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“Actually, I never make a mistake, because it
takes a huge effort for me to be wrong.”
Johan Cruyff, Dutch national player
She was a coward. Victoria would have laughed at herself, only she’d forgotten how to laugh a long time ago. Of course she was a coward. She’d always been a coward. This idea was just the latest incarnation of an inborn trait.
She eyed the phone in her hand, then the door in front of her. She resisted the urge to chew her bottom lip. Ladies did not do such things. Instead she placed one perfectly manicured hand on her roiling stomach and focused on breathing in and out.
Everything was crumbling. It was all falling down around her. She felt as though she was in an earthquake zone. The ground beneath her feet wasn’t stable any longer. The walls she’d built were cracked. Each day brought more aftershocks. Her world was coming down.
And this was the proof—she wanted to lean on someone.
Not someone—Lawrence. Victoria counted her breaths as her blood thundered through her veins. It had been almost thirty years since she’d last let someone close to her. Since she’d last trusted anyone. Thirty long years since she’d had anyone to give her strength. And now there was Lawrence. Offering everything she’d never dared hope to have. Making her dream again.
She let out a long, silent breath. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t knock on the door. She couldn’t ask him to stand with her while she spoke to her mother. It was cowardly. What kind of woman needed support to talk to her own mother? Coward. She was a coward.
And yet...
Was it so wrong to need someone? So wrong to ask for help? Was it a sign of weakness to need support? Lawrence didn’t think so. Abby had no problem asking for help. And they were two of the strongest people she knew.
Before she could stop herself, she reached out and knocked on the door. The urge to run almost won her over. She clenched the phone in her hand as she stared at the door. It felt like an eternity before it opened.
“Vicki.” Lawrence’s whole face lit up at the sight of her.
His obvious pleasure at her appearance almost eased her fear.
“I...” The words dried up in her mouth. How foolish. She should never have bothered him.
“What is it?” He took a step towards her. The frown lines between his brows deepened.
She loved the lines on his face. The crinkles around his eyes that said he knew how to laugh. The grooves that appeared when he was concentrating. The wrinkles on his brow that spoke of experience. She watched as his eyes took in everything about her. He smiled with realisation when he saw the phone in her hand.
“Have you called yet, or are you about to? Do you want to talk about it, or do you want company to make the call?” There was only genuine affection in his eyes. No censure. No judgment.
She felt her shoulders relax as she swallowed, her throat painfully dry.
“I was hoping for company while I made the call.” It was a relief to hear her voice was as solid as usual.
“Come on in.” He stepped out of the doorway and motioned her into the room. “How about a drink first? I asked Dougal to send up a bottle of scotch at the start of the week and there’s plenty left.” His eyes crinkled at her. “The Scots do whisky very well indeed. It’s another plus for moving here.”
“Thank you.” Victoria stood stiff inside the doorway.
“Sit.” Lawrence pointed at the chair in front of the desk. His confident stride took him over to the small fridge. He grabbed two glasses from the shelf above it, filled them with ice from the fridge, then topped them up from the bottle of single malt on the counter.
Victoria perched nervously on the edge of the chair as she looked around the room. It was a mirror image of hers, decorated in creams with a touch of red tartan to accent it. A lovely room. Comforting. And neat. For some reason it reassured Victoria to discover Lawrence was neat.
“Here you are.” He handed her the glass.
They sipped as they watched each other. Lawrence seemed to be considering something. “Do you want to put the call on speaker, or would you rather I didn’t listen to both ends of the conversation?” He pointed at his laptop. “I can busy myself with work, if you’d rather I didn’t hear the whole thing. I can even pretend I’m not listening, if you think it will help.” His mouth quirked up into a charming smile. The sight of it disarmed her.
“Speakerphone, I think. If you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” He pulled the other chair over so he was sitting beside her at the desk.
There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but none of them would come out of her mouth. She looked at him as she sipped her drink and willed him to read her mind. To know without her saying how much she appreciated his being there. She wanted him to somehow translate her confused and chaotic thoughts, so she didn’t have to give them voice. How could she talk to him about things she didn’t have words for?
With a shaky hand, she placed the glass on the desk, the phone beside it. Lawrence nodded his encouragement as she dialled her mother. Victoria could actually feel the blood drain from her face as she listened to the ringing.
“It’s about time you rang.” Her mother’s voice flooded the room, turning the air to ice.
“Hello, Mother.” Victoria’s voice was devoid of emotion, as it usually was. It had been such a long time since she’d let any of her feelings surface. She wasn’t sure she knew how to let them out anymore. She felt like they were all stuck inside her, in one big ball in her chest. Taking up space and making her ache with each breath.
“Why haven’t you returned my calls? I left several messages. Honestly, Victoria, if this simple task is too much for you, I can easily send someone more capable to get the job done.”
“I—” Victoria started, but was cut off.
“I received a call today. I’m told Abigail is intimately involved with Mr Boyle. I was also informed that Mr Boyle’s last partner had appeared, demanding he claim his child. Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”
“I didn’t tell you because those stories aren’t true. Who informed you they were?”
“Someone who’s obviously much more diligent in their tasks than you are. This is exactly what I thought was happening. The sooner the child is taken into my care, the better. The Montgomery-Clark legacy is at stake here. What must people think, knowing I have a grandchild who’s being reared in such a common environment?” Her mother’s voice was like an ice pick, chipping at Victoria’s soul. “I want you back here immediately. Tell Lawrence we’ll start proceedings for custody straight away.”
Victoria’s whole body was tight with tension, making her certain she’d snap if she moved. She felt the air shift and looked down to see Lawrence’s fingers curl around her hand. Her eyes snapped to his as he held her tight in his grip. He smiled his encouragement. Victoria stared at him. It was a gift. He was a gift. Such an unexpected one.
“Victoria.” Her mother’s voice demanded attention. As usual. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Mother,” Victoria said, tangling her fingers with Lawrence’s as she stared at the phone. “I won’t tell Lawrence to file for custody.” Her mouth went dry. She actually felt the room shake and roll as more cracks appeared in her pristine life. “I think you’re wrong. I think this course of action is wrong. Katy should stay with her mother. Abigail is doing a fine job. There is no need to interfere with it.”
She was shaking by the time she finished talking, but she knew it wasn’t evident in her tone. Her voice was its robotic norm. She was vaguely aware of Lawrence shifting his chair; she felt his body heat as his arm went around her shoulders. She stayed stiff, unable to relax her guard.
“Have you lost your mind? Fetch Lawrence at once. I’ll tell him myself. You are obviously too weak to get the job done. You’ve let yourself get led astray by Abigail and the reprobate she’s entangled with. I should have known you weren’t able to get this done. I shouldn’t have trusted you with it. Honestly, Victoria, you are beyond useless.”
She felt Lawrence stiffen beside her. Her head snapped to face him when he cleared his throat.
“Mrs Montgomery-Clark, this is Lawrence. I’m sitting beside Victoria and I’ve heard the whole conversation. I have to say I agree completely with your daughter. You have no case here. No court in the land will take custody away from Abby. I strongly advise you give up on this plan.”
“And I strongly advise that you do the job I’m paying you for, sir. File the papers at once. I want my granddaughter in my custody as soon as possible.”
“No.” Lawrence stared at Victoria as he spoke. His eyes were steel. She shook beneath his touch, shocked at the strength she saw in him. “I’ve spoken with my partners and we agree your desires are not in the best interest of Maynard-Fraser-Grayson. Formal notice will arrive in the mail, but please be advised we are no longer willing to represent you, nor your family.”
There was an outraged gasp. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with, young man? I will ruin you and your firm. You have no right to withdraw representation. You should feel honoured I allowed you to act on my behalf in the first place. This is outrageous.”
“Take it up with your new solicitors,” Lawrence said. “If they have any sense at all, they’ll tell you the same thing we’re telling you. Drop this plan. Leave Abby and her daughter alone.”
Before her mother could say anything else, Lawrence let go of Victoria’s hand, reached over and broke the connection.
Victoria stared at the phone in shock. “You hung up on Mother.”
“Somebody should have hung up on her a long time ago.” Fury emanated from Lawrence, pulsing off him like a beacon to warn the wary away. It had the opposite effect on Victoria. It made her want to curl up against him. Of course she couldn’t. She didn’t know how.
Lawrence moved away from her, removing his arm from her shoulders to reach for her drink. He placed it in her hand. Victoria felt a little lost now he wasn’t touching her. She tried to hide her disappointment.
“What will she do now?” he said.
She stared at her drink. “I don’t know. Get another lawyer. Start again.” She looked up at him. “She might try suing you as well.”
He smiled, his eyes sparkling with the delight of a predator. “Now, that would be fun.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“If I go back now, she’ll make me pay.” Victoria watched the ice melt in her glass.
“Then don’t go back.”
Her eyes snapped to his. Everything he was shone from him—strength, honour, courage, hope. He was hope.
“Is it really that simple?”
“It is if you want it to be.”
“I’m scared,” she confessed.
“Want to hear a secret?” He leaned over and took her glass from her, placing it back on the desk. He held both of her hands in his, resting them on her knees. “I’m scared too. Change is a scary thing.”
“And you’re going to do it anyway?”
He nodded, a knowing smile on his lips. “So are you, sweet Vicki, so are you.”
He closed the distance between them and captured her lips with his.
His kiss was a promise.
It tasted like freedom.
♦♦♦
Flynn and Abby heard Katy calling for her mum as they walked up the stairs to Abby’s bedroom. There was no hysteria, no urgency present in the cry, so Abby knew she hadn’t been awake for long.
“There goes my shower time,” she grumbled.
Flynn tugged her close and pressed a kiss to her bruised lips. “Go shower. I’ll deal with the terrorist.”
“I don’t know. She probably got a fright. Or had a bad dream. She’ll want her mum.”
“Why don’t you stand in the door, and if it looks like I’ve got it under control, you can shower?”
“You’re humouring me, aren’t you?”
“Aye.” He grinned as he turned the handle on Katy’s door. “What’s up, terrorist? What’s with all the shouting?”
“There’s something under my bed.” There was a tremor in her voice. It took all of Abby’s self-control not to push Flynn out of the way and gather Katy to her.
“Do you need your mum?” Flynn asked.
“No. You can look under the bed and scare away anything there. You’re bigger than my Muma. You’d probably be more scary to monsters.”
Flynn flicked on the light and Abby peeked inside as he knelt beside Katy’s bed. “I’d have nightmares too if I had to sleep in a room painted Pepto-Bismol pink.” He flicked the covers up and peeked under your bed.
“Is there a monster?” Katy clutched her favourite toy, her eyes wide.
“Aye, there’s a monster, all right. It’s Eric Cantona.” He sat up and cocked an eyebrow at Katy.
“Eric Cantona is not under my bed. You told me he spends all his time on trains, reading poetry. Plus he’s not a proper monster. He only kicked one man. Jonathan used to kick people all the time until he got in big trouble, and he isn’t a monster either.”
“I can’t believe you’re defending Cantona. Sure, he was a great forward, but he was also more than a little nuts. It’s a damn shame what happened to him.”
“Is he dead?”
“No, he’s an actor. But he might as well be dead. How can a man go from playing for the French team and leading Man U to victory, to prancing around in a bunch of arthouse movies? That’s no way to end a soccer career.”
Abby covered her mouth with a hand to stop from laughing. Katy just glared at Flynn, her arms folded over her princess pyjamas.
“There’s nothing wrong with acting. Jonathan’s mum said you could act in films. She said you’re pretty enough and you’re going to have to do something with your life now you can’t play football. She says you can’t sit around all day tanning your belly.”
“I really need to have a long talk with Jonathan and his mum.” Flynn tucked Katy in. “Everybody is an expert. Everybody thinks they know what I should do with my life. I’m supposed to have a plan, but what people don’t get is that I was going to plan in a few years’ time. This whole injury thing happened before I had time to get to it.”
“Don’t worry, Flynn. Jonathan’s mum said you can always get work being a giggler.”
“Giggler?”
“Yes.” Katy nodded solemnly. “We weren’t supposed to be listening, but we were. We heard her tell her friend a giggler makes ladies happy. Jonathan said you must know a lot of jokes.”
Abby snorted and Flynn’s eyes shot to hers. She made a point to Google gigolo options for him later. Flynn frowned at her in warning, but Abby just smothered a laugh. Gigolo. It was the perfect fit. He narrowed his eyes at her before turning back to Katy.
“How about we read a bit more, then you can go back to sleep?”
“Okay. Are you having a sleepover with Muma again?”
“Aye. Don’t go banging on the door in the morning. I thought the house was coming down around my ears this morning. I’m surprised there weren’t any dents in the door.”
“I’m strong. I have muscles. See?” She flexed her biceps.
“Impressive.” Flynn opened a book. “Right. Where were we? David Beckham.” He let out a long sigh. “Now before we go any further, I want to point out we’re talking about Beckham’s football career. I don’t want to hear any of Jonathan’s mum’s opinions on his modelling career, or how hunky she thinks he is, or anything else. This is a serious topic. We’re talking about one of the best midfielders England has ever produced. It isn’t about how he looks in his underwear.”
“Okay, Flynn.” Katy snuggled down under her duvet. “I’m listening.”
“Good.” Flynn cleared his throat and started to read. And Abby tiptoed to the shower with a silly smile on her face and a heart ready to burst.