‘I spoke to Olly about it. Didn’t he mention it?’
‘He didn’t say a word.’
‘Oh … Well, I found a box of preliminary works in the billeting room. Copies of the masters but with a contemporary twist. I’d like permission to display them. Olly said he’d speak to Tom and try to persuade him.’
Louisa’s confusion hadn’t lifted. ‘What’s it got to do with Tom?’
‘He’s the artist. I need his permission to exhibit the work.’
Louisa laughed. ‘Tom doesn’t paint.’ And then she frowned. ‘At least, not to my knowledge.’
‘So who painted the sketches? They’re clearly not the work of your mother.’
‘They probably belong to …’ Louisa stilled. There was a long-drawn-out moment where she blinked, rubbed her forehead and then cleared her throat. ‘Can I have a look at one of the sketches?’
Lexi scrolled through her phone. ‘I took a couple of photos.’ She handed Louisa her phone.
Louisa was quiet for a good few seconds. ‘And Olly told you Tom painted these?’
Lexi nodded.
Another pause.
‘Now I come to think of it …’ She cleared her throat. ‘I do remember we found a box of old sketches when we cleared out the art room after Mother’s death.’ She handed the phone back to Lexi, not making eye contact. ‘But … Tom made it clear he wasn’t interested in keeping them. The reason I didn’t remember was because he doesn’t paint anymore. In fact, it’s been years. It’s a sore subject in our family.’ She glanced away, making a point of adjusting Baby Olly’s blanket.
‘That’s such a shame. He’s astonishingly talented.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ Louisa looked up, her expression turning ponderous. ‘You know, perhaps displaying his work will finally convince him he has a true gift.’ She tapped her fingers on the arm of the wheelchair as if deciding something. ‘Let’s do it. You have my permission to exhibit my cousin’s work at the exhibition.’
Lexi wasn’t sure what was going on, but she was delighted nonetheless. ‘Oh, thank you. We’ll apply the same commission rate to any sales, obviously.’
Louisa rubbed her forehead. ‘I hope I don’t live to regret it.’
‘Are you worried about going behind Olly’s back again?’
She gave a rueful smile. ‘Something like that.’
‘I don’t want to cause any friction.’
‘Don’t worry, I can handle Olly.’ Louisa wheeled over to the door. ‘But maybe just keep it between us, okay?’
Lexi nodded. ‘Sure, whatever you say.’
When Louisa had left, Lexi finished updating the spreadsheet. Deceiving Olly wasn’t a good feeling, but she really felt the paintings deserved to be shown. Plus, she needed all the commission she could get. Especially if she couldn’t get the Woman at the Window back. She needed another way of paying off the official receiver.
She’d just searched for the Insolvency Service website, when the door opened again. God, she hoped it wasn’t Sophie. The woman scared the life out of her.
She turned to find Tasha standing in the doorway, looking sheepish. Well, for her, anyway. She had on a black PVC jacket, a beret and black skinny jeans.
Lexi ran over and hugged her. ‘You came back?’
Tasha stiffened in her arms. ‘I couldn’t stay away knowing you were pissed off with me.’
‘I’m so glad you’re here.’
‘You’re not still mad at me?’
‘Hell, yes.’ Lexi hugged her tighter, overcome with love and the scent of Rock n’ Rose Couture. ‘But I understand why you did it. I love you.’
‘I love you, too. But unless you let go of me, you’re not going to have a sister to fight with. I can’t breathe.’
‘Sorry.’ Lexi let go and looked up her sister. ‘You have no idea how glad I am to see you.’
‘I’m really sorry—’
‘Don’t.’ She stepped away. ‘There’s something I need to tell you and it’ll be worse if I let you apologise again.’
Tasha removed her wet jacket. ‘Does it have something to do with the Woman at the Window?’
Lexi frowned. ‘How did you know?’
‘Educated guess.’ Tasha slung her jacket over a chair. ‘First, I’m your twin. You think I can’t tell when something’s bothering you? Secondly, you’ve been twitchy ever since you bought that painting. Thirdly, Marcus wouldn’t have taken it if it wasn’t valuable.’ She sat in the wingback chair and crossed her legs. ‘Finally, I’m no dummy. You think I can’t tell a genuine Renaissance painting from a copy?’
‘You knew? Why didn’t you say something?’
Tasha shrugged. ‘I figured you must have had a good reason for lying.’ She rested her hands in her lap. ‘I’m guessing I’m about to find out what that is.’
It was time to confess. No more prevaricating. ‘You remember when I had to get a solicitor to gain access to the house before the enforced sale?’
Tasha nodded.
‘Well, I found a bag containing a lot of money.’
‘How much money?’
‘Twenty-seven thousand pounds.’
Tasha raised an eyebrow.
‘It was stuffed inside a holdall in the airing cupboard. I thought it was the money Marcus received for selling my Franz Gerste collection.’
‘A fair assumption.’
‘So I took it. I know I should’ve declared it, but I didn’t. Six months went by and still no one asked about it, so I bought the Woman at the Window as an investment.’ Lexi braced herself for the fallout.
‘Good for you. I’d have done the same.’
She wasn’t expecting that. ‘You would?’
‘Marcus stole from you. Repeatedly. For two years. He owed you.’
Lexi adjusted her glasses. ‘Well, yes, that’s what I figured. But it was still wrong of me.’
‘Legally, yes. Morally, no.’ Tasha tilted her head. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘It’s not the response I was expecting. I thought you’d be mad at me. Ashamed that I stole something that didn’t belong to me.’
‘Do you think Marcus obtained that money legally?’
‘I know he didn’t. It’s the proceeds from the life insurance policy.’
‘An insurance policy he fraudulently took out in your name.’ Tasha stood up. ‘So let me ask you this? What do you think would’ve happened if you hadn’t taken the money?’
‘Marcus would’ve taken it.’
‘Exactly. He would’ve taken the money and run back to that tart, Cindy, in Spain and you wouldn’t have seen a penny of it.’
‘That doesn’t make what I did right.’
‘But it doesn’t change the outcome, either.’ Tasha walked over. ‘If you didn’t take the money, would it have stopped the official receiver coming after you?’
‘No.’
She shrugged. ‘So either way the debt is still owing.’
‘There’s one big difference.’
‘Which is?’
‘When I had the painting, I had a means of paying off the debt. Now I don’t. I should’ve sold the painting as soon as I knew about the insurance policy. I didn’t. So it’s my own stupid fault that I’m in this mess.’
Tasha’s hands went to her hips. ‘Are you for real? Marcus “Scumbag” Aldridge is the reason you’re in this mess. No other reason. If it weren’t for him you wouldn’t have been made bankrupt. You wouldn’t have lost your home. And you’d still have the money from the sale of your Franz Gerste collection.’
Her sister had a point. ‘There’s something else.’
Tasha rolled her eyes. ‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘Marcus has listed the Woman at the Window for auction next Monday.’
‘Good.’
Another reaction she hadn’t expected. ‘How is that good?’
‘Because we know where the painting will be on Monday. Which means we have an opportunity to get it back.’
; ‘That was my first thought, too. You really are my twin.’
‘Don’t ever forget it.’ Tasha kissed her cheek. ‘What’s the phone signal like down here?’
‘Terrible.’
‘I need to tell Mel I’ll be staying longer than planned. Don’t do anything illegal while I’m gone.’ Tasha headed for the door.
‘Tash?’ When her sister turned back, she smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘For not punishing me for my mistake. Like I did with you.’
‘Your mistake was justified. Mine wasn’t.’ She paused. ‘Well, not entirely,’ she said, disappearing outside.
Lexi slumped onto a chair and removed her glasses. She let her head drop to the table, her mind a whirl. There was so much going on it was hard to focus. At least she wasn’t alone. Tasha was on her side.
And then a man’s voice said, ‘Alone at last.’
Her head jerked up.
Olly was standing in the doorway. The sight of him leaning against the doorframe in a V-neck T-shirt and worn jeans was enough to make her breath hitch.
She tried to contain her relief at seeing him and went for a glare instead, putting her glasses back on. He wasn’t getting off that easily. ‘Go away. I’m busy.’
His cocky demeanour didn’t falter. ‘You know, you really need to start locking doors if you don’t want to be disturbed.’
She turned to face her laptop, trying to hide a smile. ‘Locked doors have never stopped you in the past.’
He grinned. ‘This is true. Miss me?’
‘No.’ Liar.
He came over and pinched one of her Chelsea buns. ‘You’ve been baking again?’
She moved the container out of reach. ‘I bake when I’m stressed. And Mrs Jennings said I can use the kitchen whenever I like.’
‘Why are you stressed?’ He took a bite of the bun. ‘Christ, these are nice.’ He perched on the table. ‘What’s wrong?’
She gave him a reproachful look. ‘Have you forgotten what happened last Sunday night?’
‘God, no. I’ve been replaying it in my mind several times a day. Well, up until the moment when your sister smacked me with a shoehorn. How is Morticia?’
‘Don’t call her that. Underneath the scary exterior is a pussycat.’
He choked on his bun. ‘A pussycat with nine-inch nails.’
‘Your sister isn’t exactly Tinkerbell.’ She handed him a bottle of water.
‘True,’ he said and took a swig of water. ‘So, what’s bothering you?’
She leant back in the chair. ‘Where do I begin? How about discovering that you lodged with my sister in Windsor last month?’
He flinched. ‘Yeah, about that.’
‘Let me guess, it had nothing to do with getting your painting back. You didn’t follow me up to Scotland and turning up on the mountain road was a complete coincidence.’ She folded her arms so she wasn’t tempted to do something crazy, like jump him. The memory of his hands caressing her still made her skin tingle.
He grinned, which did strange things to her insides. ‘Exactly.’
She rolled her eyes and turned back to her laptop, trying to break the effect he was having on her. ‘Why am I even surprised. Now, go away. I have bigger problems to deal with.’
But instead of leaving, he stood behind her and began massaging her shoulders. ‘Is it your ex? What’s he done now?’
God, he had lovely hands … ‘He’s listed my painting for auction.’
‘The one he stole?’
She angled the laptop so he could see the Sotheby’s email. ‘Yep.’
‘Have you called the police?’
‘I told you before, I have no proof he stole it. He’ll say I gave it to him.’
‘But if you’re the registered owner then he can’t sell it without your permission.’ He stopped massaging. ‘Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?’
She twisted to look at him. ‘Have you told me absolutely everything about your life?’ Her words evoked a flinch. Just as she thought.
He continued massaging. ‘If you can’t report him, what are you going to do?’
‘Go to the auction house and try to get the painting back before the sale.’ Her shoulders creaked. His fingers worked deeper and she could feel the muscles starting to relax. It was heavenly.
‘And how are you going to do that?’
‘No idea, but I’m sure we’ll think of something.’
‘We?’
‘Tasha’s back.’
His hands stilled. ‘Oh, good. I’ve missed her warmth.’
‘Quit having a go at my sister. She’s never let me down.’ Well, apart from reporting Marcus to HMRC. But she was over that. Mostly.
‘And nor have I.’
‘Are you kidding?’ She shuffled around to face him, ready to contradict him, but then realised he was right. Sort of. He’d rescued her off the mountain road, carried her over a stream and taught her how to ride a Vespa. If it wasn’t for the whole lying thing, he might be a man she could trust. It was quite a disturbing thought. ‘It’s not the same thing. Ours is a temporary arrangement. My sister’s a permanent fixture in my life.’
He was quiet for a few seconds. ‘Do you have the ownership papers with you?’
‘No, but I can get them. Why?’
‘If you show them to the auction house they might hand over the painting. If nothing else, it’ll delay the sale. They can’t continue if there’s a question mark over ownership.’
‘Maybe. But questions would still be asked.’ Like how someone who was made bankrupt a year ago could afford to buy a Renaissance masterpiece.
He looked ponderous. ‘I might have an idea.’
She stood up. ‘If it’s illegal, I don’t want to know.’
He moved forwards, trapping her against the table. ‘When are you going to believe that I’m a trustworthy guy?’ He kissed the side of her neck.
Well, he could stop that for a start … Just not right away.
‘Is this idea of yours totally legit?’
‘One hundred per cent.’ He continued to kiss her – light, feathery kisses that made her insides melt.
‘It doesn’t involve breaking the law in any way?’
‘It’s perfectly legal.’ He blew softly against her ear, sending shivers up her spine. ‘All you have to do is ask nicely.’ He lifted her onto the table and nudged between her legs.
Subtle. ‘Is that all?’
His arms slid around her. ‘That’s all.’
He pulled her close and she moaned as their lips met. His hands slid inside her cardigan, breaking down her resolve. She’d promised herself this wouldn’t happen again. It wasn’t professional, or sensible. But boy, it was certainly enjoyable.
And then a woman barked, ‘Not again!’
Their heads knocked together as they jumped apart.
Tasha stood in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘Seriously?’
If that wasn’t enough, Sophie appeared in the opposite doorway, adopting the same stance. ‘Is this your idea of being professional? Seducing my brother in the banqueting hall?’
Oh, hell. Lexi struggled to climb off the table.
Tasha strode into the room. ‘Don’t blame her. It’s your brother who needs a leash.’
Sophie met her halfway. ‘I don’t see her fighting him off.’
‘And I don’t see him keeping it in his pants!’
‘How dare you—’
Olly ran over and caught Sophie’s arm. ‘Sophie, pack it in!’ He turned back to Lexi. ‘You deal with your sister. I’ll deal with mine.’
Lexi straightened her cardigan. ‘No, problem.’
It wasn’t like her day could get any worse.
Chapter Sixteen
Thursday 21st June
Olly had spent the last three days locked inside the castle. He felt like one of those Jacobite prisoners from a bygone era, trapped in the dungeons with no means of escape. Only his imprisonment was self-inflict
ed – not to mention necessary if he was to prevent Lexi from finding out he could paint. Or that he was the artist known as Dazed & Confused. And especially not that he was the artist responsible for replicating the Woman at the Window – his master plan for getting her painting back.
His reasons for lying hadn’t changed – he was still trying to keep his family’s secret. Bizarrely, though, Lexi had stopped asking about the Spinelli. When he’d asked Louisa whether the painting had been returned, she’d confirmed that it had and that it was currently being stored somewhere ‘safe’. Whatever that meant.
Did that mean Lexi had accepted it was a copy? She’d been so convinced it was genuine he’d expected her to research the painting’s provenance, which would have made life extremely awkward. Especially if she’d discovered his family had sold the other supposed Spinelli eleven years ago along with one of his sketches. Instead, the topic hadn’t been raised since. And he couldn’t work out whether that was a good thing, or a bad omen.
He shook the thought away and continued painting his latest commission. Far from replicating a Renaissance masterpiece, he was currently painting a speckled toad sitting on top of a bright red toadstool. Louisa had asked him to design a mural for the nursery. It should have been the easier of the two tasks, but he had to resist the urge to paint demons instead of sprites and wolves instead of mice. He didn’t want to give his nephew nightmares. But at least Louisa was in better spirits.
Having finished work on the Woman at the Window yesterday, he’d then had to ‘bake’ it in the Aga before beating the crap out of the canvas to make it look authentically old. Forging the painting had been harder than anticipated. He hadn’t been able to match the right shade of blue and realised an overnight courier was required.
L. Cornelissen & Son were one of the few remaining stockists of lapis lazuli blue, a pigment made from the lapis rock, more valuable in weight than gold. He’d also purchased a quantity of phenol-formaldehyde resin to harden the paint, necessary if he stood any chance of passing even the most basic of forensic tests. The instructions had warned him the resin became toxic, corrosive and highly flammable when heated, but he hadn’t realised what an understatement that was. He’d been left with burnt fingers, a bitch of a headache and a newfound respect for the lengths art forgers went to in order to dupe the experts.
Secret Things and Highland Flings Page 18
