Secret Things and Highland Flings

by Tracy Corbett

  So, having completed one project, he was now halfway through another.

  A knock on the door interrupted him mid-stroke. He didn’t think Lexi knew where the nursery was, but he couldn’t take any chances. If she walked in and found him painting an intricate mural, his lie about knowing nothing about art would be exposed. Hence the need for a locked door.

  The door handle rattled. ‘Olly …? Are you in there?’

  Sophie. He stepped over the roller trays and unlocked the door.

  She frowned. ‘Why’s the door locked?’

  ‘So people don’t walk in and knock over paint,’ he lied, even though it was a valid enough reason.

  Sophie didn’t look convinced and barged past. No doubt she suspected he was secretly harvesting a cannabis farm. Her expression changed when she saw the mural covering the walls. ‘Oh! you weren’t lying.’

  Why did everyone accuse him of lying all the time?

  And then he remembered why.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, turning to take in the woodland scene.

  Coming from Sophie, that was quite a compliment.

  ‘Louisa wanted to bring the outside in, but with a fairy-tale twist.’

  She went over and studied the far wall. He’d mirrored the view from the panoramic window, making the colours more vibrant and the foliage more cartoonlike.

  ‘I love this.’ She pointed to the otters playing in the loch. ‘Is that an eagle?’

  ‘Yep.’ His thoughts had drifted to his fishing trip with Lexi and the next thing he’d known he’d painted the eagle mid-flight.

  ‘Can I help?’

  He laughed.

  ‘I’m being serious.’ She scowled at him. ‘Believe it or not, I love my nephew, too.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. But you hate painting.’

  ‘Do you want help, or not?’ Her hands went to her hips.

  It was a sight he’d seen many times, but there was a hint of insecurity about Sophie today. But perhaps his radar was off, skewed by the phenol-formaldehyde. He handed her a large brush. ‘I wasn’t going to do much more tonight. The light’s fading. But the back wall needs a base coat of pale green, if you’re okay to do that?’

  ‘I think I can manage to paint a wall, Olly.’

  ‘Need overalls?’

  Anyone would think he’d suggested she shave her hair off. But then she glanced down at her designer jeans and snatched the plastic jumpsuit from him. ‘Fine.’

  ‘I think the word you’re looking for is thank you.’

  ‘Don’t push it,’ she said, climbing into the overalls.

  He wouldn’t dare. Except, it had been a long few days and he was tired of being used as her punchbag. ‘Can I ask you something?’ He returned to his forest design. He wanted to add little wooden doors to the tree trunks to make it look like animals lived inside. ‘Why are you so angry?’

  She zipped up the jumpsuit. ‘Are you for real?’

  ‘I get that you’re pissed off with me,’ he said, not sure whether turning his back on his sister was such a smart idea. ‘But at some point, you’re going to have to let it go.’

  ‘Why? You deserve it.’

  ‘I’ve been home for months. I’ve apologised on numerous occasions. I’ve promised to stay in the UK and I’ve offered to help with the estate. I know I’ve messed up, but cut me some slack, Sophie. What more can I do?’

  ‘If you think I’m about to forgive you, think again.’

  His brushstrokes slowed. ‘I’m not talking about forgiveness. But it feels like there’s something else going on.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m bringing it up.’ He turned to look at her. ‘I’m asking if you’re okay.’

  She wouldn’t look at him. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you unhappy in your job?’

  ‘My job’s fine.’

  ‘Is your health okay?’

  ‘Jesus, Olly.’ She turned to glare at him. ‘Everything’s fine, okay? My job, my health, my life. All is good.’

  ‘Is it a man? Has someone done the dirty on you?’

  She threw the paintbrush down. ‘Not everything revolves around men!’

  ‘I only meant—’

  She stormed over. ‘Just because I don’t advertise my relationships, it doesn’t mean something’s wrong.’

  ‘I realise that.’

  ‘And I don’t need a man to validate my worth.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Or complete me as a person. I’m a confident, self-sufficient woman.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I have good friends, a great job. I travel. I party. I work hard. There’s nothing a man can offer me that I can’t provide for myself.’

  ‘Whoa, Sophie.’ He held up his hands. ‘I hear you, okay?’

  ‘Good.’ Her cheeks were red from yelling.

  Christ, he’d really struck a nerve. ‘But if your life’s so wonderful, then why aren’t you happy?’

  She baulked. ‘Who says I’m not happy?’

  ‘No one can be this angry and say they’re happy.’

  She folded her arms. ‘Well, I am.’

  ‘You can talk to me, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, because you’ve made such a success of your life.’

  ‘Maybe that makes me the perfect person to talk to. I’m not going to judge you, whatever you say.’

  ‘Big of you.’ She kicked at the plastic sheeting covering the floor. ‘Like you’d understand.’

  So there was something wrong. ‘Try me.’

  She shook her head. ‘Some things are better kept hidden.’

  He could certainly relate to that. He touched her arm. ‘If you change your mind, I’m here for you, okay?’

  She stepped away. ‘Yeah, right. Like you have been for the past eleven years.’ She removed the overalls and dumped them on the floor. ‘This was a mistake.’ She was out of the room and slamming the door behind her before he could stop her.

  What the hell was that all about?

  He turned back to the wall, but the shadows were making it hard to see. It was time to pack up for the night.

  By the time he’d cleared up, his stomach was rumbling. He had a quick shower and headed to the kitchen. Gilly would have finished for the night, which meant he could raid the fridge without being scolded like a naughty schoolboy.

  He could hear music before he reached the top of the steps. The radio was on. He stopped by the door and glanced in.

  Lexi was singing along to a Supremes song and frantically beating the life out of a bowl of cake mixture. ‘Where did our love go?’ she sang, her hips swaying from side to side.

  He watched her for a moment, enjoying the way she moved. She seemed less stressed, less troubled than when they’d talked on Monday. No wonder baking was so important to her.

  And then she spotted him and her hips stopped wiggling. ‘Don’t creep up on me like that.’

  ‘Don’t stop on my account. What are you making?’ He went over.

  ‘Pancakes for Tasha. She’s staying for dinner and I didn’t want to put Mrs Jennings out.’ She spotted the burns on his hands. ‘How did you get those?’

  ‘Hot oven.’ She had a burn on her arm, too. ‘You …?’

  ‘Hot oven.’

  He laughed. ‘What a pair, eh?’

  She half-smiled. ‘Want some?’

  ‘God, yes.’

  He stepped closer with the intention of kissing her, but she backed away, laughing. ‘I meant, do you want some pancakes?’

  ‘Can I have both?’ He was about to try kissing her again, when he was struck by an idea. ‘Hold that thought,’ he said, racing from the room. ‘Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back.’

  He heard her sigh and resume singing. ‘Ooh, don’t you want me?’

  God, yes.

  It only took a couple of minutes to fetch the Woman at the Window from his room.

  His motivation for replicating the painting had arisen from wanting
to help Lexi get her prized possession back. He could argue it was because he was still trying to make amends for his numerous shortcomings, but if he were honest, it stemmed more from trying to win her over. He’d fallen for her. He hadn’t meant to, but he had. And seeing her stressed over the loss of her painting was hard to watch. He wanted to make it better for her.

  Plus, it’d been fun to test out his skills and see if he still had an eye for copying the masters. It was only when he’d finished painting the damned thing that he’d wondered whether or not he was being an idiot. So far he’d managed to hide the fact that his parents had fraudulently sold one of his sketches back in 2007. But if Lexi knew he’d painted this latest work there was no way a smart, art-educated woman like her wouldn’t suss that he was Dazed & Confused, or that he’d been lying about his reasons for wanting to get The Cursed Man back.

  Therefore, another lie was required. No way could she find out he was the artist responsible for copying the Woman at the Window. He needed to keep his wits about him.

  After checking the painting was dry, he wrapped it in a cloth and returned to the kitchen.

  She glanced up when he entered. ‘What have you got there?’

  He unwrapped the painting and lifted it up. The first test. How long would it take her to spot it was a copy? A couple of seconds? A couple of minutes?

  She let go of the whisk. It clattered to the floor, spraying pancake mixture across the kitchen. ‘What the …?’ Placing the bowl on the worktop, she raced over, wiping her hands on the front of Gilly’s floral apron. ‘You got it back? But how? I don’t understand.’ She took the painting from him.

  He was sure this was the moment she’d realise it was a forgery. He knew he couldn’t fool the smart gallery owner for long. But with low-key lighting, tiredness and desperation for a solution, the longer it took her to cotton on the better.

  He watched her face, waiting for the penny to drop.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, her eyes welling as she took in the sight of the demure Italian. ‘But … how … when? I don’t understand.’ She balanced the painting on the worktop. ‘Actually, you know what, I don’t care. I’m just so happy you got it back for me.’ She wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Thank you.’

  Okay, so her response was better than he could have dreamed of. Not only because his copy was good enough to fool her, but because she was back in his arms, dragging his mind back to when they’d almost got naked.

  But as nice as she felt pressing against him, he needed to break the bad news. ‘It’s a copy,’ he said, hating the way her body immediately stiffened.

  She drew back. ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to give you false hope. The good news is, if you’re fooled by it, chances are your ex will be, too.’

  Her face radiated disbelief and then disappointment followed by annoyance. ‘A copy?’ She grabbed the Woman at the Window and examined it closer. ‘That’s impossible.’ She assessed the canvas, her keen eye finally accepting the truth as she studied the brushwork and smell of phenol-formaldehyde. ‘Who the hell painted this?’

  ‘A mate.’

  She spun around to look at him. ‘A mate …?’

  He shrugged. ‘What can I say, I have accomplished friends.’

  ‘This isn’t an amateur copy, Olly. This is the work of a trained artist.’ Her gaze was now that of an art expert, not an ex-wife grieving for a lost possession. ‘I’m not joking, Olly. This painting’s exquisite. I’m going to ask you again, who painted it?’

  He took the painting from her. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter who painted it. All you need to know is, it’s someone you can trust.’

  ‘Rubbish. Anyone who paints like that is either a working artist or running a scam.’

  Not necessarily, he mused, placing the painting on the worktop. Although, technically he was suggesting they run a scam, so perhaps she was right.

  She wasn’t done quizzing. ‘A copy of this quality would sell for a small fortune. No one in their right mind would give it away.’

  A small fortune, huh? ‘No one outside of this room knows this painting exists.’

  ‘Except the artist.’

  She had him there. ‘Except the artist, of course.’ He gestured for her to take a seat. ‘Okay, so here’s how I think we should play this—’

  ‘It’s not stolen, is it?’ She jumped up from the table. ‘Where did you get it, a private collector? A museum? Where? Tell me!’

  He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s not stolen. Could you please just trust me?’

  Her demeanour switched to fury. ‘Are you kidding me? You show up here with a remarkable Renaissance copy with no explanation and you expect me to accept it and not ask questions?’

  He pinned her with a glare. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I expect you to do.’ He overrode her attempt to interrupt. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m trying to help. I’m doing this to try to get your flaming painting back. You think I want to piss off your ex-husband?’

  She folded her arms. ‘Which begs the question, why the hell are you doing this?’

  He closed the gap between them, clasped her face in his hands and kissed her. It was the only way to shut her up. When her lips softened, his body betrayed him, responding to the urgency of her mouth, relinquishing any control he might have had. He needed to get a grip. Who was fooling whom here?

  As he pulled away, she stumbled into his chest, reluctant to end the kiss. ‘Oh. That’s why?’

  ‘Got it in one.’ He should feel bad for duping her, but he needed to stop the incessant questioning.

  She smiled. ‘Explain it to me again.’

  He laughed, happy to oblige, until Tasha walked into the kitchen and said, ‘Oh, for God’s sake, you two, get a grip.’

  Lexi glared at her sister. ‘Play nice, Tasha. Olly has a plan to get my painting back.’

  Tasha raised an eyebrow. ‘This I have to hear.’ She sat down next to Lexi at the table.

  Two identical faces gazed at him expectantly. He was still struggling to get his head around that. ‘Okay, here’s the plan. As you can see, I’ve managed to obtain a copy of the Woman at the Window.’ He gestured to the canvas. ‘On Monday, we go to the auction house in Edinburgh and try to swap it for the original.’

  If he’d expected a round of applause, it didn’t come.

  ‘Is that it?’ Tasha didn’t look impressed. ‘We’d worked that much out for ourselves. Why should we involve you? Your track record isn’t exactly impressive when it comes to unlawful behaviour.’

  Lexi elbowed her sister. ‘Pack it in, Tasha.’

  ‘Why? You remind him of his inadequacies all the time.’

  ‘I’m allowed.’ She frowned at her twin. ‘You’re not. And it’s a good copy – it fooled me.’

  ‘Fine. Keep your hair on.’

  Olly continued. ‘The point is, we need to create an opportunity to swap the painting.’

  Lexi looked puzzled. ‘And how do we do that?’

  ‘By sweet-talking the auction house into letting you see the painting before the sale. Tasha then needs to cause a distraction. Something I’m sure she’ll find extremely easy to do.’

  His words evoked an eye-roll from Tasha.

  ‘At which point, we initiate the swap. No one’s any the wiser.’ He went over to Lexi. ‘You’re an expert in the Renaissance period and yet you didn’t notice straight away this was a copy. I’m guessing Marcus won’t, either.’

  Lexi frowned. ‘But what about the potential buyer of the copy? I don’t want to defraud anyone.’

  ‘You won’t be. The Woman at the Window is listed as a copy. No law will be broken.’

  ‘Oh, my God, you’re right.’ She paused. ‘Does that mean Marcus doesn’t realise it’s the original painting?’

  Tasha grunted. ‘Either that, or he’s so desperate for money he’s prepared to sell a genuine painting for a fraction of its true value.’

  ‘Which is more likely.’ Lexi sighed.
‘We’ll just have to hope the auction house don’t realise it’s the original.’

  ‘Why would they?’ Olly tilted his head. ‘There’s no need for them to authenticate copies, and it’s not like they’ll be expecting the original. I doubt they’ll even glance twice at it.’

  Lexi looked ponderous. ‘You know, your plan might work.’

  Tasha shook her head. ‘Or we could do the intelligent thing and shop Marcus to the cops. That way my sister gets her painting back and her scumbag ex gets what’s coming to him.’

  Olly shrugged. ‘Or we could do that.’

  Lexi gave her sister an exasperated look. ‘I don’t want to involve the police.’

  Tasha threw her hands in the air. ‘Put yourself first for once, will you. Your business is on the line. Everything you’ve ever worked for.’ She banged the table. ‘Haven’t you learnt anything from your dealings with that dickwit ex of yours? He’s an arsehole. He can’t be trusted. The minute he discovers you’ve played him he’ll come after you.’

  The room descended into silence.

  Olly wanted to ask why Lexi’s business was on the line, but he figured this wasn’t the appropriate time. Instead, he squeezed Lexi’s shoulder. ‘Your sister has a point.’

  ‘Thank you,’ snapped Tasha, sounding less than appeased.

  ‘You need to think of yourself here.’ He smiled at Lexi. ‘It’s your choice. If you don’t want to use the copy, that’s fine. If you do, I’m happy to help.’

  Guilt nudged him in the ribs. However he dressed it up, he was lying to her. Just like her ex. He might have a bloody good reason for doing so, but once she knew the truth, he’d be added to the list of men who’d betrayed her. It was a depressing thought.

  Lexi shook her head. ‘I know you’re right, both of you. But I don’t want Marcus arrested unless there’s no other choice.’ She looked at Olly. ‘Or you.’

  A warm ripple of something he didn’t quite recognise wrapped itself around his guilt. Christ, he was a fraud. ‘So, are we agreed we have a plan?’

  Lexi nodded. ‘I’m in.’

  He turned to her sister. ‘Tasha?’

  ‘Fine. But this has disaster written all over it.’

  He couldn’t argue with her there.