Mistakes We Make
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Mistakes We Make
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Six months later
Mistakes We Make
Jenny Harper
Sometimes you have to dig deep to discover what you really need.
Marketing events manager Molly Keir doesn’t realise how much she still cares for her ex until she meets him with another woman. Her answer is to seize the chance of a glittering job in London – even though this will mean leaving behind her aging father and pregnant best friend Lexie Gordon.
Adam Blair is in the wrong job. Pressured by his father to join the family law firm, the stress of work helped break his marriage. Now Molly is moving to London, and he knows he needs to move on – but events soon overtake his best intentions.
A year ago, Caitlyn Murray quit her well-paid job to avoid becoming a whistleblower. Now she is stuck at home with her overworked mother and four needy step-siblings. Tempted by the offer of a good wage, she returns to her old firm – where her nightmare comes back to haunt her.
Molly and Adam seem to have gone too far to recover the love they once had, and when Caitlyn finds the courage to speak out, she brings all their worlds tumbling down.
Acknowledgements
Some books are a joy to research, others prove more challenging. I have to confess that Mistakes We Make fell into the latter category – it proved extraordinarily difficult to persuade lawyers and accountants to describe a perfect fraud to me! One lawyer, after an hour of grilling, protested, ‘You’re making me think like a criminal.’ To the various people who did dream up potential scenarios for me, therefore, I am incredibly grateful. They know who they are.
On the plus side, I discovered that lawyers and accountants make excellent interviewees in terms of research – their information tends to emerge immaculately organised, if not in numbered lists with sub-points!
I am most grateful to Bob Brown and Leonard Mair for general information on how law firms operate, and to Donnie McGruther, who directed me to The Law Society of Scotland for information about what happens when possible criminal activity is reported or detected in a law firm. I am indebted to the Society’s Registrar, David Cullen, for outlining this process in detail.
As ever, my heartfelt thanks go to all those who support me and put up with me in my writing. They include my writing buddies Dianne and Jennifer and my long-suffering husband, Robin. I am eternally grateful also for the support of a wider community of writers, bloggers and reviewers – thanks to all of you. Writing would be a more difficult and a lonelier place without you.
And finally, thanks to the wonderful team at Accent Press, in particular Bethan James and my editor, Rebecca Lloyd. And – because I’m so thrilled with it – a special thanks to my cover designer!
Note on Hailesbank and The Heartlands
The small market town of Hailesbank is born of my imagination, as are the surrounding villages of Forgie and Stoneyford and the council housing estate known as Summerfield, which together form The Heartlands. I have placed the area, in my mind, to the east of Scotland’s capital city, Edinburgh.
The first mention of The Heartlands was made by Agrippus Centorius in AD77, not long after the Romans began their surge north in the hope of conquering this savage land. ‘This is a place of great beauty,’ wrote Agrippus, ‘and its wildness has clutched my heart.’ He makes several mentions thereafter of The Heartlands. There are still signs of Roman occupation in Hailesbank, which has great transport links to the south (and England) and the north, especially to Edinburgh, and its proximity to the sea and the (real) coastal town of Musselburgh made it a great place to settle. The Georgians and Victorians began to develop the small village, its clean air and glorious views, rich farming hinterland and great transport proving highly attractive.
The River Hailes flows through the town. There is a Hailes Castle in East Lothian (it has not yet featured in my novels), but it sits on the Tyne.
Hailesbank has a Town Hall and a high street, from which a number of ancient small lanes, or vennels, run down to the river, which once was the lifeblood of the town.
In my novels, characters populate the shops, cafes and pubs in Hailesbank and the pretty adjoining village of Forgie, with Summerfield inhabitants providing another layer of social interaction.
JH
PART ONE
Chapter One
Molly Keir always claimed that her success as an events manager was down to her passion for detail. Keeping control left little time for contemplation, and that suited Molly just fine – it was easier than thinking about the mistakes she’d made in her personal life.
Much easier.
In the middle of the Scottish Highlands, her mobile phone clamped to one ear, a large notebook open on her lap, a pen in one hand and her black-rimmed reading glasses perched on her nose, she was oblivious to the glories of the afternoon sunlight on the hills on either side of the car. Instead of connecting with the world around her, she was doing what she did best – organising a universe of her own construction.
‘I’ll do my best on the peonies, Miss di Constanza,’ she said brightly, ‘but the florist is telling me that peonies are out of season now and ... No, I understand. I’m sure we can source them from somewhere, but they will have to be imported and I know you like to support local suppliers ... Yes, yes, of course.’
She turned to Lexie Gordon, who was driving, wrinkled her nose expressively, then carried on without missing a beat.
‘It’s all under control, Miss di Constanza, I promise you. Yes, I will be away this weekend, but I have my phone with me, and you can always reach me. Everything is in place, you have my personal guarantee. ... Thank you. ... Yes, indeed. Goodbye. Yes, goodbye.’
‘She seems quite demanding,’ said Lexie, glancing across at her.
Molly shrugged. ‘She’s a prestigious client. Her lingerie collection is big business and this is the second launch she’s done at Fleming House. It’s a great name to have on our credentials so I can’t afford to offend her. Lexie! Stop!’
‘What the—?’ Lexie stamped on the brake and they stopped a few inches from the rear of the campervan they’d been tailing.
The traffic heading west had been quite light. They’d just threaded their way through a small hamlet where the biggest building was a café that catered for passing tour buses. All around them were rolling hills, heather and bracken – but now they’d run slap bang into a long queue of traffic.
‘Phew. That was close. You OK?’ Molly asked.
Lexie laid a hand on her swollen belly. ‘Fine.’
‘What’s causing the hold up?’
; ‘I think there are roadworks somewhere.’ Lexie craned her neck. ‘I can see some lights ahead. We’ll be through in a minute.’
Molly’s phone rang again. She glanced at the screen and groaned. ‘It’s Jonquil Prosser.’
‘Bridezilla?’
‘Worse. Her mother.’
She switched into professional mode. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Prosser, what can I do for you today?’
‘Patience of a saint,’ Lexie hissed, slipping the car into gear and inching forward as the traffic began to move.
Ahead, a large sign announced Road Closed. Local Access Only. Diversion.
‘Damn, it’s sending us left,’ Lexie said as Molly stopped talking abruptly.
‘Is that bad? I’ve lost the signal,’ she said, jabbing at her phone.
‘It’s a long diversion,’ Lexie said, swinging on to a minor road with the rest of the traffic.
‘You all right with driving? I know you hate it but I’ve got some more calls to make.’
‘You’re meant to be on a weekend off, Moll.’
‘I know, I know! I just need to ... Still no signal.’ She opened her notebook again. ‘Peonies,’ she muttered, scribbling an addition. ‘Thrones—’
‘Thrones?’ Lexie said, slowing to a crawl to take a bend. Behind her, someone tooted impatiently.
‘That’s what Jonquil Prosser was on about, before I lost her. Apparently, Ellen and Rob want thrones in the ballroom.’
Lexie snorted. ‘Jonquil wants thrones, more like. Where are you going to get them?’
Molly added to her list. ‘I’ll have to hire them in. I bet one of the theatres in Edinburgh will have some in store somewhere. Bother, there’s still no signal.’
‘Your phone’s trying to tell you something,’ Lexie said, laughing. ‘Come on, put it away. This is a holiday.’
‘You’re right. I can’t do anything at the moment anyway; it looks as though we’re in a dead area. I’ll have to get hold of Logan at some point though. He’s not answering his phone. I swear he sees my number and presses decline. Hey,’ her face lit up, ‘maybe I should get you to call him. You two have always got on well.’
She indicated left to signal the impatient car to overtake. It shot past in a blur of silver.
‘Asshole. How far ahead does he think he can get? Anyway, what would I be calling Logan about?’
‘I dunno. Some painting you want him to buy, maybe?’
Lexie snorted. ‘Forget it, Moll, it isn’t going to work. Just keep trying. He’s probably busy.’
‘He’s always busy. I don’t know how Adrienne stands it. Those boys must wonder who the strange man is when he actually does show up for supper.’
‘Well, you can call him from the hotel.’
‘Still not telling me where we’re going?’
True to form, Molly had been reluctant when Lexie had announced she was taking her away for a weekend. ‘I’ve got so much to do. Where were you thinking of, anyway?’
‘Secret. And if you don’t come, you’ll never know. Come on, my treat. Patrick’s in Madrid this weekend to sign the lease on his new art gallery, and it’ll probably be our last chance for a girlie weekend before baby arrives.’
It was true. Once the Mulgrew-Gordon baby was here, their lives would be very different.
Lexie let another car pass, then glanced at Molly and grinned. ‘You can call Logan from Loch Melfort.’
‘Loch Melfort! You’re joking.’
Lexie looked smug. ‘I know you love it.’
Loch Melfort ... A glorious autumn day on the west coast of Scotland. The sun baking their arms and sneaking between the hairs on their heads to scorch their scalps. A pair of golden eagles soaring in the endless skies above, her man beside her and the bliss of new love requited. His hands cupping her face and his kiss, gentle at first, then unrestrained. She could remember how that kiss had ended up – naughty and naked and very, very nice on a bed of scratchy heather under the open skies.
She hadn’t been back there in an age. It was beautiful – but it was his special place. Could she stand being there without him?
Molly sank back on her seat and closed her eyes. So much had happened in the past three years. It had started with the gradual degeneration of her marriage, which had led to her brief, passionate affair with Lexie’s brother Jamie, and had ended – tragically – with Jamie’s death in a car accident. She’d given up her fast-moving career in marketing and beaten a retreat to Fleming House, where she’d hidden away and paid penance by working herself half to death for a fraction of her old salary.
Lexie had been through bad times too, but she had grabbed hold of all the difficult things in her life, shaken them to destruction and moved on. Whereas Molly – what had she done? Merely allowed herself to get stuck in a rut. It had to stop – and maybe this weekend away would be the perfect time to take stock.
‘You may be a bit crazy, Lexie Gordon,’ she said, yawning, ‘but I think you have something of the genius in you.’
And as Lexie settled into a steady crawl through the spectacular scenery, Molly did something rare. She nodded off to sleep.
Adam Blair wasn’t quite sure when or how he’d agreed to come away with Sunita Ghosh for what she called ‘special together time’, but here he was in the car, half way to the west Highlands. He had only been dating Sunita for four months, and even that had been something of a surprise.
It was six o’clock already, they’d just passed Dalmally, and now they were sitting at a red light in the middle of nowhere. Ahead, he could see a large notice saying Local Access Only, and a large Diversion sign pointing left.
‘I’m tempted to risk it,’ he said, glancing at his companion.
‘Best not,’ she said passively.
‘If the locals can get through, why can’t we?’
‘Maybe it’s closed further along.’
‘Then how can anyone get to Oban, for heaven’s sake?’
‘They wouldn’t put a sign there if it wasn’t necessary,’ Sunita pointed out reasonably.
They passed through the lights and reached the point of no return. Adam swung the wheel to the left with considerable reluctance.
‘I know this road. This is going to add fifty miles. We’ll be late for dinner.’
‘Chill, Adam. It’s our holiday.’
They were heading to the Loch Melfort Hotel, south of Oban, which was the only reason Adam had agreed to come. His parents used to bring him here when he was a child. They all used to come together, his family, Uncle Geordie, Auntie Jean and his cousin, Hugh. He’d brought his wife here on their first anniversary.
God, she’d loved it. He’d known she would; she was drawn to the outdoors, just as he was. She loved climbing the Scottish mountains – and not just to please him. She was like a mountain goat, lean and lithe, her long legs taking the steep slopes with easy agility.
He pursed his lips, thinking that he should not have accepted Sunita’s invitation. It was too early in their relationship to spend a weekend together – but when she’d mentioned Loch Melfort, he’d wavered. It had been too tempting. Something deep in his psyche had yearned for the familiar beauty of the place.
A thought struck him and he glanced across at her again.
‘Why did you pick this hotel, Sunita?’
Sunita’s long black hair always seemed to shine, but in the low rays of the evening sun it had a particular gloss, almost purple, like a raven’s wing. She turned her face towards him, her coal black eyes radiating innocence.
‘They were offering a great deal.’
She looked away again, her lips curved into a quiet smile.
Adam’s suspicions crystallised. He must have mentioned the hotel at some time, and Sunita had turned the information into a lure. She was a clever, clever woman.
It wasn’t that he was reluctant, he told himself, not really. Sunita was beautiful, smart and pleasant company. He lifted one hand off the steering wheel and scratched the top of his head. His thick brown
hair stood up in protest.
It was a relationship with definite promise. Her cooking was sublime, she was a goddess in bed, they had a great deal in common. Well, some things in common. They both liked cinema and – he searched his mind – curry.
‘I’ll call and tell them we might be late. I’m sure there’ll be lots of people with the same problem.’ Sunita leaned forward and retrieved her handbag from the footwell. Neat brown fingers tapped in a number, the burgundy-painted nails immaculate. How did she keep them like that? So sleek.
‘You might not get a signal,’ he warned. ‘It’s really poor in this area.’
Maddeningly, she was already talking. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, slipping her phone back into her bag, ‘other guests have been caught in the traffic too. There’s not a problem.’
Adam focused his mind on the hotel. Forget the diversion, forget Sunita’s astonishing competence. In less than an hour he’d be slouching comfortably on one of the luxurious sofas, holding a large glass of fine wine. A weekend in a beautiful retreat like the Loch Melfort Hotel was exactly what he needed – why had he been so resistant to the idea?
‘This is where we turn right.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Slow down, Adam, this is where we turn right.’
He saw the junction up ahead and eased off the accelerator.
‘You’ve been in a dream.’
‘Have I?’ He came to a halt behind the short queue of cars waiting to pull on to the main road north, reached across for her hand and squeezed her fingers. ‘Sorry. We should be there in less than half an hour.’
‘Good. I’m getting hungry. I can’t wait to try this fantastic food you’ve told me about. You?’
‘Definitely.’
Adam smiled at her. It was going to be all right. She was a pleasant companion. And he owed her some time.
Molly, sitting on the padded window seat in the lounge at the Loch Melfort Hotel, lifted her glass up to the light. Through the liquid, the view was ruby-tinted and glorious. The field that rolled down to the loch was home to half a dozen stocky Highland cattle with heavy fringes and jaunty horns, for all the world like Viking invaders. One lifted his head and seemed to stare right at her, placid but immoveable.