London Tides: A Novel (The MacDonald Family Trilogy Book 2) Read Free Page A

for her latest matchmaking attempt.”
    “That bad?”
    “Pretty, but insipid.”
    Ian took another sip, intending to fortify himself for the inquisition, but the trail it burned down his throat convinced him to set the glass on a nearby table. He decided to cut to the chase. Rodney would get it out of him eventually anyway. “Grace is back.”
    “Ah.”
    “That’s all you’ve got to say? Ah ?”
    “What do you want me to say?”
    “That I’m mad to be thinking about her after what happened.”
    Rodney shrugged.
    “You don’t think so?”
    “You were happy with Grace right up until she disappeared.”
    “We were too different. Look at Mum and Dad. They were happy for a while; then Mum left.”
    “There’s much more to that story than a few differences.” Rodney tossed back the rest of the cocktail, then set his glass down beside Ian’s. “And you are not as much like your mother as you think. You drive the Healey?”
    “Of course.”
    “Let’s go have a look, then.”
    Ian cast a glance back at Marjorie, but she had been waylaid by a group of her guests, none of whom could possibly be Rachel. He hoped. A judge with his family, or maybe an MP. They all looked alike to Ian. He followed his uncle back around the side of the house to the drive.
    “How’s work?” Rodney asked.
    “Work is … work.” It wasn’t that Ian disliked his job exactly. His brother, Jamie, was a renowned chef who had built his first restaurant into an empire that now included six locations, several cookbooks, and a recently completed television cooking program. There was no way he could handle the details himself, and Ian was good at details. But it wasn’t exactly the career he’d envisioned for himself
    Fortunately Rodney didn’t press, instead stopping next to the Healey to give it an admiring once-over. “Beautiful car, this is. Shame the only time you bring it out is for your mum’s brunches.”
    Ian crossed his arms over his chest. “Say what you really want to say.”
    “Am I that transparent? Fine, then. I want to know when you’re going to give yourself permission to do what you want to do.”
    “I am doing what I want to do.”
    “Are you? Just because Grace left doesn’t make your mother right. Not about who you are, what you do, who you love.”
    “You’re telling me that I should give Grace another chance.”
    “I’m telling you that you don’t need anyone’s permission. Your life is between you and God. And don’t give me that look. I know I’m a drunk. God loves me anyway.” Rodney circled the car, squatted down to examine the grille, stood back up again. He winked at Ian. “If a beauty liked that belonged to me, I wouldn’t be spending my Saturday here with the rich and boring.”
    Rodney wasn’t entirely talking about the car. Ian loosened his tie and strode resolutely back to the gathering, hoping his mum wasn’t yet looking for him. She’d more willingly excuse murder than rudeness. A sign of poor breeding, she’d say, which was ironic considering most of her English friends thought Ian’s Scottish upbringing made that a foregone conclusion.
    Sure enough, his mum wore a look that told him his escape had not gone unnoticed, and she unleashed the full force of her glare as soon as he got within shouting distance. Fortunately one of her staff drew her off before she could head his direction. A reprieve, if only temporary.
    Outdoor brunch at Leaf Hill was distinguished from indoor brunch only by the location: the china, crystal, silver, and linen were simply transported onto the patio in their entirety. Ian followed the flow of guests to the patio table and found his designated spot to Marjorie’s left. The judge stopped on his mum’s other side. When the older man leaned down to whisper something in her ear, Ian’s eyebrows reached skyward. Was this more than just a political connection?
    “Ah, I should have known.” A pretty, young woman—ginger hair, pale skin, warm brown