Chapter Seventeen
Friday 22nd June
Lexi looked around the banqueting hall and mentally hugged herself. She couldn’t believe how beautiful everything looked. All her hard work had paid off. Which was just as well. She was exhausted. She’d been up half the night ensuring everything was ready for the exhibition today. Mrs Jennings had organised a fantastic spread of food and although there’d been no need for her to get involved, Lexi hadn’t been able to resist baking a few sweet treats. As her sister had pointed out, she baked when she was stressed. And boy, was she stressed.
She draped the newly acquired tartan tablecloth over the Thomas Sheraton table and placed the spray of white orchids interspersed with purple heather in the centre.
Perfect … unlike her life. Because however she looked at it, she owed twenty-seven grand to the official receiver, her ex-husband had stolen her only valuable possession and on Monday she was going to attempt to ‘swap’ it back.
She shuddered at the thought. What the hell was she thinking? It was crazy even to contemplate pulling off such a daring heist. She wasn’t cut out for a life of misdemeanour. Or prison, for that matter. Her ex might be comfortable duping the authorities, but she wasn’t.
She straightened the vase, trying to calm her nerves.
Did it count as breaking the law if the item already belonged to her? Or was she simply trying to justify her actions? Either way, she needed to focus on today and not let her mind torture her with endless questions. Like how the hell Olly had obtained a copy of the Woman at the Window so good it had fooled her into believing it was the original. She was still smarting over that.
She picked up the bowl of whisky dip to go with the seared Scottish salmon and took it into the billeting room where the buffet was laid out. She wanted to believe there was a perfectly simple explanation as to how he’d come by the painting. But a more likely scenario was that his lordship was as crooked as her ex and once again she’d fallen for a dishonest rogue. Which depressed her a lot more than it should.
A pair of hands squeezed her waist.
She squealed. ‘If you make me drop this dip I won’t be happy.’
Olly’s arms circled her waist. ‘You know what would make me happy?’ he said, kissing the side of her neck.
The man had a skilful mouth. ‘I can only guess.’
‘When can I get you alone?’
She turned in his arms, sliding the dip onto the table, fully intending to end their flirtations once and for all, because despite her attraction, Olly wasn’t a man she could trust. But her protestations died on her lips when she saw his neatly combed hair. He was wearing a soft blue shirt and smart jeans, and she couldn’t help smiling. She’d asked him to make an effort and he had. He also smelt divine, a woody scent that could easily seduce a woman into removing her underwear. Damn.
‘Tonight, after the exhibition,’ she said, resigned to her fate. There was no point fighting it. After all, come Monday it would all be over. This could be her last chance to have some fun. ‘Think you can last until then?’
His response was to lift her onto the table. ‘Sure. Can you?’
Christ, he could kiss. She felt the pull deep in her stomach. For a moment, all of her stresses melted away and she kissed him back, loving the feel of him in her arms, holding her, touching her … and then sanity kicked in and she pulled away, breathless and dishevelled. A reporter from The Scotsman was due any moment and this wasn’t the photo she wanted appearing in next week’s paper.
‘Behave. We have work to do.’
‘Spoilsport.’ He helped her off the table. ‘What needs doing?’
She pointed upstairs.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m game if you are, but is there time?’
She couldn’t help laughing. ‘I meant, go upstairs and help Mrs Jennings bring down the rest of the food.’
‘Oh, right.’ He gave her a quick kiss. ‘Can’t blame a guy for trying.’
She smiled. ‘Today needs to be a success.’ Not just because his family’s finances were on the line, but the future of her gallery was hanging in the balance, too. ‘Quit with the flirting. I need to behave like a professional.’
‘You’re a woman in control, I get it. It’s one of the things I love about you.’
They both stilled.
Had he just said, ‘love’?
Olly looked as surprised as she felt. There was a long-drawn-out moment where they stared at each other. And then his blue eyes widened and his cheeks coloured. ‘Err … I’d better go,’ he said, bolting out of the door and knocking into a chair.
Life with Olly around was never dull. But love? Surely not?
Slightly thrown, she went over to the ornate mirror hanging in the alcove and dug out her lipstick. Her hand shook as she tried to reapply the colour, which Olly had removed with his attentive lips. For a woman supposedly in control, she sure felt wobbly.
He couldn’t be in love with her. It wasn’t logical. And she certainly wasn’t in love with him. At least, she was pretty sure she wasn’t. It was just physical attraction making her feel giddy and whimsical. And as nice as that was, she had to be cautious. After Marcus, she’d promised never to let lust lead her astray again. Overactive pheromones clouded the brain and made a woman say crazy things like ‘I do’. She couldn’t let that happen again.
Olly was a good-looking charmer. He was sexy, fun and had a big heart. But was he trustworthy? All she really knew was that he was the type of guy who could make a woman forget her own name and that was a recipe for disaster.
Analysing the situation would have to wait. She had more important things to focus on. She smoothed down the front of her turquoise Bettie Page dress, checked she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth and fluffed up her hair. It was game time.
Voices from next door alerted her to visitors arriving. Louisa and Harry were in the banqueting hall discussing the display. Lexi joined them. She waited by the doorway, eager to see their reaction to the ornate statues and candelabras she’d found hidden away in the Chippendale cabinet. The room glowed even more than normal. The soft gold lighting showed off the paintings at their best.
Louisa was in her wheelchair, Baby Oliver asleep in her lap. She wore a navy velour dress with a tartan sash. Despite her injury, she looked elegant and serene.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, clutching her husband’s hand. ‘I never expected this.’
Harry smiled down at her. ‘Looks great, doesn’t it?’
Lexi let out a breath. They liked it. She walked into the room. ‘The paintings depict everyday life of the aristocracy set against a backdrop of a stately home. I wanted something to compliment your mother’s vision and inspiration for the work.’
Louisa dabbed her eyes. ‘She would’ve loved this. Thank you.’
Lexi smiled. ‘My pleasure.’
Harry squeezed his wife’s shoulder. ‘Do you need anything before I head off to work?’
Louisa shook her head. ‘I’m fine. Have a good day. Love you.’
Harry bent down and kissed her. ‘Love you too, honey. Hope the exhibition goes well.’ He kissed his son and left.
Lexi turned away. More declarations of love. Was there something in the air? But it was nice to see a couple happy and in love, a reminder that not all relationships ended with a visit from the bailiffs. Maybe one day she’d meet a man who looked at her the way Harry looked at Louisa. But then she realised she already had.
Tasha appeared in the room, changing the dynamic.
Sophie appeared in the opposite doorway. Were they somehow linked by an outside force? They looked like opposing chess queens. Sophie was wearing an elegant white maxidress, her blonde hair tied up, showing off her long neck and dangly earrings. In contrast, Tasha was wearing her black PVC Matrix coatdress and heeled boots, ready for her role as ‘security’ for the event.
They both stilled when they spotted each other, their postures straightening as they considered thei
r next strategic move.
Lexi wasn’t about to give them the opportunity to cause a scene. ‘Has the piper arrived?’ she asked her sister.
Tasha’s eyes remained locked on Sophie’s. ‘He’s setting up outside.’
‘Excellent.’ Lexi turned to Sophie. ‘It would be great if you could greet the guests as they arrive and direct them to the banqueting hall. Would that be okay?’
Sophie didn’t so much as blink. ‘I said I’d help, didn’t I?’
‘You did, and I’m very grateful.’ Lexi turned to Louisa. ‘Are you happy staying in here and chatting to the guests? I’m sure they’ll want to discuss your mother’s work and meet members of the Wentworth family.’
Louisa nodded. ‘Yes, of course—’
‘Is my brother helping?’ Sophie interrupted. ‘Or is he lazing about somewhere letting everyone else do the hard work?’
Lexi felt a frisson of annoyance on Olly’s behalf. The man was far from lazy. He spent his days helping with the farm animals, running around after Louisa, babysitting his nephew and running chores for Mrs Jennings. Not to mention coming up with ideas to get her painting back. And although she wasn’t about to air her feelings on the subject, she felt Sophie was being too hard on her brother.
‘Olly’s helping Mrs Jennings bring down the buffet food. He’s going to help Tasha with security and ensure guests don’t venture into the private quarters.’
Sophie didn’t look impressed. ‘How long have we got?’
Lexi checked her watch. ‘Not long. The reporter from The Scotsman will be here soon. Can everyone take up their positions, please.’
Tasha and Sophie didn’t budge.
Lexi sighed and forcibly pushed her sister towards the door. Honestly. Talk about unsubtle. ‘Time to go.’
Tasha eyeballed Sophie as she was marched out. ‘What is that woman’s problem?’
‘I think you are.’
Tasha frowned. ‘Me? What have I done?’
‘You don’t know?’
Tasha shrugged. ‘Not a clue.’
‘And I always thought you were the smart one.’ Lexi pointed towards the inner courtyard. ‘I’ve got my phone on me. Call if there are any problems.’
‘I need the loo first.’
‘Fine, but hurry up. The reporter’ll be here soon.’
Lexi returned to the billeting room. She had one last task before the guests started arriving. She removed the box containing the Dazed & Confused sketches from the alcove and carried it over to the table. Lifting the lid, she carefully removed them.
As she arranged them, the faint sound of bagpipes filtered through the narrow slit windows. The weather was good, thank goodness. A wet and windy day would discourage visitors. But the sun was out and it was already warm.
The melodic music helped to stem her nerves as she secured the sketches to the display boards. God, she hoped today would go without a hitch.
When she’d finished, she stood back to admire the display. Her first impressions had proved correct. These works might be unfinished and primitive, but they were nonetheless exquisite pieces of art. She wasn’t losing her touch. After the fiasco last night and not spotting the Woman at the Window was a fake, it was a comforting thought.
Thinking about the Woman at the Window made her peer closer at the sketches. There was a familiarity in the way the lines glided across the paper, a confident use of tone and colour. If she were a betting woman, she’d say the same artist was responsible for both sets of work. But that was impossible. Tom was in India travelling. Or at home in Brighton, depending on who you believed.
She was so absorbed in thought that she didn’t hear anyone approach. So it was something of a shock to turn and find her ex-husband standing in front of her. ‘Marcus! What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I saw the event listed on your website. I thought I’d stop by and say hi.’ He stepped closer. ‘Miss me?’
‘No.’ Was he for real? ‘Where’s my painting?’
‘What painting?’
‘You know damn well what painting.’ She considered admitting she knew it was listed for auction next week, but figured that might jeopardise her chances of getting it back. If he knew she was on to him, he’d be on his guard and less likely to fall for a scam. ‘Why are you in Scotland?’
‘I think you know why.’ He pulled her close, a strong waft of Paco Rabanne rooting her to the spot. Unlike Olly’s enticing kiss, Marcus’s effort was harsh, like he was trying to claim something that was no longer his.
She twisted away from his mouth. ‘Let go of me.’
His hand slipped around the back of her neck, preventing her from moving. ‘Time apart has made me re-evaluate what I want. I need you in my life, Lexi. I meant what I said before. I want you back.’
She pushed him away. ‘You think I’d trust you again, after everything you’ve done?’
He sighed. ‘I’ve made mistakes, I get that. But I’ve changed. You can trust me now.’
Was he serious? She took in his deep suntan, designer jacket and expensive haircut. For someone supposedly bankrupt he looked decidedly well groomed.
Outrage fuelled her anger. ‘Marcus, you hid a gambling problem from me. You stole the sale money from my Franz Gerste collection and you forged my signature on a bogus insurance policy, not to mention emptying our bank account and running off to Spain with your PA.’ Her hands went to her hips. ‘Trusting you is something I won’t be doing.’
‘What insurance policy?’
God, he was a good liar. Anyone watching their exchange would assume it was her who was being unreasonable.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
But gone were the days when she’d doubt her own sanity. She could see Marcus for what he was now. A conman. A player. A man willing to sacrifice the woman he loves to protect his own interests. ‘Don’t play dumb, Marcus. You know exactly what insurance policy. And just so you know, I reported you to the official receiver for forging my signature.’
‘I never—’
‘Yes, you did. And you know what? I hope they catch you. I can’t believe I spent so long protecting you. I’ve had enough. Now get out. Or I’m calling the police and reporting you for theft as well as fraud.’
He had the audacity to laugh. ‘You threatened to call the cops before, but you didn’t do it, did you? Which means you must still love me.’ He reached for her.
Was he for real? She stepped away. ‘No, Marcus, it simply means I’m not a lowlife rat like you are. And there’s still time to involve the police. Now leave, or I’ll be forced to add harassing your ex-wife to your growing list of misdemeanours.’
Marcus wasn’t fazed. ‘I don’t think you have the nerve.’
She stood her ground. ‘Maybe not. But I do have the nerve to call Tasha. She’s here, you know. At the castle. Only a phone call away.’
He looked wary. ‘You’re bluffing.’
She pulled her shoulders back. ‘Try me.’
They were interrupted by a man’s voice. ‘Are you Ms Ryan?’
She swung around to see a young guy wearing thick-rimmed glasses and carrying a leather satchel. He held up a notepad. Damn. The reporter. How long had he been standing there? She swallowed and darted over. ‘Hi, you must be …?’
‘Eddie Newell.’ He shook her hand. ‘The Scotsman.’
‘Good to meet you. Do come through to the exhibition. It’s being held in the banqueting hall.’ She steered him towards the doorway, glancing back to glare at Marcus, who blew her a kiss. Bloody man.
She turned away, torn between not wanting to leave him alone and wanting to get as far away as possible.
‘Here we are,’ she said as they entered the banqueting hall. ‘The paintings along the left-hand wall are from the Eleanor Wentworth collection. The others are selected pieces being offered for sale.’
‘Nice,’ he said, looking around.
She glanced at the door, unnerved at leaving Marcus to his own devices. It
was no good, she had to get rid of him. ‘Would you excuse me a moment? There’s an urgent matter that needs my attention.’
He dug out his camera. ‘Okay if I take some shots?’
‘Please do.’ She left him and ran over to Louisa, who was chatting with Mrs Jennings. ‘The guy over there’s from The Scotsman,’ she whispered. ‘Can you keep him occupied? There’s something I need to do.’
Louisa looked alarmed. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Absolutely peachy,’ she lied, forcing a smile. ‘Get him a drink, or something.’
Leaving them to entertain the reporter, she ran back to the billeting room. The guests had started to arrive. A group were heading through the doorway. Where was Marcus? Had he left? Somehow, she doubted it.
She searched the corridor. No sign of him. She turned sharply and bumped into Olly.
He reached out to steady her. ‘Hey, what’s the emergency?’
‘My ex-husband,’ she said, wringing her hands together. ‘He’s here.’
‘Marcus?’
She nodded. ‘And now the reporter from The Scotsman is here, too.’
‘Why’s your ex-husband here?’ And then he spotted something over her shoulder. His expression changed from confusion to pure horror and the colour drained from his face.
She turned to see what had spooked him. ‘Olly, what’s wrong?’
He nodded to the display. ‘Those godawful pictures,’ he said, sounding annoyed. ‘Why the hell have you displayed them? Take them down. They’re ruining the integrity of the show.’
What was he on about? ‘The Dazed & Confused sketches? Don’t be ridiculous. They’re astonishingly good. They deserve to be on show. No way am I taking them down.’
‘But I told you Tom wouldn’t want them displayed. You had no right.’
She’d never seen Olly angry before. ‘Louisa gave her permission.’
He swore under his breath. ‘Well … Tom didn’t.’ His agitation increased. ‘He’s likely to sue. He’s a bloody barrister, for crying out loud.’ He rubbed his forehead.
‘A barrister? I thought he was an artist?’
‘What?’ He looked rattled, and then he groaned and chastised himself. ‘Right, yeah. Painting’s a hobby. He’s a barrister by day.’
Secret Things and Highland Flings Page 20
