by Carrie Elks
And once it began, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop it.
‘But I was the eldest. It was my job to protect you.’
Cesca shook her head. ‘We should protect each other. It doesn’t all have to fall on you. You’re our sister, not our mother.’
‘It does. It always has. It felt like all my fault.’
‘No. No it wasn’t.’ Cesca shook her head vehemently. ‘You got hurt, too. And I hate to think of you being all alone with this knowledge for all these years. You must have felt so lonely.’
A fresh flood of tears pooled in Lucy’s eyes. She lifted her hand, wiping at them with her fingers. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not usually a crybaby like this.’
‘Maybe you should be,’ Cesca said, tipping her head to the side. ‘You can’t always be the strong one. Everybody needs carrying sometimes.’
For a moment Lucy’s thoughts were full of Lachlan, and the way he’d lifted her out of that bed in Glencarraig. He’d carried her as though she was as light as a feather-filled cushion, his strong arms flexing as he laid her down on his bed.
And for a few moments it had felt so good to be held.
She smiled weakly, tasting her tears as they moistened her lips. ‘I never wanted any of you to hurt the way I did. I wanted to take the pain for all of us.’
‘It doesn’t work that way. I should know, I tried to shelter myself from pain for long enough. But if you wrap someone in cotton wool you stop them from working out how to deal with the hurt. It’s like a child learning to walk – you know they’re going to stumble and scrape their legs, but you have to let them learn by their own mistakes. You can’t shield them from the tears and the blood, you can just be there to mop them up afterwards.’
Lucy sighed. ‘When did you get so clever?’ she asked, feeling a flush of pride for the woman her sister had turned out to be. ‘You’re so good with words. You should be a writer or something.’
Cesca laughed, and the kitchen suddenly seemed warmer. Lucy felt the muscles in her shoulders relax. ‘Will you tell me about Mum?’ Cesca asked. ‘I want to know exactly what happened.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Of course I will. But I need to try and get it all straight in my head.’ Was it strange that she felt some sort of relief at finally being able to talk things through with her sister? ‘And I’d like to tell Kitty and Juliet at the same time, if that’s okay? That’s if they’re willing to talk to me.’
‘They’ll talk to you. I spoke with Juliet earlier, she was worried about you. We all were. And Kitty wanted to jump on a plane to New York to give you a hug. It was me being all emotional and angry, and I shouldn’t have been.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you came straight back here.’
‘Can’t you? You’re my sister and you were hurt. I couldn’t stand to hear you cry and not be able to hug you.’
‘A hug sounds perfect just about now.’
Lucy was on her feet before Cesca finished her sentence. Her younger sister wrapped her arms around her, the two of them hugging the breath out of each other.
‘I can’t believe you left the sexy laird,’ Cesca whispered against Lucy’s shoulder, clearly remembering their conversation. ‘I hope he’s not too angry at me.’
‘He’s not angry at you at all.’ Not a lie, but not the truth either. But she wasn’t quite ready to share that story with them. Yet.
She’d tell her sisters about it after she told them about her mum. And maybe it would even be a relief to share her pain, the same way it was a relief to finally share the truth about that cold, wet day all those years ago.
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 tol
d 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 too 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.