Page 97 of One Night in Glasgow
“My dear Elisabeth,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I was wondering when you’d come to your senses.”
I walked to the armchair opposite her and slowly sank into it. My rehearsed plan, my confident strategy, suddenly felt flimsy, ridiculous. My hand, hidden in the deep pocket of my coat, fumbled for my phone. My thumb found the record button, but my nerve was failing. For a moment, it felt like I was going to chicken out. She’s my mother. A master of manipulations. Who am I to think I can go up against Fiona Anne MacLeod? The voice in my head screamed at me to run.
Then I pictured Sean’s face in my mind. The look in his eyes as those handcuffs clicked shut. The quiet, absolute way he had sacrificed his freedom for me. That image was the steel that went straight through my spine. I took a slow, steadying breath.
“You were right,” I whispered, my voice a broken, trembling thing. I conjured a single tear, letting it trace a path down my cheek. “You were right about everything, Mother.”
Her smile widened. My capitulation. This was the moment she had been waiting for.
“Sean… he’s a violent, impulsive man,” I continued, the words tasting like poison. “I see that now. What he did to Stewart was gruesome.” I looked up at her, my eyes pleading. “Things are over between me and Sean. I’ve ended it.”
I watched as she basked in her triumph, smiling. “That’s absolutely wonderful, dear. We should start planning an engagement party for you and Stew?—”
“No, Mother,” I cut her off, my voice gaining an edge of steel. “I couldnevermarry Stewart now.”
Her smile faltered. “What on earth are you talking about, dear?”
“I always knew Stewart was weak and pathetic, but I neversaw him as a monster.” I spun to face her, my voice filled with a new, powerful conviction. “I could never marry a man like that, Mother. I willnotbe the wife of a rapist.”
Mother let out a short, sharp laugh, a sound as brittle and cold as ice. “Oh, Elisabeth, listen to yourself. You and your melodrama,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “A rapist? You’ve been reading too many of those trashy novels again. Stewart Beauchamp wouldn’t have the imagination for such a thing, let alone the spine.”
I just stood there, my expression unwavering, letting her laughter die in the heavy silence of the room. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t argue. I just let her see the absolute, unshakeable conviction in my eyes.
And that’s when I saw the flash of panic. My refusal to be dismissed, my cold certainty, was something she hadn’t anticipated. In trying to make Sean look like a brute, she had accidentally made Stewart, her chosen candidate, look unforgivable in my eyes. Her plan was backfiring.
She set her teacup down with a sharp click, her composure finally cracking. “Stewart is a debtor, not a monster. He didn’t drug you.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, believing she was salvaging her plan. “This was for your own good, dear. But I told him about your little mark. It was all my idea.”
Her confession hung in the air, and seeing the flicker of understanding on my face, she mistook it for dawning admiration of her cleverness. Her arrogance returned in a rush.
“I knew your American, with his brutish, protective passions, wouldn’t be able to handle it,” Fiona continued, savoring every word. “It was the only way to make you see him for the violent, unsophisticated savage he really is. The only way to save you from your own appalling choices.”
When I nodded in agreement, she continued, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I never told you before, but now that we’re on the same page; your little New York adventure was not unsupervised,” she said, as she touched my hand. “After your aunt arranged that ridiculous intern position, I took precautions. I contacted that young man, Garrett Reeves, myself. The plan was for him to get close, keep an eye on you, maybe break your heart a little. A necessary cruelty, to make you finally ready to come home and accept a sensible future with Stewart.”
She leaned back, a triumphant smile returning to her face. “So, Stewart is harmless, see? I did it all for you, darling. To protect this family.” She finally exhaled. “I’m so glad you finally understand me.”
I didn’t say a word. I just stood up, my hand still in my pocket, my thumb pressing ‘stop’ on the recording. I had everything I needed.
“Where are you going?” she demanded, her smile faltering as she saw the cold, clear resolve in my eyes.
“I’m going to go save the man I love,” I said simply, “from a monster.”
I walked out of the room without a backward glance, leaving my mother sitting alone with her teacup, the full weight of what she had just done slowly dawning on her stunned, triumphant face.
I metmy father in his solicitor’s office and played him the recording. The look of utter devastation, of horrified disbelief that washed over his face as he listened to his wife’s cold, calculated confession was absolute. He didn’t hesitate. He tookthe recording directly to his lawyers, who immediately forwarded it to the police and the Crown prosecutor’s office.
The final scene of the battle took place hours later, outside the Glasgow police station. The sky was a moody, bruised purple, but for the first time in my life, I felt the sun on my face. The assault charges against Sean had been dropped, the case thrown out due to the clear, irrefutable evidence of premeditated provocation and entrapment. Not only had my mother warned Stewart; she had personally scripted the lie designed to incite Sean to violence.
He walked out of the station a free man, and saw me waiting for him across the street. We didn’t run to each other. We simply walked, closing the distance between us until we were face-to-face. The world seemed to fall away.
Sean gently touched the side of my face, his thumb brushing away a single tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. “It’s over,” I whispered, my voice thick with relief. “You’re safe.”
“We’re safe,” he corrected, his voice a low, rough murmur.
He pulled me into his arms, and I buried my face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him, the scent of safety, of home. In that quiet, profound embrace, surrounded by the sounds of the city I had once so desperately wanted to escape, our future finally, truly began.
“How are you holding up?” he murmured into my hair.
“I keep replaying it,” I confessed, my voice a whisper. “I painted Stewart Beauchamp as this great monster in my mind. This pathetic, weak man… I saw him as the final boss I had to defeat to finally be free.” A short, humorless laugh escaped my lips.
