Two Wee Drams of Love, page 9
He took her arm and resumed their stroll toward the legal gallows.
“Here we come to one of your good things, though why you’d focus on such a litany at this juncture, I do not know. Now, when I’m faced with losing my livelihood, and returning to Scotland is the only reasonable choice, I find instead I want to buy the house I’m living in, get Wallace some company for the long days he’s stuck at home, and otherwise anchor myself here more thoroughly.”
Jane was part of that, but not all of it. Taking a cat to Europe was no easy feat.
“But Scotland is home,” Jane said, ever the advocate—for anybody but herself. “Scotland is where you have nieces and nephews and the wee whatevers, and everybody can understand you when you cuss.”
“You can understand me when I don’t cuss. You can understand me when I don’t say anything at all.”
He should not have said that. Jane fell silent, no argument, no motions, no cross-examination as they ambled along.
“We’re not lying to our clients, Dunstan. That’s not the kind of lawyers we are.”
Now was his turn to argue, to point out that if they put the bald truth on the table, they wouldn’t be any kind of lawyers at all. They waited on a corner for the light to change, though no traffic moved in either direction.
“You’re sure, Jane?”
A leaf drifted by, one of the last golden remnants of the venerable oak.
“I would like to see Scotland someday,” she said. “I’d like that a lot. I can’t imagine an entire country where everybody sounds like you.”
Well, then. He walked along beside his Jane, a lightness suffusing him, despite the afternoon’s agenda.
Get fired.
Refund an entire retainer despite hours spent on the case.
Begin long, messy, ultimately costly disciplinary proceedings.
Shut down a law practice after years of trying to build it up.
And finish falling in love.
Not a bad day’s work.
He stopped outside the building housing Jane’s office, which was around the block from his. “I’ll see you at two. Mind you, don’t leave me to face the dragons alone.”
As if she would.
Jane stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Until two.”
* * *
What sort of man offers to ruin his career for a single night of—
Not sex.
Lovemaking? And cuddling, and talking. And more lovemaking, and sore earlobes, and sore…
Jane took the place across from Dunstan at his lovely conference table and pulled the Almquist file out of her bag, the Complaint for Limited Divorce right on top. Dunstan had on his glasses, his yellow legal pad at the ready, business as usual—except this was every lawyer’s worst nightmare.
And he was ready to face it with her.
“This shouldn’t take long,” Calvin said.
Across the table, Dorie watched him, and not with the guarded, bitchy expression of a woman preparing to do battle. She wore jeans and a UMBC sweatshirt, while Cal was in jeans, a blue button-down, and a tan corduroy jacket.
Counseling, then. They’d finally started counseling. Dunstan must have sensed this too, because under the stable, a large foot gently nudged at Jane’s boot.
“We have as much time as you need,” Dunstan said. “And we’re not on the clock.”
Of course they weren’t. Jane nudged him back: Good call.
“Tell them, Cal,” Dorie said. “It’s not complicated.”
No, it was not, though where was Calvin’s triple-steel reinforced Underwriters Laboratory-approved briefcase?
“My attorney said something that got me thinking,” Calvin said. “Jane said that I hadn’t kept a close enough eye on the household account. I’m the accountant in the family, and I leave all that for Dorie to manage.”
“I don’t mind,” Dorie said. “You put in enough hours with the numbers.”
They exchanged a look, a married-couple-shorthand look Jane couldn’t quite fathom. Divorces weren’t always nasty, though they were usually sad, and that look had held regret, at least.
“In any case,” Calvin went on, “I couldn’t get that observation out of my mind, and I began to look, really look, at what it takes to keep our house going. Having a new water heater installed on an emergency basis was hundreds of dollars. If we’d picked one up ourselves, and I’d taken a Saturday morning to install it—the boys would have helped, would have learned a few things.”
A regret phase then, but where were the Almquists headed with this?
“Cal asked to see the checkbook,” Dorie said, spreading her hands out flat on the conference table. Today her nails were plain, and she wore no rings—suggesting they’d found a good counselor. “At first I thought Cal was snooping, looking for how I’d wasted his hard-earned money.”
“Our hard-earned money,” Cal interjected.
“But then I figured, he’s still my husband, and we won’t get through this divorce by stealing from each other. I showed him the real checkbook.”
Dunstan shot Jane a perplexed look, but kept his thoughts and his toes to himself.
“Dorie keeps excellent records,” Cal said. “I’m an accountant, and I couldn’t see what any fool would have seen.”
“I didn’t want you to see, Vinnie.”
“And I can’t see,” Jane said. “What did you find in those records, Calvin?”
“I found my wife.”
Across the table, husband and wife visually held hands. Dunstan saw it too, because he pushed his yellow legal pad aside, put his pen down, and took off his glasses.
“My lawyer, who has never set foot in my house, picked up on what I’d been blind to,” Calvin said. “One income isn’t enough to sustain the lifestyle we enjoy. Dorie has been tutoring college kids in English, and what I assumed were trips to the gym, lunches with the ladies, and tennis games were Dorie’s way of bringing in extra money without making me feel inadequate.”
“It’s not that much,” Dorie said. “And I like helping young people learn. I have a master’s in English, and I wasn’t doing anything with it. And I would have told Cal soon, because we file our taxes jointly. A 1099 is a tough thing to hide from a CPA. Besides, Dunstan saw the same thing Jane did and was about to go all lawyer on the household financial records. I’d rather Cal learned the truth from me.”
“I lost sight of my marriage, but Dorie is right: I would have noticed a statement of income earned, but I’d become blind to my own wife. What does that say about me and my own accountability?”
“It says you’re human,” Dunstan suggested. “Does this mean you’ll go to counseling?”
Dorie tucked her hair back behind her ear, a curiously girlish gesture. “It means we went to bed—well, the utility closet first. And the shower, and then—”
“Sweetie.” Calvin’s tone was indulgent—or smug? “I don’t think a pair of divorce lawyers needs to know those details.”
“No,” Jane said. “We don’t.” The utility closet? “So where do you want to go from here with the lawsuit?”
“Nowhere,” Dorie replied. “Cal will telecommute two days a week outside of tax season, I’ll try to limit my tutoring to the other three days, and we’ll get back to being married.”
“You might still consider counseling,” Dunstan said.
“Maybe.” The look in Cal’s eyes promised his wife more trips to the utility closet too.
“I’ll be getting my checkbook, then,” Dunstan said, rising. “And I’ll forward to Doreen the contents of the file after I’ve had a chance to copy them.”
When the door had closed, Doreen appropriated Dunstan’s legal pad and pen and began to doodle.
“Is there any point telling that man to keep his checkbook?” she asked.
“None, and I have mine with me too,” Jane said, though it took a moment of fishing to find it. “I’m happy for you folks. This doesn’t happen often, but I’m always glad when it does.”
Calvin sidled around the table to take the seat Dunstan had vacated. “I liked that about you, that you pushed me toward reconciliation and counseling.”
“I don’t always,” Jane said, scrawling out a check. “Each case is different. Then too, sometimes the devil you know is the very best devil for you.”
She pushed the check across to Calvin, who had to inspect the amount.
“This is for the full retainer,” he said. “That’s not what we agreed to. I’m happy to pay—”
Doreen put her hand over his mouth. “Say thank you, Calvin.”
He kissed her fingers, and Jane nearly had to open a window. “Thank you, Jane, but why?”
Tell the client the truth that matters most. “Because this case has done my heart good.”
Doreen left off flirting with her husband long enough to peer at Jane. “Dunstan’s not a bad-looking guy, you know, though he’s a little on the imposing side. He seems kinda lonely to me, all work and no play. You two might get along. You should think about it.”
Jane was preserved from stammering a reply when the not-bad-looking guy himself came back into the room, check in hand.
“Best of luck, folks,” he said, handing Dorie her refund.
“Now, see what I mean?” Dorie said. “This is for the full amount too, and you two didn’t even have to consult each other about it. You might get along with each other better than you think. Honey, put this in the Christmas fund, would you?”
“I think we should start a second-honeymoon fund,” Calvin said, getting to his feet and tucking the check away. “Or maybe an annual honeymoon fund.”
“Out,” Dunstan said, pointing toward the door. “And never come back, because we willna represent you for any amount of money. Consider Scotland for one of those holidays, though. It’s beautiful any time of year.”
Doreen took Calvin by the hand, patted Dunstan’s cheek, and winked at Jane.
And then they were gone.
Saved by the utility closet.
* * *
“Is Scotland lovely any time of year?” Jane asked, tossing her checkbook into that great bag of hers.
What was she really asking?
“Depends on what part of Scotland. One area in the northwest gets close to sixteen feet of rainfall a year. A lot of our sadder, drunker ballads are from that region.”
“I’m neither sad nor drunk,” Jane said, running her fingers over the surface of the conference table. “I’m really, really relieved.”
Dunstan took the place beside her, purely for the pleasure of proximity to her, not because his own knees were feeling weak. “We had a near miss.”
“I don’t like that I put the cart before the horse,” Jane said. “I should have kept my pants on, withdrawn from the case, then jumped your bones.”
He prayed there was a but coming. “I’m not proud of myself in that regard, either.”
“Is there a but coming?”
Dunstan could tell from how Jane scooted a bit that beneath the table, she was shuffling off her boots.
“Yes. Yes, there is a but, or a however. We’re good at what we do, Jane.”
“Very good, which excuses nothing.”
The temptation to take her hand was nearly befuddling him, but he wanted to put his reasoning before her.
“We both know the rules, and for my part, when you gave me the opportunity, I put a higher value on sharing intimacies with you than I did on my continued ability to practice law.”
The grain of the chestnut surface apparently fascinated Jane, because she studied it as if it were an original manuscript of the first Supreme Court opinion handed down.
“Jane?”
“What you’re saying is, if you had it to do over again, even knowing we might be disbarred, even knowing it wasn’t smart or professional, you would have done the same thing—and so would I. What does that say about us, Dunstan? As attorneys, sworn to uphold the law, as officers of the court?”
The answer to her question had kept him up for two nights, and it did matter—some.
“It says the law is important to us, but we’re more important to each other. In this one instance, I can live with that revelation. I can even rejoice in it. I’ve never misstepped like this before, Jane, and I certainly don’t intend to again.”
He trapped her hand in his, lest she stroke the finish right off the conference table.
She turned her hand palm up and laced her fingers with his. “I’m not as ethical as you are.”
The hell she wasn’t. “I cannot believe you’ve ever before taken opposing counsel—”
Her free hand covered his mouth.
“I want to misstep with you a lot, Dunstan. This is a problem. We’re in a small jurisdiction, and the family law bar is smaller yet. We should have opposed each other at least twice a year, and why that hasn’t happened, I do not know.”
“You were willing to toss aside your license to practice law to have at my earlobes, and now you’re not willing to pass on the occasional case because I might oppose you? You’ll let yourself have a taste of something wonderful, then go back to chicken salad on wilted lettuce?”
“I had another option in mind.”
Options were good. The more options, the greater the likelihood of settlements. “I’m listening.” And holding her hand too tightly.
“I was hoping Louise would change her mind about art school, but she’s off to New York next semester, or somewhere. My office is set up for two attorneys, and I hate to do the billing.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You are a fraud, Jane DeLuca. A lovely, brilliant little fraud. Beneath that calculating legal mind beats the heart of a true romantic.”
“I really do hate the billing.”
A true, honest romantic. He tucked her hair back, the better to see the woman he loved. “Are you sure about this? Because clearly, my house has room for a home office.”
She regarded their joined hands solemnly. “Do you have a utility closet?”
“Aye. How do you feel about scheduled sex?”
She glanced at the clock. “I’m okay with it, occasionally. Maybe around 2:53 p.m.?”
“I had 2:55 p.m. in mind because we have one more item to cover in our first partners’ meeting. Will you come to Scotland with me over the holidays? Meet the family, dandle a few bairnies, flirt with Uncle Donald?”
“Yes.” She inched her chair closer. “This all feels very sudden, and very right.”
He gave up her hand for the pleasure of putting his arms around her. “That it does, but you should be warned, I’m no’ asking you to travel home with me simply to show off Scotland.”
“I’d love to see Scotland.”
“I’m scheduling a proposal, too, Jane DeLuca. I want to propose to you on my home turf, when I can tell my family if you’ve accepted and have my choice of fine whiskeys to console me if you turn me down.”
She kissed his cheek. “Does the conference room door lock?”
“Aye. Why?”
“Because it’s 2:55 p.m., and I’ve had ideas about this conference table since I first laid eyes on it.”
Dunstan locked the door, and they held the longest partners’ meeting in the history of Damson County bar association.
Dunroamin Holiday
* * *
By Grace Burrowes
* * *
Dedicated to my late brother-in-law, Dr. Thomas Edwards Polk, II, PhD. Tom gave me the first sincere compliment I can recall receiving, and since that day (I was about eleven), I’ve stood a little taller and been a little more confident.
* * *
Chapter One
* * *
“Scottish men are hot, fun, and emotionally unavailable,” the travel agent chirped. “Exactly what a girl needs for the perfect vacation.”
Louise Cameron hadn’t been a girl for years, while the woman madly typing on the other side of the desk—Hi, I’m Cindy!—looked like she’d yet to graduate high school.
“I need peace and quiet,” Louise said, “which is why I’ll spend my time in a cottage in the Scottish countryside, more or less by myself.”
The agent, a perky exponent of the more-highlights-are-better school of cosmetology, swiveled away from her keyboard as a printer purred out an itinerary.
“The Scottish countryside is full of men, braw, bonnie laddies who can hold their whisky, so to speak. Hit the nearest pub and wear dancing shoes. You know the tickets are nonrefundable?”
The question gave Louise a pang. “The charges have already hit my credit card.” Jane had insisted as only Jane could, and in a weak moment of rebound impulsivity, Louise had capitulated.
Nonrefundable tickets were cheaper, and a woman who’d abandoned the lucrative practice of law needed to watch her piggy bank—or return to the practice of law.
“Then you’re all set!” Hi-I’m-Cindy! snatched the itinerary from the printer, tucked it into an envelope, and slid the packet across the desk. “Let me know if you have a good time, though I’m sure you will. Scotland is one of the fastest-growing travel destinations on the planet and for good reason. We’ve had nothing but rave reviews for Dunroamin Cottage, and the scenery is unbelievable, if you know what I mean.”
Before Louise could be subjected to a lascivious wink, she stuffed the itinerary and tickets into her purse and rose.
“Thanks, Cindy. I’ll tell the braw, kilted laddies you said hello. I’m off to lunch.” With the author of Louise’s latest misfortune.
Jane had already chosen a table when Louise arrived at their favorite Eritrean restaurant—also the only Eritrean restaurant in Damson Valley.
“Greetings, earthling!” Jane said, bouncing to her feet and kissing Louise’s cheek. “If you bailed on your Scottish vacation, I will sue the travel agent.”
Jane looked better than ever, her red hair longer than Louise recalled seeing it, her petite figure every bit as perfect. Jane’s recent marriage to, and law practice merger with, Dunstan Cromarty was probably responsible for the damned twinkle in her eyes.
