Lord and Master Trilogy

by Jagger, Kait

  After three days sequestered in her room, on the fourth day she found the strength to emerge long enough to go to the nearest mobile shop. In her haste to escape Arborage cleanly, she had left behind her work phone. It was property of the estate, after all, but it contained every phone number, professional and personal, she had amassed in her twenty-six years on earth. No matter, she thought, she really only needed three numbers now.

  And three email addresses. Having picked out the best, most expensive phone in the shop, Luna also bought a new laptop, returning to the hotel clutching her purchases. When she finally managed to log into her personal email account, she found no less than twenty-two emails from her friends Nancy, Kayla and Jem, starting three days ago.

  From: Nancy

  To: LunaG

  cc: Kayla; JEM

  Subject: Luna!

  Lou, something’s wrong with your mobile. Every time I ring it, it just disconnects. Kay, Jem, have you had the same problem, or is it because I’m ringing from the States?

  From: JEM

  To: Nancy

  cc: Kayla; LunaG

  Subject: Re: Luna!

  I can’t get through either. Fix your phone, Luna! J

  From: Kayla

  To: LunaG

  cc: JEM; Nancy

  Subject: WTF?!!!!

  Just rung her landline and the message says she’s left Arborage. As in LEFT. FOREVER. What’s happened Lou? Call me.

  And so it went, the messages becoming increasingly agitated to the point where Luna couldn’t make herself read any more. She skipped straight to the most recent email, from Jem.

  From: JEM

  To: LunaG

  Cc: Kayla; Nancy

  Subject: That’s it

  Luna, you either phone me right now and let me know you’re alright or I’m phoning Stefan.

  Luna looked at the date and time on the email: it had been sent less than an hour ago. She clicked on the last email from Nancy and scrolled down to her auto signature, quickly punching her friend’s number in New York into her phone.

  After two rings, she heard her friend’s familiar raspy voice: ‘Nancy Richards.’

  ‘Nan, it’s me.’

  ‘Luna! Jesus, Lou, we’ve been worried sick about you. Kayla’s ready to storm the gates at Arborage and Jem—’

  Luna swiftly cut Nancy off. ‘I need you to phone Jem and stop her from ringing Stefan,’ she said.

  ‘Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on. You quit your job, disappear off the face of the earth—’

  ‘Nancy, please,’ Luna cried, her voice breaking. She felt fresh tears begin to flow down her cheeks and a sob rise in her throat. Swallowing it as best she could, she continued, ‘I promise you, I’ll tell you everything, but first, please phone Jem. I can’t talk to her the way I am now and I need you to stop her. Please, Nancy.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Nancy assured her. ‘I’ll call her. But then I’m going to phone you back and you’d better pick up, Luna Gregory.’

  Shortly thereafter, there followed a tortuous exchange with her best friend, Luna relating the events which had culminated in her decision to leave Arborage. As usual, Nancy saw straight to the heart of the matter.

  ‘So, her Ladyship basically offered you up to this pervert Florian, and Stefan just stood by and let it happen?’ she raged.

  ‘He didn’t know about it.’

  ‘He should have known.’

  ‘No, the Marchioness did that all on her own. She played us off against each other.’

  ‘Stop fucking defending him, Lou. The fact that he was your boyfriend and he’s a member of that family means he had more responsibility to look out for you, not less.’

  If anything, the call she had with Jem the following day was even worse. She’d decided in advance that she wouldn’t share the details of her and Stefan’s break-up with Jem. Jem’s company, Rod Studios, founded with her boyfriend Rod Okuyo, was technically a business partner of the estate, having recently launched a video game based loosely on Arborage. The last thing she wanted was for either of them to feel they had to shun Stefan, who had been providing free business advice to them via his management consultancy firm.

  ‘It just wasn’t working out between us, Jem,’ Luna said, inwardly aching at the cool, detached tone of her own voice.

  ‘Wow, I – I really thought you two were made for each other. Stefan must be in bits.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Luna said hastily, and again, she could hear how callous she must sound to her friend, how uncaring. ‘It’s for the best,’ she concluded lamely, before ringing off. Sitting alone on the edge of the hotel bed, she looked down at her phone with its three numbers: Jem, Nancy and Kayla. And then, even though she’d gone into the call with Jem convinced that she had cried herself out, that there couldn’t possibly be more tears left in her, she heard herself make a pained noise, felt her chest begin to heave. And buried her face in her hands.

  She couldn’t stay in that hotel room forever, she knew that. Sooner or later, she’d have to pull herself together, start going to see recruitment agents. Though how she’d explain her decision to quit her job with no notice… She hoped, no, she believed, that the Marchioness would see her way clear to giving her a good reference. Luna had served her devotedly for more than two years, after all. Two happy years. She would never find a job like that again, one that filled every corner of her life the way Arborage had, bringing her not only professional fulfilment, but Stefan.

  Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her, the cool note in Jem’s voice when she phoned her the following morning.

  ‘Someone’s been trying to get hold of you. I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to…’ Jem hesitated and Luna’s heart hammered painfully in her chest. Stefan. But, as it turned out, he wasn’t the one who was looking for her.

  *

  At almost 2.30 the following afternoon, the small coffee shop around the corner from the British Museum was quiet, its barista leaning against the counter chatting with a waitress and only one customer sitting at a table in the corner, dressed in a natty grey tweed suit. When Luna entered, the man saw her and immediately stood.

  ‘Luna,’ Sören Lundgren said as she approached tentatively. To her surprise, rather than his customary Gallic kiss on each cheek, Stefan’s father drew her into his arms and embraced her, hugging her tightly for a moment before holding her away to study her. She found she couldn’t meet his eyes, partly because he looked so much like Stefan that the sight of his bright blue irises, the mirror of his son’s, physically pained her.

  Sören gestured to the chair opposite him and signalled to the waitress, who came to take Luna’s order. When she’d departed, Luna glanced at him and attempted a smile, which faded almost immediately.

  ‘I apologise for contacting you through your friend. It was the only way I could think to find you,’ the older man began gently.

  Luna nodded and forced herself to look at him. ‘I understand,’ she said. Then, trying to assume the business-like tone she thought he might expect of her, their previous relationship having revolved around his role on Arborage’s board of trustees, she added, ‘What can I do for you, Sören?’

  He winced at the tenor of her voice, and Luna immediately felt remorse. Whatever had transpired between her and his son, Sören had always been kind to her; a friend, she liked to think, in addition to a work acquaintance. As if to confirm this, he reached his hands toward hers and squeezed them.

  Shaking his head, he said, ‘I think you will not wish to talk of it, so I will only say that I am very angry with Augusta and my son. I more than anyone should have suspected what she is capable of, but I admit she has shocked me. And Stefan…’ He sighed. ‘He has let you down, Luna, and I am sorry.’

  At this point, the waitress returned with Luna’s coffee. After she’d left, Luna took a deep breath and said, ‘It’s kind of you, really, to have taken the time to do this. But there’s no need. I’m fine.’ Then, considering the patent falsehood of this cl
aim, she added, ‘Or at least, I will be.’

  Sören nodded. ‘I know you will be. And, I confess, I have an ulterior motive in asking to meet with you.’

  Luna was silent and he continued, ‘You will remember the meeting my associate Dagmar and I had at Arborage with Malcolm Couper last autumn. The one you helped to arrange.’

  ‘Yes,’ Luna said, ‘the sheep breeder from Shetland.’

  ‘That’s right. We were looking to set up an arrangement with him and other farmers to supply wool for a range of outerwear my company wants to launch next year.’

  Luna nodded, not really seeing where this was going.

  ‘It is fair to say that Dagmar has… what is it you English say? “Made a hash”? Yes, that’s it, she has made a hash of it.’ Smiling ruefully, he said, ‘It is partly my fault. I had hoped that she might be suited to move into a management role in my company, but I felt she needed to be tested a little first, put outside her comfort zone. So I asked her to work with Malcolm to put agreements in place with these farmers, and to build a new wool processing facility on the island.’

  Taking a sip of his coffee, Sören went on, ‘It has proven too much for Dagmar. She is not a naturally outgoing person in the best of circumstances, and I underestimated how many difficulties she would face. Somehow in the space of three months, she has managed to alienate most of the farmers we were hoping to attract to this proposition. So I am faced with a choice, Luna. Either withdraw from the project entirely, or provide Dagmar with the tools she needs to put it right.’

  Sören toyed with the stem of his coffee cup, reflecting, ‘I believe that this range of outerwear could become the statement creation of my company, that one day discerning men will refer to the Lundgren coat in the same breath as the Crombie, or the Belstaff. I also have personal interests in Shetland. Have I told you that I own the land Malcolm farms?’

  Luna shook her head.

  ‘You remember me telling you about Augusta’s visit to Sweden when I was a boy, to make peace with my father and borrow funds to pay off Arborage’s creditors. As a quid pro quo, my father demanded the transfer of certain assets, including a sizeable piece of land in Shetland. At the time, I’m sure Augusta thought it was a small price to pay, but my father was a canny man. This land has proven a valuable asset to my family. I would like to make it even more so.’

  He sipped his coffee again and concluded, ‘No. I am not for withdrawing from this project. Not yet.’ Then Sören smiled, his eyes crinkling. ‘So I must provide Dagmar with tools, or rather, a tool. And that is where you come in, Luna.’

  Luna shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘If there is anyone who can woo these farmers back, and wooing is what they need, make no mistake, it is you. I have seen you, when visitors come to Arborage, making them feel like royalty. I honestly think Malcolm thought he had died and gone to heaven, standing with you in the portico.’

  ‘But that’s different,’ Luna protested. ‘Arborage, it – Arborage sells itself.’

  ‘You underestimate yourself.’

  ‘I was just doing my job, supporting Augusta,’ she continued.

  ‘Do you not think you could do the same for Dagmar? She is an extremely talented woman, but she needs help. Help with wooing the farmers, help guiding Malcolm, help with the endless paperwork required to obtain grant funding from the Scottish government and the EU.’

  Luna twisted her fingers together on her lap. ‘I don’t know, Sören. I’d be afraid I’d let you down.’

  Sören raised his hands and said, ‘Look at it this way. You left Arborage with nowhere else to go. Yes, you will find another job, but it may take some time. This assignment, which would be six months, gives you that time. It fills a hole in your curriculum vitae.’ He smiled at her again. ‘Truly, Luna, you could not make the situation up in Shetland any worse than it is now. There is no pressure on you. And if it makes a difference, you have my assurance that I will not inform Stefan of my offer, should you accept.’

  Suddenly, Sören’s kindness was almost more than Luna could bear. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and stood, ready to sprint all the way back to her hotel room.

  ‘Can I think about it overnight? Give you my answer tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Sören said, standing. She was afraid he would hug her again, and if he did she would surely start sobbing all over his lovely tweed suit. But instead he took her by both shoulders.

  ‘Do you know,’ he observed softly, ‘I don’t think I have ever seen you with your hair down before.’ He turned her slightly to see where her dark brown mane fell to the small of her back. ‘It suits you, Luna.’

  And that was it. Him looking at her like that, his eyes and his expression, even the way he said her name, so like his son, it was too much. Luna turned and left the shop in a hurry.

  She didn’t collapse into tears when she got back to her hotel room, which she counted as progress. Instead, she cracked open the bottle of ginger ale she’d picked up from the Aldi down the road and started googling Shetland sheep.

  In truth, she wasn’t sure how she felt about Sören’s offer. On the one hand, he was right that it would paper over the cracks in her CV following her precipitous departure from Arborage. But… she knew absolutely nothing about sheep, and little about farming in general. And Sören was Stefan’s father. If she was trying to leave Arborage and its future ‘lord and master’ behind, entering his father’s employ was problematic at best, regardless of Sören’s assurances.

  To her surprise, there was an email from Dagmar waiting for her in her inbox.

  To: luna.gregory@swiftmail.co.uk

  From: d.sandhorst@lundgrens.se

  Subject: Assignment

  Luna. Sören has told me of his meeting with you. I hope you will consider joining us. I attach CADs for the line, to give you some feeling of it.

  Had Sören put her up to this? Or was Dagmar as eager for her help as her boss? Luna flicked through the computer-generated images of the Lundgren coat, or coats, as there was a long and short version of it, and a variety of accessories, including leather gloves and hats. She could see why Sören was so excited about this line; from the images and what she remembered of the prototype coat he wore on a visit to Arborage, it was something special, made of soft but durable thickly woven black wool. The kind of men’s coat a woman might covet.

  She briefly scrolled through the rest of her emails, mostly from Nancy clucking like a mother hen: ‘How are you? I mean, how are you really? xxoo’, ‘You are a WONDERFUL PERSON, Stellaluna Gregory. Don’t you forget it!!!’, ‘Remember the code: hos before bros!’ Luna smiled, then shook herself when she felt the smile go a little watery.

  She was gearing up to hit reply to Nancy’s latest missive when the laptop pinged and a new email appeared in her inbox. From a name she hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

  *

  The following morning, Luna emerged from Holborn tube station and made her way to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the largest public square in London. Passing the Grade II listed London School of Economics, she approached the north side of the green and entered a Georgian townhouse with a brass plaque outside reading Derwent & Co.

  ‘I have an appointment with Mr Noakes,’ Luna said to the sombre, besuited young man sitting behind a desk at the door. Without a word, he rose and led her up a set of graciously curving stairs to a large office overlooking the park. A tall, elderly man standing next to the sash windows turned and smiled at her arrival.

  ‘Miss Gregory, it’s a pleasure to see you again,’ Elijah Noakes intoned, taking Luna’s hand. He gestured to a leather club chair in front of his large mahogany desk, stacked high with papers and books.

  Taking a seat, Luna clasped her hands together and said, ‘I was… intrigued by your message.’

  Decades of scrutinising legal papers at that desk had left Elijah Noakes with a slightly stooped back, which combined with his aquiline nose and flowing silver grey hair gave
him the air of a hawk poised to swoop in on its prey. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course, and the expression on his weathered face was kindly as he nodded.

  ‘Yes, I admit, I too am intrigued. I am rarely asked to act as intermediary for this kind of transaction,’ he said, removing his pinstripe jacket and sitting behind his desk. ‘But the gentleman was most insistent on meeting you.’

  ‘And…’ Luna hesitated, ‘he knew my father?’

  Luna’s father formed the basis of Luna’s connection with Mr Noakes. A musician and sometime singer-songwriter who had died when Luna was twelve, Lukas Gregory’s sole album, produced before he met Luna’s mother, had been a commercial failure at the time of its release, but had steadily developed a following over the years. Ultimate control of the modest income generated from royalties became a bone of contention between Luna and her only surviving relative, her paternal grandmother, to the extent that when Luna was in her late teens she was forced to initiate legal proceedings to become an emancipated minor. Though it had never been articulated between them, Luna suspected that it was the Marchioness who sent Mr Noakes to her rescue, for Derwent & Co numbered the Lionsbridge Estate among its clients.

  ‘He claims to know you as well,’ Mr Noakes was saying. ‘But you don’t remember him?’

  ‘No,’ Luna shook her head. ‘My father had a lot of friends, though.’

  ‘And you were very young,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes,’ she said solemnly, thinking she could detect, not for the first time, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. Although their relationship was purely professional, she remembered Mr Noakes observing once, during one of several meetings they had when she was a teenager, ‘I do believe, Miss Gregory, that one look from you would convince any judge to grant your emancipation.’

  At this point the silent receptionist ushered in a curly-haired man in his mid-forties. Luna rose from her chair and was taken completely unaware when the man took her by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks.