Absent in the Spring Read online

  Carrie Elks lives near London, England and writes contemporary romance with a dash of intrigue. She loves to travel and meet new people, and has lived in the USA and Switzerland as well as the UK. An avid social networker, she tries to limit her Facebook and Twitter time to stolen moments between writing chapters. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can usually be found baking, drinking wine or working out how to combine the two.

  Visit her website at www.carrieelks.com and follow her on Twitter at @CarrieElks

  Also by Carrie Elks

  The Shakespeare Sisters

  Summer’s Lease

  A Winter’s Tale

  COPYRIGHT

  Published by Piatkus

  978-0-3494-1555-0

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Carrie Elks

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  PIATKUS

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London, EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Absent in the Spring

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Carrie Elks

  COPYRIGHT

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  To my mum, who taught me that

  to open a book is to dive into a new world.

  1

  Travellers ne’er did lie,

  though fools at home condemn ’em

  – The Tempest

  Lucy Shakespeare shook the rain off her Burberry umbrella – plain black, with the traditional beige check patterned inside – and placed it in the stand, reaching up to make sure the Edinburgh rain hadn’t dampened her blonde hair. She’d taken a cab from the Sheriff Court to the offices of Robinson and Balfour, but even the short distance between the kerb and the smart sandstone entrance hadn’t been enough to save her from the spring shower. Shrugging her raincoat from her shoulders, she slid it onto a hanger before placing it on the coat stand, making sure to smooth out the wrinkles. Then she turned and walked into the main office area.

  ‘The conquering hero returns.’ Lynn, her assistant, stood up, a smile lighting up her face. ‘Congratulations, you must be delighted.’

  ‘Not as delighted as the clients,’ Lucy said. ‘The last I saw of them they were headed for the pub, talking about ordering champagne all round.’

  ‘They didn’t ask you to join them?’ Lynn asked, taking Lucy’s brown calfskin briefcase from her grasp.

  ‘They offered, but I declined. I wanted to finish up the paperwork.’ And maybe come into the office to gloat a bit. But who could blame her? Today’s court session was the result of months of diligent work. Of combing through old documents, taking untold numbers of depositions, not to mention coaching her clients to keep things as cordial as they could. Estate law was just as emotional as family law, even though it meant dealing with wills and property. It was amazing how quickly relationships fell apart as soon as money was involved.

  Lucy glanced over at the frosted-glass offices where the senior partners worked. ‘Has Malcolm heard the verdict?’ Her eyes lingered on the plaque affixed to the metal frame: Malcolm Dunvale, Head of Family & Estate Law.

  ‘He’s the one who told me. Had a big smile on his face, too.’ Lynn’s own grin widened at the memory. ‘He’d like to see you when you get a chance. I’ll let him know you’re back.’

  ‘Just give me a couple of minutes to freshen up,’ Lucy said, walking over to the thick oak door that led to the toilets.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’ Lynn called to her retreating back.

  Lucy turned and smiled. ‘Yes please, that would be lovely. I haven’t had anything to drink since I went into court.’

  Five minutes later, with her hair restyled and her face touched up, Lucy walked into Malcolm Dunvale’s office. Like all the senior partners’ offices, it had huge glass windows that overlooked the city, revealing Edinburgh’s old town in all its rain-soaked glory. In the distance she could see the castle rising majestically from Castle Rock, the building looking almost organic as it emerged from the grassy hill, as though it had grown from a seed rather than been built by man.

  Little boxes of aspiration was what Lynn called these offices.

  Malcolm looked up from his laptop. ‘Ah Lucy, there you are. Take a seat,’ he said, gesturing at the black leather chair nearest her. He ran a hand over his grey cropped hair, then took off his reading glasses, folding them carefully and placing them beside his keyboard.

  Lucy sat down, smoothing down her skirt as she crossed her legs at the ankles and straightened her spine. ‘Hello, Malcolm.’

  ‘I was pleased to hear about the verdict,’ he said, leaning back as he took a sip of his coffee. ‘You must have been too.’

  She nodded, letting a hint of a smile curl at her lips. ‘It could have gone either way, but the right side won in the end.’ It didn’t always work that way – she’d had her fair share of losses, after all. But when everything came together, there was no feeling like it.

  ‘Robert Douglas called me while you were on your way back here. He’s so happy with the result he wants to transfer all his dealings to Robinson and Balfour, and as you know, that’s a lot of business.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news.’ She kept her expression neutral, though her fist curled up. ‘I’m always glad to help the team.’

  ‘Ah, I like your English understatement,’ Malcolm said. ‘But in all seriousness, I’ll be singing your praises at the next partners’ meeting. You deserve recognition for this.’

  She let the warmth of his flattery wash over her. ‘Thank you, I appreciate your support.’

  ‘And now I’ve a favour to ask you,’ Malcolm said, placing his coffee cup down and reaching for a buff folder on the far side of his desk. ‘Do you have space for an extra case?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘An interesting one has landed on our desk, from an American friend of mine. They’re looking for someone with expertise in Scottish estate law, and naturally you’re the person that sprung to mind. It involves some travel – that’s okay, right?’

  ‘Of course it is. I’m always free to travel when it’s needed.’ It was one of the best things about her job. She loved seeing new places.

  ‘And we appreciate it. It’s amazing how many of the team aren’t.’ He passed the folder across the desk to Lucy.

  ‘You can rely on me.’ She opened the front page, her eyes scanning the file notes. She licked her lips as she took
in the details of the case, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline through her veins.

  ‘That’s why you’re one of the best. And I think you’ll like this one. A family dispute over some property in the Highlands, except both members of the family live in the US. That’s where we come in. The other party’s already engaged a local solicitor, so you’ll be playing catch-up.’

  From what she could see catch-up was an understatement. She looked at the first page again, her eyes sliding from left to right, before she brought her attention back to Malcolm. ‘That’s not a problem. I can get up to speed very quickly.’

  ‘That’s what I hoped you’d say. The client wants to meet with you as soon as possible.’

  ‘At his estate?’ She ran her finger down the paper, stopping at the details of the property. ‘Glencarraig Lodge?’ The name had a beauty to it, making her think of Landseer’s Monarch of the Glen. A majestic deer rising from the craggy highlands, violet hills in the background.

  ‘No, he’s too busy to come over here right now. He wants you to fly to Miami, that’s where he has one of his offices.’ Malcolm grimaced. ‘I know it’s short notice, but he wants to meet you early next week. I get the impression he wants to make sure you’re as good as I said you were.’ He cleared his throat. ‘He’ll foot the bill, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Lucy nodded. The first rule of being a solicitor – the client always foots the bill. She’d learned that as soon as she’d entered the firm as a trainee, and was shown the billing system before she even learned where the toilets were. ‘I can catch up over the weekend.’

  Malcolm picked his glasses up, sliding them back up his nose. ‘I knew we could rely on you. The client’s booked your hotel, and Lynn’s already booked the tickets and taxis. If you go and see her now, she should have the itinerary all printed out for you. Your flight leaves first thing on Monday.’

  ‘Okay.’ She flashed another smile, even though her mind was already halfway out the door, making lists, locating her passport, and working out how many American dollars she had in her foreign currency wallet at home.

  Of course she’d have everything she needed. Ever since she was a child organisation had been her middle name. And that was exactly how she liked it.

  ‘This one’s yours.’ The bellhop slid the plastic card into the dull steel mechanism, making the door whirr as it unlocked. ‘It’s the Biscayne Suite, one of our best.’ He wheeled her suitcase into the middle of the marble floor, stopping next to a white leather sofa that was facing a wall of glass. ‘The suite was refurbished last year, along with the rest of the hotel. I hope you like it.’ Grabbing a folding luggage rack from the closet on the far side of the room, he deftly lifted her case and put it on, before turning back to her with a smile.

  Lucy slid a ten-dollar bill into his hand. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’

  ‘Is there anything else you need, ma’am?’ he asked, folding the money into his pocket.

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’ A wave of fatigue washed over her, as she spotted the coffee machine in the corner. ‘I’ll just make myself a drink and unpack.’

  ‘Well, if you need anything at all, just dial zero on the phone. We’re here to please.’ He left, closing the door gently behind him. She stood on the spot for a moment, appreciating the view. The floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened out onto a balcony. Far below, a row of deep green palm trees led down to a pale, sandy beach and a cerulean ocean. Waves gently lapped onto the beach, sliding up the sand, until they almost met the row of red sunbeds that peppered the yellow. The sun was bright and warm – a contrast to the grey misery she’d left behind in Edinburgh, where winter was still clinging on to the city with every bit of strength it had.

  She’d been travelling for over twenty hours, stopping over in Heathrow to catch a connecting flight, and her body was dog tired. She looked over at the bed – the pillows plump, the sheets crisp – and for a moment considered skipping the coffee and just lying down to catch her breath. The other part of her wanted to run out of the hotel and grab a cab, making sure she saw all the sights before she left the next morning. There wasn’t much chance of that, though – not when there was work to be done.

  Rolling her shoulders to soothe her muscles, she unzipped her case and lifted the lid. Her clothes were still perfectly ordered – each piece wrapped in tissue paper to keep it smooth – and she took them out and hung them in the closet. Slipping her black Saint Laurent pumps from their cotton bag, she placed them carefully on a shelf, brushing a piece of lint from them.

  She was about to take her L’Occitane toiletry bag into the bathroom when the telephone rang. Kicking her grey leather travelling shoes off, she walked across the room in her bare feet, and picked up the cream receiver.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Miss Shakespeare?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is Maria, I’m your concierge. I just wanted to check if you needed anything.’

  Lucy looked around the suite, at the stocked wet bar and the top-of-the-range television and speakers, and that view that drew the eye every time. ‘No, I have everything I need.’

  ‘Mr MacLeish has asked if you’d join him for dinner. I’ve made a reservation for eight o’clock if that works for you.’

  Lachlan MacLeish – her new client. The one who was apparently footing the bill for this gorgeous suite. Lucy checked her watch; it was just gone six p.m. local time, which made it the middle of the night back in Edinburgh. Way, way past her bedtime.

  ‘Eight o’clock is fine.’

  ‘I’ll let Mr MacLeish know.’

  Taking a deep breath, she rolled her shoulders again, ignoring the way they protested at the movement. So much for a power nap. Who needed sleep anyway?

  2

  Give them great meals of beef and iron and steel,

  they will eat like wolves and fight like devils

  – Henry V

  ‘Good evening, Mr MacLeish,’ the hotel valet said, opening the car door as Lachlan unbuckled his seatbelt. He left the engine running – no point turning it off – and stepped out of the gunmetal-grey Porsche Panama, grabbing his phone from the console just as it started to ring.

  Again.

  He looked up at the white art deco façade of the Greyson Hotel, towering over them both, and then back at the valet, sliding the phone in his pocket and ignoring the call.

  ‘How’s the family, Paul?’ he asked, shaking the valet’s hand, sliding a note into his palm.

  ‘They’re great.’ Paul looked past Lachlan and at the car, whistling with appreciation. ‘This one’s a beauty,’ he said, taking Lachlan’s keys. ‘I’ll take good care of her for you.’

  As Paul climbed into the car, Lachlan rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the kinks out of the muscles there. The smell of the ocean surrounded him, the salty aroma clinging to the warm evening air. Unlike New York, it was temperate enough to wear only suit pants and a jacket – his tie had been taken off and rolled up in his pocket hours ago.

  His phone buzzed again, that familiar vibration pushing into his hip bone. He’d spent most of his day in meetings, trying to stave off a crisis in New York. The three hours of videoconferencing, followed by two more in tense talks with his investors, hadn’t added to his good humour at all.

  ‘How are you this evening, Mr MacLeish?’ the concierge asked him as he walked into the hotel. ‘Your guest has made it to the restaurant. We let her know you’d be a few minutes late.’

  ‘Thanks, Maria.’ Lachlan nodded at the young woman. It had seemed a good idea at the time – to arrange a dinner with his prospective Scottish attorney – to see if she’d be suitable to take on his case. But right now he’d much rather collapse into bed.

  ‘And reception have a few messages for you. I asked them to forward them to your room.’