Secret Things and Highland Flings

by Tracy Corbett

  She frowned. ‘Who’s currently travelling around India?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And is a recluse?’

  Olly searched for another lie. She knew this, because his eyes flitted upwards and to the left. ‘That’s why he’s taken extended leave … to deal with his issues.’

  Rubbish. Something wasn’t adding up. Her hands went to her hips. ‘Well, tough. Louisa’s given her permission, so they’re staying. If you’ve got a problem, talk to her. But for now, I need to stop my ex-husband ruining this exhibition. So do something constructive and keep the journalist occupied while I try to find him.’

  She turned to go, but Olly caught her arm. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just—’

  ‘Just what, Olly?’

  She waited, hoping he’d tell her what was going on, but he shook his head, and said, ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Typical. She was sick of everyone lying to her. ‘I need to go.’

  She marched into the banqueting hall and found Marcus embroiled in a conversation with Louisa and the reporter. Oh, hell. Panic nearly wiped her legs from under her. She wanted to run over but realised she needed help. Specifically, her sister.

  She sent Tasha a message: Banqueting hall. NOW!

  Marcus glanced over. His smile was charming, open and totally sincere, which just showed what a practised liar he was. He knew she couldn’t make a scene with witnesses, which only added to the glee radiating off him. He really was a piece of work.

  She went over, wondering how on earth she was going to extract the reporter from Marcus’s clutches. Help came in the form of Olly, who raced past, took Eddie by the elbow and steered him towards two paintings of his aunty Clementine.

  ‘These will interest you,’ he said. ‘They’re of Lady Beit, owner of Russborough House. It’s an interesting story, way back in 1756 …’

  Lexi was grateful. Olly might be up to something dodgy, but he was also saving her bacon. She turned her attentions to her ex. ‘I thought you were leaving?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, unleashing his charm on Louisa. ‘Louisa was telling me about her mother’s collection. Such a fascinating story.’

  Louisa adjusted Baby Olly in her arms. ‘Mr Aldridge is buying the painting of Father in the study.’ She looked excited. ‘He was about to write a cheque.’

  A cheque? Oh, no. Lexi wasn’t about to let Marcus con the Wentworth family. She faked a smile. ‘Cash only, I’m afraid, Mr Aldridge.’

  He patted his pockets. ‘I seem to have forgotten my wallet.’

  Convenient. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. Next time, perhaps. Let me show you out.’

  ‘It’s no problem,’ Louisa said, her need for money clouding her judgement. ‘A cheque is fine.’

  Marcus looked like he’d won the lottery. ‘You’re too kind.’

  Lexi kept her smile in place. ‘And as soon as it clears, we’d be delighted to arrange delivery.’

  ‘And incur unnecessary delivery fees? I can’t ask you to do that,’ he said as if doing them a favour. ‘Taking it away today would make more sense.’ He lifted the painting off the stand. ‘It’s no bother.’

  Lexi grabbed the frame. ‘I can’t allow that, Mr Aldridge.’

  He pulled the painting towards him. ‘But the lovely Louisa has no objections. And it is her painting, after all.’

  Lexi pulled the painting towards her. ‘But the exhibition is being run by Ryan Fine Arts and gallery rules state payment in full prior to delivery.’

  Marcus wasn’t relenting. ‘You can make an exception for your husband—’

  ‘Ex-husband,’ Lexi corrected, tugging on the painting. ‘And no exceptions, I’m afraid.’ Especially not for lying, cheating scumbags who specialised in bouncing cheques.

  A flash startled her. She turned to see Eddie, the reporter, snapping away, no doubt eager to capture the scoop.

  Olly was trying to deter him, but young Eddie had sniffed out a story and wasn’t to be diverted. ‘Can you look this way?’ he said to Lexi. ‘You too, sir.’

  But before Eddie could take another photo, Sophie appeared out of nowhere and jerked his arm, sending his camera clattering to the floor. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said, dazzling him with a wide-eyed looked of mortification. ‘How clumsy of me.’ She bent down to retrieve the camera, ensuring he got an eyeful of her cleavage as she did so.

  And then Marcus yelped.

  Lexi turned to see her sister standing next to Marcus. There was nothing obvious happening, but when Lexi glanced down she realised Tasha’s stiletto heel was digging into Marcus’s foot. God, she loved her sister.

  Marcus’s grip on the painting relented. Lexi placed it back on the stand.

  There was a brief silence before Olly said, ‘How about a family photo? In front of the fireplace?’ When the reporter hesitated, he added, ‘With both of my sisters.’ It was enough to persuade Eddie to switch interests and resume gawping at Sophie. ‘The coat of arms is worth a photo alone. This way.’ He led Eddie away from the fracas.

  When they were out of earshot, Lexi turned to Tasha. ‘Get him out of here.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ she said, twisting Marcus’s arm behind his back.

  Marcus looked pleadingly at Lexi. ‘Is that any way to treat your husband?’

  ‘Ex-husband,’ Tasha and Lexi said in unison.

  ‘Move before I stamp on something else,’ Tasha added. ‘And I don’t mean your foot.’

  Marcus flinched. ‘You’re sick, you know that?’

  Tasha smiled. ‘And don’t you forget it.’

  Lexi watched Tasha drag Marcus from the room. Any remaining animosity towards her sister faded. Tasha had been right to report Marcus to HMRC. He wasn’t a nice man. She’d just been too weak to see it. Or too in love. Whatever the reason, she was over him. And she wouldn’t be making the same mistake again.

  The next three hours whizzed by. Thankfully, drama-free. She mingled with the guests, chatted about the merits of the artwork on display, and tried not to dwell on the damage her ex-husband could have caused if Sophie, Tasha and Olly hadn’t come to her rescue. She’d thank them later. For now, she needed to concentrate on being a professional art dealer.

  As she eased her way through the crowd, she was pleased to note that no one looked in any hurry to leave. The Drambuie, Edinburgh Gin and Highland Elderflower Wine was flowing, the buffet was being enjoyed, and Eddie, the reporter, had left with his story ready to print. She just hoped it was a glowing report on the success of the exhibition and not an exposé about her spat with her ex-husband.

  By the end of the day, they’d secured several sales. With the refreshments running low and the bagpiper blasting out his final tune, numbers had started to dwindle. Her feet hurt from standing in heels all day, so she made her way into the billeting room to sit down.

  She hesitated when she realised Sophie was also in the room. She was standing by the Dazed & Confused display, her head tilted to one side.

  Lexi kicked off her shoes and sat down. ‘Talented, isn’t he?’

  Sophie glanced over. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ She turned back to the display. ‘Annoyingly, yes.’

  Lexi rubbed her feet. ‘Annoyingly? Don’t you get on?’

  ‘Observant, aren’t you?’

  What an odd remark. ‘Being observant has nothing to do with it. I’ve never met your cousin. How would I know whether you get on or not?’

  Sophie turned to look at her. ‘My cousin?’

  ‘Tom. The artist, Dazed & Confused?’

  Sophie laughed. ‘You think Tom painted these?’

  Lexi frowned. ‘Didn’t he?’

  ‘My cousin doesn’t have an artistic bone in his body.’

  Lexi was confused. ‘Are you saying Tom isn’t the artist?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

  A sense of dread settled in her stomach. ‘And I’m guessing he’s not currently travelling around India?’

  ‘Why on earth would you think that?
He’s a barrister, not a flipping hippy.’

  Lexi almost didn’t want to ask the next question. ‘So, if Tom isn’t Dazed & Confused, who is?’

  Olly pushed Louisa’s wheelchair into the room. ‘That’s the last of the guests gone,’ he said, smiling. ‘I think the exhibition was a success. Don’t you?’ And then he spotted Lexi’s expression and his smile disappeared. ‘What?’

  Sophie folded her arms. ‘Lexi, I’d like you to meet Dazed & Confused.’

  The air left her lungs with a whoosh. Even though she’d suspected Olly of lying, this was a blow she hadn’t seen coming. Or perhaps subconsciously she had. The lights around her seemed to dip and she feared she might faint.

  ‘I can explain,’ he said, moving towards her.

  But she wasn’t interested in more lies. ‘I don’t want to hear it,’ she said, rage replacing any desire to pass out. ‘It’s too late.’

  All this time she’d been fooling herself that maybe he was trustworthy. Maybe he was an honest and decent human being, and maybe this time she wouldn’t fall in love with a no-good, lying, cheating crook. But he was no better than Marcus. And she was a fool for thinking otherwise.

  She marched over to him in her bare feet. ‘I have one question, Olly.’ She held his gaze, her hunch from earlier rearing its ugly head again. ‘Are you also responsible for copying the Woman at the Window?’

  When he closed his eyes, she had her answer.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Saturday 23rd June

  Olly woke early the next morning. Not that he’d slept much. His mind had been on permanent overdrive, replaying the events of yesterday. Lying in bed dwelling hadn’t helped, so he’d dressed and left the castle. Ignoring the low mist hanging mournfully over the mountains, he’d busied himself mucking out the animals and feeding the deer.

  As dawn broke, the sky cleared and the light changed from grey to mauve to turquoise in the space of a few hours. The loch mirrored the sky, the purpley-blue merging into the green foliage behind, making it look almost like tartan.

  But even the glasslike water reflecting the sunlight wasn’t enough to erase the pain gripping his chest.

  ‘You lied to me,’ Lexi had yelled, pointing to his sketches. ‘You played me for a fool. You’re a liar and no better than Marcus!’

  Her words had stung. He’d wanted to believe he was better than her ex. But when he’d tried to reason with her, she wasn’t interested in hearing him out.

  ‘I never want to see you again!’ she’d screamed, shoving him in the chest.

  Her parting words had tortured him all morning. To say he was gutted by her reaction to the discovery that he was Dazed & Confused would be an understatement. Although, not entirely unexpected. How did he think she’d react?

  He jumped from the tractor and emptied the rest of the feed into the troughs. The deer nestled closer, vying for position as he fed them. He stroked their velvety coats, remembering how enchanted Lexi had been when she’d met them.

  He could cope with her being angry with him for lying to her, but it was the hurt on her face that’d done him in. She felt betrayed and he felt like a prize arse.

  He walked back to the tractor, rubbing his chest. He had an ache that wouldn’t shift. She hadn’t been gone a day and he missed her already.

  It was eerily quiet when he got back to the castle. Lexi’s mint-green hire car was conspicuously absent from the parking area. His Vespa sat alone in the vast space, looking as small and as insignificant as he felt.

  Why had he thought lying was a good idea? The truth was bound to come out. He’d justified lying to her because he didn’t want her asking awkward questions or looking too closely at the family’s association with the two Spinelli paintings. But Lexi had stopped asking about The Cursed Man weeks ago. His family’s secret was safe. The painting was stored away in the castle, out of harm’s way. Job done.

  So why did he feel so crap?

  Because the cost of protecting his family had been losing Lexi.

  He washed his hands using the outside tap, glad of the cold water biting his skin. It felt good to be punished. He deserved it.

  Wiping his hands on his jeans, he headed inside the main keep. There was nothing he could do about Lexi leaving, but there was something he could do to protect his family from future exposure. As long as The Cursed Man existed, there was an evidence trail back to his parents. It was like an unexploded bomb, ticking away beneath them, counting down until it destroyed the entire family and four hundred years of history.

  Well, no more.

  The only reason he hadn’t acted before was because of his love of art. The Cursed Man was an exquisite painting. But it was also incriminating evidence. It was time to detonate the bomb.

  He found Louisa in the banqueting hall. She was nursing Baby Olly and chatting to Gilly, who was picking up discarded exhibition flyers from the floor. They stopped talking when he entered. It didn’t take a genius to work out he’d been the topic of conversation.

  Gilly’s smile brightened, but it was a little forced. ‘Will you be wanting breakfast this morning, your lordship?’ There was no hint of sarcasm in the housekeeper’s address today. She could tell he wasn’t in the mood to be provoked. Or perhaps it was because he was standing there dirty and dishevelled, smelling of animal feed and barely holding it together.

  ‘No thanks, Gilly.’ He walked over. ‘Would you excuse us a moment. I need to speak with my sister.’

  Gilly looked torn between relishing the prospect of gossip and knowing it wasn’t her place. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen if anyone needs me.’ She glanced at Louisa before reluctantly leaving.

  Louisa frowned up at him. She looked tired. She obviously hadn’t had the best night’s sleep, either. ‘You were up early this morning. Everything okay?’

  He waited until he was certain Gilly had disappeared. ‘Not really.’

  Louisa kissed her son. ‘Are you going to tell me why you pretended Tom painted your sketches?’

  And there it was. He’d anticipated the question. He had a rehearsed answer at the ready. ‘Insecurity, I guess. I didn’t think they were any good. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. You said it yourself, I’m exposed when I paint and I’m not comfortable with that.’

  Guilt nudged him in the chest. Constantly lying was exhausting. Necessary but exhausting.

  Louisa looked unconvinced. He couldn’t blame her.

  ‘Anyway, it’s irrelevant now,’ he said, admiring the flowers Lexi had arranged for the exhibition. ‘Lexi’s gone. But there’s something else I need to talk to you about.’ He knelt next to her wheelchair.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  Her eyes were cast downwards. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she knew he was about to lie. His guilt levels increased. But it also confirmed what he had to do next. ‘Where have you stored the painting we sent to the gallery? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

  She held his gaze. ‘You mean the Spinelli?’

  That startled him. He swallowed awkwardly. ‘How did you know it was a Spinelli?’

  ‘Lexi told me.’

  She’d gone behind his back? He tried not to feel aggrieved. ‘When?’

  ‘When she told me it was potentially valuable and asked for permission to send it off for authentication.’

  The room began to spin. He felt the air stick in his lungs. ‘Please tell me you said no.’

  She didn’t answer.

  Oh, crap. ‘Has it gone?’

  She nodded.

  He bit back an expletive. There was no point yelling. ‘When?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve talked to me first.’

  His sister’s expression switched from mildly remorseful to incensed. ‘Why? So you could lie to me again?’

  There was a challenge in her expression that made him flinch. His sister’s normally affable demeanour was absent this morning.

  ‘The pai
nting may or may not be genuine, Olly. But please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending the reason you were so desperate to get it back was because it was rubbish.’

  His lies were unravelling.

  Her green eyes pinned him with a glare. ‘You knew it was potentially valuable. The question is, why did you keep it a secret? We’re struggling financially. Sophie and I are at loggerheads over which property to sell and yet you kept hidden the fact that we might own a painting that could resolve all of our problems. Why?’

  He didn’t answer. He had no defence. Not one he could admit to.

  ‘I’ve always stuck up for you, Olly. When Sophie doubted your integrity, I defended you. I never believed for one second that you’d ever do anything to hurt us.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘So you weren’t planning to run off with the painting and sell it to fund your travels?’

  He jumped to his feet. Is that what she thought? ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Sure about that?’ The sound of Sophie’s voice made him turn. She was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a striped monochrome jumpsuit. ‘Because it looks like you were trying to scam us, Olly.’

  Panic enveloped him. ‘No way. I’d never do that.’

  She walked into the room, the same height as him in heels. ‘Let’s say we believe you. Which means there’s another reason why you kept the truth hidden.’ She was holding a book. ‘Recognise this, Olly? It’s the catalogue raisonné for Albrico Spinelli. It lists every piece of artwork ever attributed to him. Louisa told me all about the painting.’ She opened the book to a page with a Post-it Note attached. ‘Would it surprise you to learn there’s a nineteen-inch oil canvas listed in here that matches the description of the painting we mistakenly sent to the gallery in Windsor.’

  The blood drained from his head. He was in danger of blacking out.

  ‘Would it also surprise you to learn that its sister painting was sold at auction in 2007 by our beloved parents for nearly two million quid?’

  Oh, hell. He had no idea what to do.

  Sophie snapped the book shut, making him flinch. ‘Louisa and I were up half the night wondering why we never knew this. And then we realised something.’