He’d been holed up in his studio, which was good news for all the people sneaking in and out of the mansion. Unfortunately, today was the day the sound crew were due to set up their equipment, and Flora and the others wanted to start decorating the ballroom. That meant Donna had to take extra measures to ensure Duncan stayed ignorant. And for that, she’d called in her sisters.
“I’m only letting the sound team drive up to the mansion,” Donna told Agnes and Mairi as they stood side by side in front of the mansion, staring at the windows to Duncan’s studio. “And I told them to come in an unmarked van and park round the back. They can use the kitchen entrance. It’s closer to the ballroom anyway.”
“What will you tell Duncan if he notices the van?” Agnes said.
“That the ballroom floor is being varnished, and he needs to keep out of there for a few days.”
Mairi patted her shoulder. “The more you lie, the easier it gets, doesn’t it?”
“I’m going to hell.” Donna hung her head in shame.
“What about the women with all their decorations?” Agnes said, her eyes still on the building. If anyone could figure out a way for her to deal with this situation, it was Aggie. She was born to be a criminal mastermind. Her sisters had held her back.
“I told them to park outside the west gate and walk up the path.” She pointed at the side of the house Duncan’s studio didn’t overlook. “They said they had a lot of gear to heft up to the house, so I fitted the ride-on lawnmower with a wee trailer. We can load it and go back and forth until everything’s been delivered. I was going to borrow a golf cart from the golf course, but I thought that might attract too much attention.”
Agnes stared at her. “And you think having the lawnmower mow the same strip of grass over and over won’t?”
“Duncan’s used to the sound of the lawnmower. It’s white noise to him.”
“I’ve had a thought,” Mairi announced. “We’ll need to do something about the bald grass once this is over. Otherwise, it will make him suspicious.” She pointed at Donna’s iPad. “Add grass seed to the list.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you went in there and distracted him?” Agnes said.
“I tried that last time. It didn’t go so well.” Although to be fair, he had been distracted, just not in the way she’d intended.
“What do you mean not so well?”
Donna’s cheeks heated, but she tried to appear nonchalant. “I panicked when I saw the convoy coming up the drive, so I took off my clothes. Duncan told me to get dressed, and then he ran. I haven’t seen him since.”
Her sisters gaped at her.
“I’m going to kill him.” Aggie’s eyes blazed. “Nobody runs away from my naked sister.”
“It’s fine.” She put a restraining hand on her big sister’s arm. “I wasn’t naked. I was wearing underwear.”
Agnes still looked ready to murder her boss.
“What underwear?” Mairi said.
“The pink set with the flowers.”
“That’s so cute. I love that set. The one with the boy shorts? Right?”
Donna nodded. She’d never be able to wear that set again without feeling like it was rejecting her.
“I see where you went wrong,” Mairi said. “It was the boy shorts. Men don’t run from G-strings. You should have worn a thong—that would have frozen him to the spot. Although, they aren’t comfortable to wear. It feels like you’re flossing the wrong end of your body.”
Agnes made a gagging sound. “Too much information.”
“Did you undress to seduce him?” Mairi said. “Were you taking my advice to distract him with sex?”
“No! I was posing for him. I thought he might like to draw a nude. Well, semi-nude. I wasn’t planning on taking off my underwear unless I was desperate.”
“Duncan’s painting again?” Mairi’s eyes widened.
“I know, it’s great isn’t it?” She was so proud of him. And sad. Because she would never really be involved in that part of his life. As it should be for his housekeeper.
“Can we focus on the problem at hand?” Agnes said. “As far as I can see, everything will be fine if we stick to the west side of the house. What are the chances of Duncan leaving his studio? Can we lock him in if we have to?”
“If we get desperate.” The key was in her pocket, just in case. “But the cook usually takes him a tray for his lunch. He only leaves to go to the toilet, and that’s in the same corridor.” Something caught Donna’s eye and she froze. “We have an audience.”
The three women looked up at the mansion. Duncan stood in the window, staring at them. His arms were folded, and there was a frown on his face.
“Everybody, smile and wave,” Donna said through clenched teeth.
They waved and smiled.
“Do you think he’s suspicious?” Mairi said without moving her lips.
“He’d have to be a real idiot if he wasn’t.” Agnes glanced at Donna, who was in the middle, and she froze. “Don’t look now, but Joyce is charging over the lawn with her walker, and she keeps getting stuck.”
Donna couldn’t help glancing to the side. Joyce was indeed heading their way. Today, she was wearing a luminous orange leisure suit with clashing purple hair and lime-green running shoes, and every time she put her walker down on the water-logged ground, it sank. She’d yank it up, give it a shake, curse a blue streak and charge on. Behind her, Flora appeared out of the bushes, pushing a wheelbarrow laden with boxes. One of them flew open, and a string of paper hearts floated over the grass.
“I’m going to kill them,” Agnes said.
“Please do,” Donna muttered.
And then she heard a voice, booming out over the estate. “Donna, I need to talk to you.”
Her eyes flew to the studio window, which was now wide open. Duncan was leaning out with his hands on the ledge. All he had to do to see the two committee members was turn his head. Her hands flew to the bottom of her shirt. If ever there was a time to get naked, it was now.
Agnes grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t even think about it. Get in there and talk to that man. Preferably, when his back is to the windows. I’ll deal with the two witches, and Mairi will keep an eye out for the sound people.”
“Yes, you’re right. Of course you’re right. Stripping isn’t the answer.” But it was hard to unclench her fingers from her shirt.
“Not this time,” Mairi said.
“Donna.” Duncan was losing patience. “I want to talk to you. Now.” There was a pause, and then he said a word she wasn’t even sure he knew, “Please.”
The three sisters gaped at him.
“Oh crap,” Mairi said. “He has a brain tumour.”
Agnes groaned. “Don’t make me hit you. Distract Duncan while Donna gets into the house.” She pushed Donna towards the mansion. “You deal with your boss.” And then she waved at Duncan before casually striding towards the women on the lawn.
“Hi, Duncan,” Mairi said. “So, I hear you don’t like painting nudes. Are animals more your thing?”
Donna heard Agnes muttering something as Mairi smiled brightly up at Duncan, who looked bewildered. Without a word to her sister, he slammed the window shut.
“Job done.” Mairi grinned. “I am totally underestimated by everyone around me.”
“Joyce,” Agnes called. “What are you doing? Get off the grass!”
With a groan, Donna entered the mansion and hurried towards the studio, feeling like she was heading to her doom.
***
The Sinclair sisters were up to something. It didn’t take a genius to see it or to figure out it involved the mansion. If he weren’t so nervous about talking to Donna, he’d have investigated. But right now, he had other things on his mind, and whatever the sisters were hatching didn’t take precedence.
>
He wiped his palms on the thighs of his jeans. This was crazy. He’d asked women out on dates before. Hell, he’d been married. So why were nerves making him pace? He was a grown man. Almost forty. He paused in his pacing across the studio floor. Maybe this wasn’t nerves? Perhaps it was a mid-life crisis? Was thirty-eight too early to have a crisis? Maybe men had them earlier. He should have asked his brother about this when he’d called him. At thirty-nine, Hamish was much more likely to pierce his ear and buy a motorbike than Duncan was.
So, nerves then. It had to be. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. He thought hard and came to the conclusion it was when he was fourteen and had asked Bernadette to see a film with him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have thought of that. Bernadette had said no. What if Donna said no too? He stopped in front of the painting of his wife.
“What do I say to her?” he asked Fiona and then groaned. “What am I doing? I can’t ask my wife how to chat up a woman.”
He turned the painting so Fiona faced the wall. It was better that there were no witnesses to him making a complete fool of himself.
He looked down, catching sight of the paint stains on the front of his shirt, and he stopped. Should he have changed? Worn something more respectable for this conversation? Or at least something clean? Maybe he should have bought her flowers. Or chocolate. Aye, buttering her up first wouldn’t have been a bad idea. But it was too late now.
He stood in the middle of the room, his head hanging forwards, one hand on his waist and the other clutching the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing evenly. He wasn’t a boy. He could do this.
He let out a shaky breath. Was he even sure he wanted to ask her out? It was a big step. One huge step away from his marriage. From Fiona. But he couldn’t deny that all he was thinking about these days was Donna. Ever since his phone call with his brother, he’d been trying to reason things out. He wasn’t a coward, but he definitely felt like one. And then there was the guilt. Part of him still felt like he was betraying his wife.
Can't Stop the Feeling: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 2) Page 11