by Lucy Parker
Fling. The word roused an echo of memory. It would only be a fling. It wouldn’t last. I’ll never let my guard down. He’ll always have other priorities.
Her desperate attempt at denial, because she was afraid to take a chance and risk the most devastating failure of her life.
She and Luc could hurt each other in a way that Zach Byrne could only aspire to. She had hurt him. First when she hadn’t trusted him. A thousand times worse when she’d turned away from him.
He wasn’t the one who had taken without giving back.
“It wasn’t a fling,” she said quietly. “And it did matter.”
“Then what was it?” The question was woven with cynicism. Flyaway hair aside, they looked nothing alike; yet just then, Lily could see her own reflection in her mother’s face, and it was a physical shock down her spine. “Love? With a man who’s probably made his priorities very clear.”
Lily looked at the hardness in her mother’s expression for a beat longer before her eyes returned to the photo. “He did make it clear. All the time. With everything he did. I just didn’t want to see it.”
Vanessa’s voice was drenched with exasperation. “Empty promises and grand gestures? Lily—”
“No.” She felt a familiar burning behind her lashes and swallowed the tears back. “There was nothing dramatic about it. He knew what the potential consequences were, and he just—acted. In a way that seemed totally natural to him. Even at the worst moment, he put me first.” It was still hard to believe. “And after everything that’s happened between us, I still didn’t trust him. I was…so tired of being an afterthought that I lashed out.”
That knife-edge sharpness wavered. “You were never an afterthought, Lily.”
Lily didn’t look away from Luc’s profile. “Was I a first thought?”
When Vanessa at last replied, the words were very quiet. “Is that what you think you are to Luc?”
Lily moved her hand, stroking her thumb over the photo before she curled it around her mother’s. “I think—” She took a deep breath. “Yes. I do.”
Vanessa rubbed her fingers, but her features were taut. “Bit of a role reversal for us, isn’t it? I think you’re being very foolish.” A shadow passed over her face. “And Jack would have agreed with me.”
The news of Lily’s first serious boyfriend had resulted in a letter from Jack outlining a prenup in layman’s terms, followed by a short scribbled note: Live alone. Bring them in for fun. It’s less complicated, less expensive, and you’ll have much more drawer space.
With a faint smile, Lily released her grip on her mother’s hand. “Probably. But I think I need to start listening to the right voice.”
“Savage’s?”
“Mine.”
Her mother got up and stood looking down at her. She shook her head. Then, without a word, she kissed the bridge of Lily’s nose and went to take a shower.
Lily was grateful for that timing when someone pressed the intercom button and she picked up the phone to hear the last voice she would have expected. The clipped tones brought her out of her reverie with a bang. It was like having a glass of ice water thrown in her face.
“Lily? It’s Lady Charlotte. May I come in, please?”
After checking that the shower was still running, Lily buzzed her in. The three of them had never been in the same room at one time. It was a circumstance she was happy to avoid indefinitely.
As she opened the front door, she glanced down at her crumpled pyjamas. She was trying to smooth her hair when Charlotte walked into the flat, her back straight and chin held high.
“I’m sorry to intrude so…early.” Charlotte looked at the pyjamas, then at the gold watch on her slim wrist. Her tone suggested several things about people who weren’t dressed by nine o’clock in the morning. “I realise your performances run quite late into the evening.”
Lily offered Charlotte a cup of tea, which was refused, and a seat, which she took gingerly. She showed no interest in her surroundings, sitting rigidly, obviously intending to complete her business and leave as soon as possible. All signs pointed towards her news being unpleasant.
Lily sat opposite Charlotte and couldn’t help another hasty look over her shoulder. Had the water stopped? The last thing she needed was her mother sweeping out in her silk robe.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“Well…”
“I know we had scheduled a meeting for Monday, but I decided it would be better to—”
Lily wondered if she’d been about to chuck the etiquette books out the window and say “get it over with.”
Charlotte opened her leather briefcase and removed a few papers. “Jack’s solicitors will handle the details of his will, of course, and the probate process will take some months.” Without any obvious emotion, she said, “Naturally he’s made provision for you.”
“I really don’t nee—”
“You’re his only child.” Again—nothing. Not even a quiver. Lily supposed she’d had a long time to perfect this persona. “You’re entitled to a share of his estate.” There was a slight pause. “I’ve started clearing out his study, however—”
Lily had to suppress a wince at that.
“—and I came across a couple of things that I thought you ought to have now.”
With a tinge of wariness, Lily accepted the papers. “What are they?”
“This is a contract Jack put into effect a couple of weeks ago, validating his purchase of Hudson Warner’s shares in the Queen Anne Theatre, to be transferred into your name on your next birthday.” Charlotte’s expression was still inscrutable. “I believe you’ll be twenty-seven.” With the slightest edge, she added, “Doesn’t time fly?”
Lily stared down at Jack’s and Hudson’s signatures. “Excuse me?”
“After you visited Kirkby in the company of Luc Savage, Jack decided to buy out Hudson’s shares in the theatre. He said you ought to have a stake in the family business.”
Lily couldn’t breathe properly; her lungs were working overtime to keep up with her heart. “Jack said…” After seeing her with Luc for quarter of an hour, at a time when they hadn’t even been properly together, Jack—Jack—had…
“He discussed it with me first. He was always very open about his business affairs.”
Lily looked up quickly. For that single second in time, Charlotte shot her a very human, very dry look.
“Jack said that if you—” Charlotte cleared her throat. “And I quote, ‘must handcuff yourself to a Savage and throw away the key and your sanity, you ought to at least have leverage in the boardroom.’ I had a few qualms, but he said you knew what you were doing.” For the first time—possibly ever—she made direct eye contact. “He said that whatever has happened in the past—” her voice faltered “—and whatever happens in the future, you would be okay.”
At the age of four, Lily had made a rule that she didn’t cry in front of Lady Charlotte.
A tear slipped out and crept down her cheek.
Charlotte’s words turned brisk. “I’m sorry there aren’t any scrapbooks or many mementos to pass on, but Jack wasn’t a sentimental man.”
“This is enough.”
He’d bought into a Savage family business. For Jack, it didn’t come much more sentimental.
Charlotte pulled a photo out of the briefcase. “He did keep this in his wallet. I thought you might want it.”
Lily took it and turned it over. It was creased and almost twenty years old. She remembered Jack taking it. He’d broken away from their improvised waltz and gone to get the camera, capturing Lily midspin in the rain, her face tilted up to the sky, her arms flung wide, a huge grin on her face.
The wetness on her cheeks now wasn’t rain and her smile wasn’t joyful and carefree, but the unfurling of warmth in her chest was the same.
Charlotte locked her case and stood up. “The lawyers will be in touch about the rest of the settlement.”
Lily got up, holding the
contract and the photo. “Thank you.” It was husky and heartfelt.
“I don’t expect we’ll meet often in future.” It was a very polite warning. “But I—” To Lily’s astonishment, Charlotte lifted a hesitant hand to touch Lily’s hair, rubbing the silvery colour between her fingers. The grief that slashed across her face was so quick and so intense that Lily’s breath caught. For the second time, their eyes met. “I wish you every success, Lily.”
Lily exhaled, and it was as if she were blowing out a bitter little flame that had burned for a long time. “Thank you. Same to you.” She looked down at the papers again, and this time, it felt like it might be the truth: “I’ll be okay.”
When she closed the door behind Charlotte and turned to lean against it, her mother was standing in the entrance to the hallway.
Lily’s hand tightened on the contract, rustling the paper, and Vanessa came forward to take the photograph. She studied it in silence. A small smile creased the corners of her eyes. “Apparently Jack was unpredictable until the end.”
“Apparently so.”
“He could have at least put a fucking coat on you. It was raining.”
With a choked laugh, Lily slipped her arm through her mother’s and rested her head against her shoulder.
Vanessa reached out and set the photograph on the dresser, propping it against a vase. “I still feel that Charlotte was absurdly naive if she thought Jack Lamprey would magically embrace monogamy, but I didn’t want to be even half responsible for putting that look on someone’s face ever again.” Her voice cooled. “Not that it excuses the way she’s treated you. I own responsibility, but she lost most of my sympathy a long time ago.”
“It’s difficult for her.”
“I know it is. But you were a child. My baby. Not an easy target for her anger at Jack. She did her best to come between the two of you for years. Although Jack played his own part there.” Vanessa’s hand came up to cover hers. “You’re like your dad in a lot of ways. Some good, some—slightly concerning.” She grinned when Lily straightened and rolled her eyes. “You might even be a little like me.” Her smile faded. “But I should never have pushed my prejudices on to you. It was unfair. You have a very different temperament.” The green in her eyes suddenly seemed much brighter than the brown. “A much more generous heart, that doesn’t deserve to be kept locked away.”
Lily shook her head. “There are things I’ve blamed you for, and it was on me. I let myself think that way. I let things affect me that—in the long run, they’re just not important.”
“I do love you, Lily. More than I think you know.”
Tears blurred Lily’s vision. “I love you too.”
“What I said before…” Vanessa cupped her cheek. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I might get hurt.” She felt utterly calm and certain when she spoke. “But it’ll be worth it.”
“It’s a huge gamble. For yourself and for your career.”
“Well.” Lily dabbed under her eyes with her sleeve. She could feel a tiny spark of humour creeping back. “I am half Lamprey.”
Vanessa cast her gaze heavenward. “Yes.” She nodded towards the gift-wrapped box on the dresser, still sitting where Margo had left it. “And when you decorate your flat with unopened presents, the Cray genes clearly didn’t dominate.” She made the transition to a lighter subject smoothly. The Cray genes also shied away from excessive emotion. “Who’s it from?”
“It’s my opening-night present from Luc.” With everything that had happened, Lily had never opened it. She still wasn’t allowed to drink, and she’d forgotten to give it to Freddy.
“And you never opened it?”
“It’s champagne and a gift voucher for Harrods, apparently. I haven’t been in the mood for shopping.” She lifted it and removed the paper, pulling the tape carefully, trying not to rip something Luc had given her, although she doubted he’d wrapped it himself.
“Well, I’m happy to take both off your hands if they’re going spare.” Her mother looked questioningly at the items that appeared. There was a wooden casket of extremely expensive wine and a black leather case…that did not look like it contained a gift voucher.
Lily opened the lid and looked down at the necklace nestled on padded velvet.
Vanessa leaned forward. “Oh my. That’s—”
The smile started somewhere in Lily’s heart. “Hideous,” she said through another bubble of astonishing, misery-shattering laughter. She slipped her fingers under the glittering diamonds. “It’s hideous.”
It was a clover, almost identical to the Canali necklace in its spectacularly tacky setting, but…only three leaves. A small card was attached. She opened it and read the short message in Luc’s familiar scrawl, and the jolt of emotion actually made her hands tremble.
For an actor far more talented and slightly less clumsy than her idol. Three leaves only. The faith, hope and love are yours, MI5. You don’t need the luck.
“Is that a shamrock?” Her mother looked understandably confused. “From Luc? Does that mean something?”
“Yes.” Lily closed her hand around the necklace, holding it tightly. “It means a hell of a lot.”
More than she would ever have thought possible.
*
“What now?” Luc didn’t look up from the contracts he’d been trying to read for the past hour. Forget deciphering legal terms: he was so distracted that he was barely comprehending vowels.
He’d known, right from the beginning, that she would be a completely disruptive pain in the arse.
He worried about her. All the fucking time. And he missed her like hell.
All the fucking time.
Grimacing, he tossed the papers aside. Amelia read that as an invitation and lowered herself gracefully into one of the chairs opposite. She was holding a newspaper.
“Unless Waitely’s actually killed someone, I don’t want to know about it.”
“How much sleep did you get last night?”
“Enough.” Fuck-all.
“Did you even go home?”
He had, for a few hours, although it would have been more convenient to have slept in his office suite.
Margo’s absence might not have left a shadow in his house, but every corner of it now smelled like Lily’s perfume.
“You’ve been working eighteen-hour days.” Amelia’s eyes were anxious. “I’m worried about you. You can’t maintain a pace like that. You’ll have a str—”
His lips twisted. “Stroke?”
He was working longer hours than he needed to at this stage of pre-production. In theory, it kept his mind occupied. Some days, like today, even the new show couldn’t distract him.
“Have you talked to her?”
One-word and one-letter texts. Except for last night, when she’d stretched to four words, and he was so bloody in love with her that he’d actually taken heart from that pitiful progress.
“No. She needs time.”
Which he’d respected, but his decision to step back and give her the space she wanted was grating more every day.
Lily struggled with trust—because every person she might have leaned on tended to step back and go their own way at the last moment.
So effectively walking out on her, even at her insistent, tear-sodden request, seemed like a massive fucking mistake now.
He was tapping his pen against the desk with increasing pressure; it suddenly broke.
Amelia sighed. “I see we need to buy pens in bulk.”
Luc shoved back his chair and stood up. “Tell Carly I’m out for the rest of the day.”
“Before you go—” Amelia chewed on her lip and extended the paper, which he only now saw was London Celebrity. “I think you ought to—”
“What? I had someone assassinated? I’m planning to rob the National Trust? Just throw it in the recycler. Who keeps buying that? If we have a subscription, I’m going to—”
Amelia flipped open the paper, thumbed through the pag
es, and held a headline under his nose.
He looked down at it, and his lips compressed. He read the first three paragraphs before he rolled the paper into a tube and tucked it under his arm. “If anyone needs to reach me, I’ll have my phone.”
“Keep in mind that you’ll be giving London Celebrity excellent copy if you murder their editor.”
“That’s a trade-off I may be willing to make.”
The London Celebrity offices were only a few blocks from his own building. If there weren’t a banking high-rise blocking his view, he and Byrne could have looked directly at each other’s mirrored windows like a couple of melodramatic comic book foes.
When he reached the glossy foyer, he walked straight to the lift and jabbed the button for the top floor. He’d be extremely surprised if Byrne didn’t have the penthouse.
The glass-and-marble box shot upwards smoothly, giving him a clear view of every floor he passed. Gutter journalism was obviously a lucrative business.
In the most convenient moment of the past fortnight, Byrne was standing talking to his secretary when the doors pinged open. He broke off his conversation when he saw Luc. His face, which was evidently capable of producing a decent facsimile of a smile in more congenial company, iced over.
“Savage.” Byrne didn’t move from where he stood. “How did you get past security?”
“Am I on the undesirable list?” Luc asked sardonically. “I walked through the front doors and got in the lift. If you have security, you might want to look at how much you’re paying them.”
Byrne’s gaze flickered to his avidly listening secretary, before he opened a heavy oak door and gestured with exaggerated pseudo-courtesy. “Since you’re here, I suppose you might as well come in.”
Luc walked past him, took one brief look around the plush office, and concentrated his attention on the so-called human element.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Luc pulled the rolled-up paper from beneath his arm and tossed it on the desk.
Byrne walked around to stand behind his nameplate and flicked the paper over with his pen. “Today’s issue. So kind, but we do have a few spares.”