Page 55 of Lochlan

“Thank you,” I say, reaching for the package. “Why didn't Geordie call me?”

“Because it was Connell who gave me the message.”

There's a soft click of the lock and I'm left alone. I settle the package on my desk, looking for something that will tell me who sent this. There are no markings from a commercial carrier or the post office; this must have come by private courier. I impatiently tear the brown paper covering only to reach a cardboard barrier, but at least this layer has a letter taped to the front. I lay the package down to remove the envelope.

Lochlan, Sorry I didn't send you any preliminary sketches to review. Once I began to draw, I abandoned the pencil and picked up the watercolors. The photos you provided seem to inspire this result. I hope you approve. Logan.

I pull away brown paper and cardboard until all of it lies on my desk and floor like the aftermath of a child's birthday party. What Logan has done can only be described as breathtaking.

I prop the painting on my credenza to rest against the wall and step back a distance to study his work. The painting captures what I couldn't in my photographs. There's an ethereal quality of a woman that I can't identify as Kenzie; instead it is an archetype of a Scottish woman. He's added an element that wasn't in the pictures I sent him. Logan has extended the fabric of the plaid to drape over one shoulder, leaving the arm and the hand that holds the wineglass bare. I study the stemware she tips to her lips. He's removed the MacTavish logo from the glass.

The desk phone rings, disturbing my concentration. “Lochlan here,” I say into the receiver.

“I'm back, cousin. You can come to my office for our meeting.”

I glance back at the painting. “For today's meeting, we should have a change of venue. I want you here in my office.”

“Are you planning a wee power play, sitting behind your executive desk that's far too big for you, but that you insisted on as the wine manager?”

“No, I've planned to display my dominance over you next week. I've just received something today that I'd like you to see.”

“All I can say is the hike had better be worth the trip.” The phone goes dead.

I search in the credenza's drawer for a sample a rep from a branded merchandising company gave me. It's a throw made from the MacTavish plaid that we sell in the wine shop. I place the soft red fabric on the painting.

Geordie will dawdle a bit before he leaves to let me know he's not available at my beck and call. Geordie is affable enough; he has a stubborn streak and a fierce sense of justice when aroused. What I rely on is his loyalty and his advice that I almost never take. I've just about answered all of my emails when Geordie appears in my doorway.

“You took your time, cousin.”

Geordie moves into the room, unaffected by my accusation. “Well, the winemaker has a busy job. I'm here now; what is it you want me to see?”

I move from behind my desk to avoid a damper on the reveal and lean against the front of my desk. “Pull the cloth,” I say, motioning to the credenza. He shakes his head but does what I ask. The red cloth pools at the base of the painting. Geordie steps back to gaze at the art; there are a few moments before he's able to speak. “This is Logan's work, but who is the model?” he asks with deep reverence.

I think about lying, but there's no need to protect her, not from Geordie. “It's Kenzie. I'll not tell you the circumstance of how this occurred, but she agreed to a photo session. I sent the pictures to Logan to see if he would be interested in producing a painting. This is what he sent me.”

Geordie draws closer, running a finger along Kenzie's jawline. “She's that beautiful; you're a lucky man.”

“It's not me who will be the lucky man. Our relationship is over.”

“What did you do, or did she finally come to her senses?”

“It was a mutual decision.”

He narrows his eyes in disbelief. “I can't figure out your love life,” he says, taking the seat in front of my desk. “Does this have something to do with your meeting with Fiona?”

“That meeting I had with Fiona was a beginning. I've spoken to her since Granda left. She's renting a small house not far from here. It will be convenient for her when we're working on the Catriona project.”

“Are you telling me that one meeting washed away all doubt you had from three years ago?”

I cross my arms, preparing to defend my position. “I'm different, and so is she. She wants to get back together.”

Geordie throws up his hands. “You've chosen Fiona over Kenzie. Has being away for three years washed all your memories away? You were like a man possessed when you were with her. A zombie without free will. You're not that way with Kenzie.”

“Aye, well, that was in the past. We're both different.”

“All I can say is that I hope you know what you're doing.” Geordie glances back at the painting. “Are you planning to leave that here?”

“I haven't decided.”

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