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Flynn was in no mood for humour. “I need to get rid of my agent and lawyer. And I need it to happen fast.” He let out a sigh. “You’re the only one I trust to sort this out at short notice. So I’m asking for a favour.”
There was silence. No jokes, no ribbing.
“Email the details.” Mitch was all business. “I’ll take care of it.”
Flynn felt relief flood him. “Thanks, man.”
“We’re friends,” was all Mitch said before hanging up.
Flynn looked around the room and suddenly it seemed different. Friends. Family. People in his corner. People who cared about him. Who worried about him.
An unfamiliar determination not to disappoint them swept through him. They deserved better than to deal with the fallout from his life. They deserved a better Flynn.
Suddenly the effort to be good didn’t seem so onerous after all.
26
"If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing again."
Terry Venables, former England manager
“Come on,” Lawrence told Victoria when she opened her hotel door on Friday morning. “We’re going for a walk. It’s a beautiful day.”
She blinked at him as though he’d suggested they dance naked down the high street.
“It’s just a walk. You’ll enjoy it. Trust me.”
“I’m reading.” She motioned to her perfectly made bed with the paperback novel resting on the
end of it. “I don’t have time for a walk. I’m expected at Abby’s house in an hour.”
“Get your bag. Put on your shoes. We’re going for a walk. You’ll make it to Abby’s house in time and the book can wait.”
She wavered. Indecision clear in her eyes.
“Chop, chop,” Lawrence said.
“Oh, all right.” She turned back into her room, picked up her grey leather handbag, slipped on a pair of sensible low-heeled shoes, checked her reflection in the mirror over the dresser, patted her hair—which was in a tight bun at the nape of her neck—then turned back to him.
It was only when she closed her door behind her that she really looked at Lawrence. “You’re wearing jeans.” Her shock was endearing. She said it in the same way someone else would say, “I can’t believe you invaded Russia.”
“Got them this morning.” Lawrence looked down at his new jeans. They were a bit pristine for his liking, but he planned to wear them in and mess them up. He also had on a long-sleeved shirt in the softest grey. The woman in the shop said the shirt was designed to be worn with the tails untucked. He’d done as she’d said, but he wasn’t sure about it. He’d spent most of his adult life in pristine suits. It felt strange to let his shirt hang out. Even stranger not to wear a tie.
Victoria considered him for a moment, her expression giving nothing away. Her eyes hit his polished leather shoes. “You may need new shoes.”
For a second he thought she was going to smile. “The woman in the shop suggested running shoes. She told me I needed to go to Fort William to buy them. I’m not sure running shoes are quite me, but Dougal told me to get deck shoes. He said they’re casual, comfortable and stylish. He also offered to go clothes shopping with me, if I needed further advice.”
The horror in Victoria’s face was priceless. “Dougal? The hotel owner? The man who wears pink shirts with green tartan bow ties and matching vests?”
Lawrence laughed. It felt good, and reminded him he hadn’t spent enough time laughing over the past few years.
“I hope you refused his offer.” Victoria was earnest.
“Don’t worry, Vicki. I have more sense than to shop with Dougal.”
“Good.” She nodded, but her cheeks flushed. “One thing...” Her hesitation was endearing. He softened further towards her. Reaching out, he took a chance and gently caressed her cheek. Her shocked eyes shot to his, but she didn’t stop him.
“What is it, Vicki?”
