Legacy of the Highlands

by Harriet Schultz

  If the loss of their child didn’t bring them together nothing would, Alex realized, but their behavior wasn’t that surprising. The Camerons were going through all the right motions, but seemed as devoid of emotion as ever. She’d never been able to figure out how the loveless coupling of these two cold people had resulted in a warm, passionate man like Will.

  Alex mechanically accepted condolences as she walked with Francie and David toward the limo waiting to take them to the Cameron’s Beacon Hill townhouse for a reception. “Can you and David find another ride? I need some space to pull myself together.” She lifted her sunglasses and saw that the sister she’d never had, the woman who hadn’t left her side for a week, was already shaking her head no. “Absolutely not,” Francie said. “It’s a bad idea for you to be alone…at least not yet. Look, Alex, it’s a big car. David and I will sit up front with the driver if you want privacy in the back.”

  “Francesca,” Alex began, deliberately using the form of her friend’s name that meant something serious was about to be said. “You’ve been the best and I love you for staying glued to me this week, but you’ve got to back off. I need to prove something to myself. Please,” she implored. “It’s only a ten minute ride, a baby step. Let me do this.”

  Francie finally nodded and hugged Alex as if to transfuse her with some of her own strength. Alex’s eyes scanned the crowd for Diego, and when she didn’t spot him she assumed he’d already left. She thought it was odd that he hadn’t spoken to her, but at least he thought it important enough to be there. David helped her into the car and shut the door with a solid thunk.

  “We’ll see you at the Camerons’ house,” Francie shouted and waved as the limo pulled away. Alex wasn’t sure of much at that point, but she’d explode if she had to play the well-mannered, grieving widow much longer. How was she supposed to make small talk with people she didn’t even know as they ate their way through the food and drink the Camerons’ cook had prepared? She’d been to enough bereavement receptions to know that she was headed to a party, not a somber gathering to mourn the burial of a loved one.

  She settled herself and desperately tried to blend into the blackness of the limo’s back seat. If she were invisible maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. The constant battle she was waging between acceptance and denial, and the overwhelming urge to somehow exit her body and run away, strained her overburdened resources. Avoidance was an increasingly attractive option. Escape might be the only way to save herself from a complete and permanent breakdown.

  As the long black car slowly headed toward the cemetery’s gates, Alex’s panic increased. Impulsively she leaned toward the driver. “If I asked you to take me to Logan Airport instead of to Beacon Hill, would you do it?”

  The driver shrugged and turned to look at her.

  “Diego! What the…” she sputtered. “Where’s the man who drove me here from the church?”

  “He decided to take the rest of the day off. Someone had to steer this giant boat out of the cemetery. Why not me?” When he tossed his sunglasses onto the seat next to him, Alex saw that his eyes were bloodshot and swollen. The forced smile he aimed at her never reached them.

  “You’ve been crying,” she said softly.

  “And that surprises you?”

  “A little. Yes. No. I know that you loved Will. I guess he would have wanted you to be here,” she admitted with a sigh.

  “And do you? If not, I’ll leave.”

  He had her off balance and she wasn’t sure how to behave toward him. “I really don’t care what you do and I don’t have the strength to argue, so you may as well hang around, at least for the Camerons’ little do. Then you can go,” she said and shifted her gaze away from him, but not before she saw him flinch at her curt dismissal. Diego didn’t say anything and turned his attention back to the procession of limousines headed for Beacon Hill.

  Diego Alessandro de León Navarro was Will’s oldest friend, the son of a self-made, immensely wealthy Argentine and a sensuous Italian beauty. Both men, as only children of privileged families, became as close as brothers when they’d met at the kind of prep school that exists for the sons of the very rich.

  Like many moneyed South Americans, the Navarros used real estate as a safe haven for their assets and maintained homes in Buenos Aires, New York City, Miami and Bariloche, high in Argentina’s Andes.

  The Cameron family’s fortune also reached into the stratosphere, but their New England reserve dictated a lifestyle of less flamboyant, quiet wealth than the Navarros. The brick townhouse on Boston’s Beacon Hill where Will had grown up was among the city’s most exclusive properties, but it whispered wealth instead of shouting it.

  Will had been amused when Diego quickly exchanged the threadbare jeans he’d preferred in college for custom-made shirts and bespoke suits that skimmed his body. The last time Alex had seen him, a platinum watch that tracked three time zones had circled his wrist. His favorite transportation alternated between the family’s Gulfstream and his Maserati Spyder, depending on his destination and how quickly he wanted to reach it. Although most of his life had been spent in the U.S., his parents had gifted Diego with an aesthetic in clothing, manners and morals that were sophisticated and European. With the ease of someone who never had to be concerned about money, he’d told his friends that it was no big deal to spend a few hundred every couple of weeks to have his thick, black hair trimmed. Not an extravagance, he’d explained. He simply didn’t like the look of a fresh haircut. None of this was affectation or a need to impress; it was simply Diego. He was kind and generous and as Will’s best friend, he’d been part of their extended family until the friendship had abruptly ended a year ago. Alex still suspected that Will’s explanation for the sudden rift was pure fiction. She had no idea why he’d never wanted to tell her the truth.

  Alex was out of the limo as soon as Diego steered it to the curb outside the Camerons’ tall, red brick house. She ran up the steps as if there were no place she’d rather be. In reality, she dreaded the next few hours, but she wanted to be with Diego even less.

  She noticed the music the minute she entered the house. Bloody hell, they’ve got jazz on the sound system. Their son’s dead and they’re throwing a freakin’ party. She told herself she’d have to tolerate an hour of chitchat with people she barely knew, offers of food and drink and comments like, “How perfectly awful. Call me dear…we’ll do lunch.” But the urge to flee became too hard to fight and she began to search for Diego, although she wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. She assumed that he’d followed her into the Camerons’ house,, so it was odd not to spot him circulating through the jovial crowd, charming the pants off some easily-impressed female. She wouldn’t be surprised if the notorious womanizer had already hooked up with someone and left.

  She found Anne and John who gave her what passed for a hug as she quickly made her excuses — a migraine that would only respond to serious medication and sleep. Her father-in-law insisted on escorting her to the door and would have seen her into one of the waiting limos, but he was cornered by a group of friends so Alex made her way out alone. She forced air into her lungs as she stood outside the house shivering in chilly, late afternoon air that carried the scent of wood smoke from nearby chimneys. As she approached one of the waiting limos she heard the Camerons’ front door shut and suddenly Diego was there. The suit jacket he wrapped her in still held his body’s warmth. She mumbled her thanks.

  “Preciosa,” his deep voice rumbled his pet name for her near her ear. “Are we never to speak again?” Alex heard the endearment and wasn’t sure how to react. Will had once told her that Diego had warned him that she was a precious gem that many men — himself included — would be tempted to steal. The nickname stuck.

  “I have to get out of here. I have to get away.” Her voice was tinged with hysteria as she turned toward him. Repressing her emotions all day had finally gotten to her, and as her knees turned to jelly and her heart began to race, she knew that she was on the ver
ge of a major anxiety attack.

  “Tell me where you want to go. I’ll take you.” Strong arms embraced her and she reluctantly leaned her head against the reassuring warmth of his solid chest. For the moment she’d allow herself to pretend that Will hadn’t hated this man. She needed his strength.

  The driver of one of the waiting limos understood the unspoken command in Diego’s expression and dashed to open the car’s door for them. Once settled, Diego gathered her to him. She was still trembling and he had to fight the urge to pull her onto his lap and wrap her in his arms.

  “Where to, sir?” the driver wanted to know.

  “Alex? The man wants to know where you want to go,” Diego whispered as if speaking to a child.

  “I don’t know,” she murmured. “You decide.” The eyes that met his were bloodshot and filled with tears.

  “Take us to Logan,” he instructed as he gently dabbed the wetness from her face with a handkerchief. It was warm inside the car, but she was still shivering and her indecisiveness alarmed him as much as her appearance. The intense need to protect this woman overwhelmed him. Will had been part of him for most of his life. Diego was sure that the man he still thought of as his best friend would want him to take care of his widow and he would do it. He was also sure that as soon as Alex was stronger she’d zero in on what he’d done to end a lifelong friendship. Once he’d explained, perhaps she’d deign to thank him politely for his help and then walk — no, run — out of his life, but he wasn’t going to worry about that now.

  Alex didn’t contradict Diego’s instructions to the driver. Maybe it was paranoid and totally illogical, but she had to get out of Boston. If Will — her beautiful, kind-hearted Will — could have his life snuffed out in the city of his birth, then she wanted no part of it. And it hurt too much to spend even one more night in the bed they’d shared, surrounded by a zillion reminders of their life together. She didn’t give a damn whether she was doing the right thing anymore. Escape meant survival. And despite an initial longing to join Will in death, Alex knew that somehow she’d survive. What amazed her was who was helping her to do that.

  Diego loosened his hold on her to tug his phone from his pants pocket. The momentary separation made her miss his body’s warmth and she was relieved when his arm came around her shoulders again. He pressed one of the phone’s numbers. “I’m on my way to the airport. How soon can you be ready to take off? Good. No, not Buenos Aires. File a flight plan to Miami. We’ll be there soon.”

  “Florida?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, Florida. My family has a house there and from the way you’re trembling, I thought some sun might help.”

  She nodded.

  “I’m worried about you Alex. It’s not like you to let someone else, especially me, seize control.”

  “I know, but I’m not the same woman I was a week ago.” She didn’t want to justify her behavior to him or anyone so she changed the subject. “Can I also assume that we’re not flying commercial?”

  “That would be correct. There’s a bed onboard so you can get some sleep. You look like you haven’t done much of that,” he said and resisted the desire to stroke the dark circles under light green eyes that always reminded him of celadon. He was grateful that Alex seemed to be oblivious to the internal battle being waged inches away from her.

  “Where did you fly in from?”

  “I was halfway around the world holding meetings about a project in Abu Dhabi when I heard about Will. My plan was to go on to Buenos Aires from here and then return to the Middle East after the funeral, so the plane’s been standing by, but we’ll head to Miami instead.”

  “Okay.” She wondered why he’d circled half the globe for the funeral of someone he no longer cared about. “This Middle East project, is it the same one that Will was looking over for you? He thought something was wrong, but didn’t know what. He was working on it the same day…” She wept softly as she remembered the way Will had shoved the plans aside minutes before he began to make love to her.

  As they approached the airport she asked Diego to call Francie. “Can you let her know that I’m okay? I don’t want her to think I jumped into the Charles.”

  “Of course. Anything else?”

  “No. I think that’s it,” she sighed and realized that for the first time in a week she felt safe.

  Chapter 5

  The Gulfstream jolted as it touched down in Miami, startling Alex into wakefulness. She rubbed her eyes and wondered how smart it had been to make her escape with Diego. Then again, he’d served as a means to an end. She’d wanted out of Boston and she’d accomplished that. It wasn’t like her to use people, but she wasn’t the same woman she’d been a week ago.

  As they made their way through the airport, the bright colors of vacationers made her feel like a crow among parrots in her funereal black clothing. The designer suit’s narrow pencil skirt and fitted jacket that had looked so chic in chilly Boston that morning was now a wrinkled mess. She shrugged out of her jacket and dragged it by one finger. The terminal was warm, as if the air conditioning was on low. Sweat began to trickle down her back and between her breasts, gluing the black silk of her blouse to her body. Her pantyhose clung to her legs like plastic wrap. It annoyed her that Diego still looked cool, perfectly tailored, and as confident as ever as he strode beside her, navigating them through the airport’s organized chaos.

  Once past the security barriers, Alex watched with envy as friends and family greeted arriving passengers with hugs and smiles. She had no family to meet her, here or anywhere. Family — what a loaded word! It implied so much — warmth, love, acceptance, security; all that she’d craved since her parents died in an alcohol-fueled car crash as they’d sped toward Manhattan on a snowy night, late for a Broadway show. She and Will would have built their own family when the time was right. But the fates, or God, or whatever was in charge of human destiny, obviously had something else in mind. Alex’s natural optimism had shifted into pessimism so deep that the only future she could envision contained no promise of joy.

  She prayed that her inner core, the steel that only her husband had recognized in her, would somehow get her through the next days and weeks. She’d stopped thinking in terms of months or years. A future without Will was terrifying. One day at a time would have to do for now.

  Diego led her out of the terminal to a black Mercedes with dark tinted windows. When Alex caught sight of her reflection in the car’s mirror-like finish, she grimaced. Florida’s humidity was already frizzing her hair and she irritably tucked it behind her ears. What was left of her makeup was melting. Her appearance was one of the few things still within her control and now that had been taken from her also. “The hell with it,” she mumbled.

  “Welcome home, Señor Navarro,” the cheerful driver said as he opened the car’s door for them. Diego shook the man’s hand and introduced Alex.

  “Miguel, this is Mrs. Cameron.” The man nodded to her.

  “Welcome, Señora. I hope your stay in Miami will be pleasant.”

  “Thank you.” She hoped the expression on her face was a smile and not a grimace. Despite a brief nap on the plane, she was as cranky as an overtired two-year-old. All she wanted to do was strip off her clothes, shower and crawl into bed. She was grateful that Diego didn’t try to make conversation.

  After snaking its way through Miami traffic, the car slowed to cross a narrow bridge and was waved through a gated security checkpoint. Minutes later, they arrived at Diego’s home. Alex looked out the window in time to notice the discreet brass plaque on a stone pillar next to the driveway that read “Villa Recoleta.” Ornate wrought-iron gates slid open at the touch of a button on the car’s dashboard. Ground lights illuminated lush landscaping and the villa beyond. The house — was it pink? — had the look of Mexico or Tuscany, which made sense since Diego’s mother was Italian and his father, Spanish. The beauty of the place took her breath away and helped to improve her mood a tiny bit.

  The Merced
es glided to a stop in front of a pair of enormous, intricately-carved wooden doors. Diego extended a hand to help her from the back seat as a man emerged from the house. He stood with erect military bearing, impeccably clad in a dark navy suit, starched white shirt and charcoal gray tie. The suit’s fine tailoring did little to disguise the muscles that were apparent beneath his clothes. Alex wouldn’t have been surprised to see him salute his returning master.

  “Welcome to the Villa Recoleta, Mrs. Cameron,” he said formally. Then he grinned at Diego and the two greeted each other as only men can by pounding each other on the back. Diego introduced him as Serge, but didn’t elaborate. She assumed the tall, blond man was a butler or some other household employee. He had a slight accent that she couldn’t place. Eastern European? German? Didn’t matter. Fatigue was making it hard for her to think clearly.

  An olive-skinned, fortyish woman hurried toward the door and hugged Diego, then excitedly said, “Welcome, welcome, Señora Cameron. I am Luisa. I will do everything I can to help you feel at home.” A radiant smile reinforced her words and her dark eyes twinkled with a mixture of kindness and delight. Alex liked her immediately.

  “Are you hungry? The cook prepared a light supper as soon as we heard you were on your way. I am sure this has been a difficult day for both of you.” Alex didn’t know how to answer. She felt like she was a character trapped in an endless play, only she didn’t have a script. Was it just this morning that Will had been buried?