He felt this was unlikely, seeing as the only woman he’d ever come close to feeling serious about was currently avoiding him.
Baby Olly made a noise, indicating he needed more space. Grown-up Olly knew the feeling and shuffled out of the window seat.
Adjusting his nephew in his arms, he wandered around the art room. It was one of the few rooms in the castle he felt comfortable in, despite its painful connotations. The second-hand canvases he’d picked up from the junk shop were propped against the easel, partly covered in his efforts to paint his grandfather’s portrait and hidden beneath a dustsheet.
Having lied about knowing nothing about art, he didn’t want Lexi to see them and realise he’d told yet another fib. His brushes were soaking in jars and the faint smell of turpentine hung in the air, but there was nothing he could do about that. And besides, it was a comforting smell. A reminder of how important art was to him. He’d missed painting.
This realisation had enabled him to reach a decision about his future. He could either stay angry with his parents and never paint again, or let go of his resentment and build a new life for himself. It hadn’t been a difficult choice.
Baby Olly fidgeted in his arms. His nephew was a demanding little bugger. But big Olly was grateful. If nothing else, his namesake was providing a much-needed diversion from thinking about the events of the last few days. Particularly, what had happened with Lexi.
He paced the room, trying to pacify the little guy squirming in his arms.
The same question kept playing on his mind. What would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted and Louisa hadn’t gone into labour? Would they have spent the night together? Would their casual hook-up have developed into something more? Or would she have regretted letting things escalate? One thing was certain: things couldn’t be anymore awkward than they currently were.
Footsteps in the hallway alerted him to the arrival of company. The ancient door swung open and Sophie marched in. Oh, good. Just what he needed. Another bollocking.
She looked her usual styled self, wearing a floaty wrap-around dress. Her blonde hair was loose and shone like something from a shampoo advert. Only Sophie could weather the effects of three days with little sleep and still look like she’d stepped out of Vogue magazine.
‘He’s due for a feed,’ she said, walking across the room, her jewelled flip-flops slapping against the wooden flooring. ‘I’ve warmed it as per Louisa’s instructions.’ She handed him a bottle of expressed milk and then moved away, clearly unwilling to be lumbered with the task.
‘I don’t think he’s hungry,’ he said, trying out the soft teat against the baby’s lips. Like a Venus flytrap, his nephew’s mouth was around the rubber and suckling before he’d even tilted the bottle. ‘Okay, what do I know?’
Sophie lifted the dustsheet and looked at the canvases he’d been working on. ‘You’re painting again?’ There was a hint of accusation in her tone.
He angled the bottle higher. His nephew had inherited his ability to down a pint in seconds. ‘Is there a problem?’
Sophie glanced over. ‘Of course there’s a problem.’
‘Why’s that?’ He kept his focus on his nephew.
‘Because it pisses me off.’ She dropped the dustsheet and turned to face him. ‘You disappear for eleven years leaving us to deal with our parents, and when the conflict’s over, you swan back in like the prodigal son and pick up where you left off like nothing’s happened. You have no idea the shit Louisa and I had to endure while you were exploring the world.’
She was right, he didn’t. But if she thought he’d had an easy time of it, then she was mistaken. Except, he couldn’t tell her that, could he?
She walked over. ‘It was easier when you weren’t here. I could hate you without feeling conflicted.’
He flinched. ‘Sorry.’
‘So you keep saying. I’ve yet to see any evidence you mean it.’
Her comment stung. ‘I’m trying, Soph. But nothing I do is good enough. Tell me what you want me to do.’
She folded her arms. ‘Not messing around with the woman paid to value our art collection would be a start.’
He had no defence there.
‘And what was that nonsense about you breaking into her gallery and getting stabbed?’
He focused on feeding the baby. ‘A misunderstanding.’
‘Bollocks. More likely another example of us trying to deal with the family’s estate and you messing it up. Do you have any idea what a tabloid would make of this? We’d be a laughing stock. Can you imagine the headline? The Earl of Horsley caught with his pants down.’
He hadn’t thought of that. He’d been too focused on preventing the Spinelli scandal hitting the papers to worry about his own behaviour.
Sophie stood over him, unnervingly like his mother used to do, wearing an equally disappointed expression. ‘You say you want to make amends, but all I see are more examples of your selfish, destructive behaviour.’
He glanced up. ‘Do you want me to leave?’ The idea of leaving filled him with dread. But if he was making things worse by staying then he had no choice. ‘I’ll go, if that’s what you want.’
She let out a long breath. ‘Like I’d do that to Louisa. She’s been through enough.’
He wished Sophie wanted him to stay for her own sake, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him. Could he blame her? Still, it was up to him to change her opinion of him. He couldn’t change the past, but he could make the future better. For all of them.
She perched on the arm of the battered Edwardian sofa. ‘Why is her sister here?’
‘Tasha?’ He shrugged. ‘No idea.’
She crossed her legs. ‘What do you know about her?’
‘Not a lot. Other than she runs a tattoo parlour in Windsor.’ And could do a lot of damage with a shoehorn.
‘Windsor?’ Sophie stood so quickly she knocked his arm, jerking the bottle from Baby Olly’s mouth.
His nephew protested at having his tea interrupted.
‘Jesus, calm down. You’re hardly likely to bump into her, are you? I imagine you socialise in very different circles.’
Sophie paced the room, deep in thought. Her hair swung behind her like a river. It didn’t surprise him that she’d been voted one of the country’s fifty most eligible women a few years back. But if any man had won her heart, Olly had yet to know about it. Whoever they were, they’d need a strong constitution.
He resumed feeding his nephew. ‘Have you thought anymore about which property we should sell?’
‘There is no we,’ she snapped. ‘This is between Louisa and me. You gave up your right to have a say when you buggered off.’
She went over to the window and gazed out, her posture rigid and closed, like she was fighting to keep control. Not for the first time, he wondered what she was hiding.
As siblings, they were very different, but the one commonality they shared was the ability to pretend. He knew deep down Sophie’s anger wasn’t only about him. There was more going on. But what? A lack of love? Depression? Work issues? Whatever it was, it was eating away at her, just as keeping his parents’ secret was eating away at him.
She rested her head against the glass. ‘There’s nothing to think about. Selling Rubha Castle is the logical decision. It costs ten times more than the Windsor townhouse to maintain. Not to mention the difference in resale value. We could live off the proceeds of this place for the rest of our lives. Selling the Windsor property would barely cover his upbringing.’ She pointed at her nephew.
‘But it’s not that straightforward, is it?’ Olly realised the bottle was empty. ‘There’s also our heritage to consider.’ He eased his nephew onto his shoulder and rubbed his back.
Sophie looked incredulous. ‘Don’t you dare throw that in my face. You have no right to talk about our heritage.’
He stopped patting. ‘Maybe not, but Louisa does.’
‘You’re taking Louisa’s side?’
‘Only because sh
e’s not up to taking you on right now.’
Baby Olly burped, reminding big Olly to continue rubbing.
Sophie snatched a paintbrush and pointed it at him. ‘Are you accusing me of being a bully?’
Heaven forbid. ‘You’re quite a formidable opponent.’
She tapped the brush against her palm like a riding crop. ‘Like I’ve ever managed to persuade Louisa to do something she doesn’t want to do. I’m not the only stubborn one in this family.’ She marched over and smacked his thigh with the brush. ‘And while we’re on the subject of money, when are you going to get a job? We’re not bankrolling you for the rest of our lives, Olly.’
‘I don’t expect you to.’ Although what the hell he was going to do, he didn’t know. His CV wasn’t exactly impressive. ‘But this isn’t about me, it’s about you two. If funds weren’t an issue, which property would you sell?’
‘Neither.’
‘But if you had to sell one?’
She threw her arms in the air. ‘There’s no point wasting time thinking about it, because money is an issue. And the sooner you both accept that, the better.’
He stopped rubbing his nephew’s back. ‘You’re not going to mention this to Louisa, are you? Not while she’s still fragile.’
Sophie glared at him. ‘No, Olly, I’m not. Because unlike you, I know how to honour a promise.’
He flinched. She had him there.
The door swung open. Lexi’s sister stood in the doorway, looking at odds with her medieval surroundings. She was wearing a black velour top and purple miniskirt covered with leather straps. Spiderweb earrings hung below her asymmetric bob and her long, toned legs were visible beneath fishnet tights. Her buckled stiletto boots brought back memories of Sunday night and nearly being impaled by one. He felt his manhood recoil.
Never one to be intimidated, Sophie drew herself up to her full height. ‘Can we help you?’
Tasha walked into the room. ‘I’m looking for my sister. Your housekeeper said to try in here.’
Sophie glided over. ‘As you can see, she isn’t here.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘No.’
Tasha switched focus to Olly. ‘Do you know where Lexi is?’
Sophie stepped in front of her. ‘No, he doesn’t.’
Tasha raised an eyebrow. ‘Can’t he answer for himself?’
‘I’m answering for him.’ Sophie nodded at the door. ‘That’s your cue to leave.’
Tasha held her ground. ‘Not very friendly, are you?’
‘Not towards everyone, no.’
‘I don’t know what your problem is, but it was your brother who broke into my sister’s gallery.’
‘And it was your sister who stabbed him.’
Tasha took a step closer. ‘Maybe he deserved it.’
Sophie also took a step closer. ‘And maybe we should reconsider our choice of gallery for dealing with the family’s estate.’
Olly wasn’t sure what would have happened if Lexi hadn’t appeared in the doorway. She looked startled when she saw Tasha and Sophie nose-to-nose. ‘Tasha? What are you doing?’ She raced over and tugged on her sister’s arm. ‘Stop that.’
Tasha’s eyes remained locked on Sophie’s. ‘I was looking for you.’
Sophie wasn’t backing down, either. ‘And now you’ve found her.’
Lexi glanced over, looking for an ally.
Olly smiled, offering his support. In truth, he couldn’t help smiling. She was wearing a cherry-patterned summer dress with red ballet pumps. She looked adorable.
Her eyes dipped to the bundle in his arms and she half-smiled before seeming to shake herself free from the sight of a man cradling a baby.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, reverting to business mode. ‘I had no idea my sister was here.’ She pushed Tasha towards the doorway. ‘We won’t disturb you any further.’
Tasha turned back when she reached the door. ‘It was a pleasure chatting to you,’ she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Sophie’s hands went to her hips. ‘Oh, the pleasure was all mine.’
Olly wanted to laugh, until he glanced down and realised he had sick all over his T-shirt. He stared at his nephew. ‘You know, it’s just as well I like you.’
Chapter Fifteen
Monday 18th June
Lexi buttoned up her navy cardigan, shivering in her denim pedal pushers and red ballet pumps. It was cold in the banqueting hall. The mist had rolled down from the mountaintops and was hovering above the loch like a mass of cobwebs. The view from the castle, normally so bright and beautiful, looked miserable and spooky this morning. No less impressive but imposing for a different reason.
The morose weather matched her mood. She was feeling unsettled from arguing with Tasha. It had been a week since they’d fallen out. Tasha had spent the first three days trying to apologise, turning up at the castle every morning only for Lexi to turn her away repeatedly.
But when Tasha hadn’t shown up last Friday, Lexi realised she’d been too hard on her sister. It was her own guilt she had a problem with, not Tasha’s. So she’d headed into the village, intending to confess about taking the twenty-seven grand – only to discover Tasha had checked out of her hotel and returned to Windsor.
Lexi had left numerous messages asking Tasha to contact her, but it was radio silence. She’d called Mel in desperation. Her assistant had assured her the gallery was fine and so was Tasha. Which should have made her feel better but didn’t. They’d never gone this long without talking. No matter what had happened in their lives, they’d always stuck together. She felt sick at the thought of not having Tasha in her life.
She removed her glasses and wiped away tears. Her eyes were scratchy from a lack of sleep. So much for thinking her insomnia was cured.
She lifted the lid on the Tupperware container and removed a homemade Chelsea bun. She was almost done cataloguing the Wentworth art collection. The exhibition was scheduled for this Friday. This time next week she’d be back in Windsor, where she could hopefully make up with Tasha, sort her life out and work out how the hell she was going to pay off the official receiver.
She rubbed her chest, hit by a sudden pang. She’d be sad to leave Scotland. Olly, too. However much she distrusted him, she couldn’t help liking him. It wasn’t logical, or sensible. And maybe Tasha was right. Perhaps she did have a weakness for unsuitable men. But that didn’t make walking away from him any easier. He’d brought some much-needed laughter to her life and stopped her stressing over the future of her gallery. And for that, she would be eternally grateful.
She continued updating her spreadsheet, when an email popped into her inbox advertising an auction at Sotheby’s in Edinburgh next week: Renaissance Masters – Copies of the Greats. She was about to close it, when she noticed one of the listings. The unattributed Woman at the Window. The seller was Mr M. Aldridge.
Lexi stared at the screen. He wouldn’t?
She clicked on the details. It was her painting. Bloody Marcus! He hadn’t hung around, had he?
Trying to stem the panic coursing through her, she got up and began pacing, her ballet pumps slipping off the tartan rug. He was selling her precious painting? Bastard. Like he hadn’t hurt her enough? She wanted to scream. She wanted to do more than scream, but losing the plot wouldn’t help. She needed to think.
God, she wished Tasha was here.
Two Chelsea buns later, she arrived at the conclusion that there were only two viable options: go to the police with the paperwork proving she was the rightful owner, or get the painting back before the auction.
If she went to the police, she’d have to explain why she’d never reported it stolen. Which might lead to questions about where she’d got the money to pay for it. The painting would be confiscated, she’d be charged with theft and her professional reputation would be ruined. But at least the official receiver would get his money. Marcus would be punished for his crimes and this whole sorry mess would be over.
A bang made her jump.
She turned to see Louisa wheeling into the room, her broken leg still in an orthopaedic boot. She was wearing a padded body warmer with a blanket draped over her knees, Baby Olly asleep in her lap.
‘Need a hand?’ Louisa asked.
Lexi helped her through the doorway. ‘There’s not much more to do. I’m sending the catalogue details to the printers today and I need to finalise the buffet details with Gilly, but other than that we’re good to go.’
‘It’s freezing in here. Don’t you want the fire on?’
‘I’m okay,’ she lied, not wanting to put Louisa out. ‘How’s motherhood?’
‘Exhausting,’ she said, beaming. Her hair was freshly styled and her cheeks were glowing. Motherhood suited her. ‘I’ve barely slept and my boobs hurt.’
Lexi laughed. ‘Sounds idyllic.’
‘He’s worth it.’ Louisa stared down at her sleeping son, her face a picture of love. ‘I’ll be glad to get out of this chair. It’s driving me crazy. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’
‘I don’t think so.’ She picked up her to-do list from the table. ‘Oh, there is one thing. Your cousin, Tom.’
Louisa frowned. ‘Tom? What about him?’
‘I wondered if he’d been located yet.’
Louisa lifted an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t know he was missing.’
‘Oh, he’s not. At least, I hope not. It’s just that Olly said he was uncontactable right now. There’s no phone or internet connection where he is.’
Louisa looked confused. ‘What, in Brighton?’
‘Isn’t he in India?’
‘India?’ Louisa looked startled.
It was as she’d thought. Olly was up to something. She decided to dig a little deeper. ‘I was hoping to persuade him to exhibit his work along with your mother’s this Friday. I appreciate your cousin’s a recluse, but I really feel taking the opportunity to show samples of his work will attract considerable interest. If you do manage to get hold of him, maybe you could ask him to contact me. I truly believe he has a promising career ahead of him. He’s extremely talented.’
Louisa shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.’
Secret Things and Highland Flings Page 17
