Tracy Corbett - Secret Things and Highland Flings

Seeing him today had been hard, a test of her resolve, but it had confirmed one thing: she no longer loved Marcus. Cindy was welcome to him.

But Tasha hadn’t finished ranting. ‘Money-laundering, scum-sucking wanker! Why the hell does he think you have his rotten money? Anyone with an ounce of sanity knows you’d never touch anything illegal.’

Lexi decided it was time to change topic. If her left eye started twitching it would be game over.

Although, why she hadn’t told Tasha about taking the money, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t said anything at the time, because she’d genuinely believed the money was from the sale of her paintings. But now it looked like the money was from the insurance payout, what was her justification for continuing to keep quiet? Perhaps it was because she didn’t want to fuel her sister’s hatred of her ex-husband. Or, more likely, she didn’t want to risk Tasha’s disappointment in her. Because however she tried to justify it, she’d broken the law. She was a thief. No better than Marcus … Well, marginally better than Marcus, but equally guilty. Would her sister forgive her if she came clean? Based on her reaction to Harriette’s betrayal, she wasn’t sure.

‘Tasha, calm down. I told Marcus to take a hike and I explained to the investigator that I had no knowledge of the insurance policy. I’m sure once he looks into it he’ll realise I’m telling the truth, and they’ll go after Marcus and not me.’

‘They bloody better had. If I ever get my hands on Marcus—’

‘Tash, let it go.’

‘But—’

‘Seriously, I’ve had enough. What with dealing with money problems, being investigated and then seeing Marcus again, I’m shattered. And I still haven’t sorted through the shipment from the Wentworth estate. I know you mean well, but can we please discuss this another time?’

Tasha sighed. ‘Fine.’ She didn’t look happy. ‘What do you need?’

‘Help me sort through the shipment, and then we’ll be free to eat cake, drink liqueur and make voodoo dolls of Marcus to stick pins into. Okay?’

‘My kind of evening. Lead the way.’

It was still light outside. The May sunshine was reluctant to call it a night, but Lexi flicked on the lights as they descended the stairs leading to the thermostatically controlled storage basement below the gallery. The chill tickled her skin. It was welcome after baking in a hot kitchen.

She caught the eye of the Woman at the Window propped on an easel and smiled. She’d relocated the painting after Marcus had visited. It was a shame not to display such a beautiful piece of art, but Lexi wasn’t taking any chances. The Italian temptress was staying out of harm’s way.

‘Remind me again whose paintings these are?’ Tasha tore off the protective wrapping from the crates.

‘Eleanor Wentworth.’

‘Never heard of her.’

‘You wouldn’t have. She never sold anything during her lifetime. But she’s dead now and her daughter has asked me to evaluate her work. She’s also asked me to catalogue and value the art collection at Rubha Castle in Scotland.’

Tasha binned the discarded sheeting. ‘Are you going to accept?’

‘I wish I could. The castle is centuries old. I can only imagine the art they must’ve collected over the years. But how can I with everything that’s going on at the gallery? The business won’t repair itself. Especially not now Marcus is back on the scene.’

‘Even more reason to accept.’ Tasha used a Stanley knife to cut through the plastic safety strips. ‘Marcus is only back to cause trouble. My advice? Get as far away from his sorry arse as possible.’

‘What about the gallery?’

‘You have an assistant, don’t you? Ask Mel to cover while you’re away. She’s more than capable.’

It was true – Mel was proving to be a good investment. She was studying for an art degree and working part-time around her lectures. The university year had concluded, so maybe she’d be available to cover for a few weeks.

Tasha binned the plastic strapping. ‘The break’ll do you good. Whereabouts in Scotland is it?’

‘Somewhere deep in the Highlands.’

Tasha looked incredulous. ‘You’ve been offered an art gig in a castle in the Highlands and you’re not sure you want to go? Are you batshit crazy?’

Lexi laughed. ‘Maybe.’

‘There’s a fee involved, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the possibility of further commission if they decide to sell any of the collection?’

‘I guess.’

‘Then it’s a no-brainer. Take the job and go up to Scotland. Mel and I can run the gallery. And you can focus on forgetting about Scumbag and the investigators hounding you for money.’

‘You’d do that for me?’

Tasha jimmied off a crate lid. ‘Like you even have to ask.’

Could she accept? It certainly sounded like the dream commission. And she’d never been to Scotland. Marcus had insisted they holiday at the villa in Spain.

‘So you think I should go?’

‘As long as you promise not to run off with a Gerard Butler lookalike because you’ve been enticed by what’s under his kilt.’

Lexi laughed. ‘That I can promise. I’m off men for good.’

Tasha grimaced. ‘God, me too.’

‘Idiot.’ She kissed her sister’s cheek. ‘I’ll give it some serious consideration.’

‘Good.’ Tasha removed the bubble wrap from the crate. ‘Right, what have we got?’

Lexi lifted a canvas and held it up.

It was a portrait of a middle-aged man leaning against a large ornate desk. He looked relaxed, his pale eyes smiling over the top of a pair of wire-rimmed glasses with such tenderness it spoke volumes about the relationship between artist and subject. All the paintings were reputedly of similar style, portraits of the Earl of Horsley’s family at various stages of their lives. The paintings had struck a chord with Lexi, which is why she’d agreed to exhibit the work when she’d seen the photos.

As well as specialising in replicas, she occasionally freelanced for a few museums and private collectors helping to value and catalogue their work. She’d also started mentoring new up-and-coming artists, wanting to diversify her collection. The combination of collecting copies of the masters along with discovering new talent was proving an exciting development.

She angled the painting so her sister could see it. ‘What do you think?’

Tasha tilted her head. ‘Fine, if you like family portraits. Too elitist for my liking.’

‘Maybe, but I like the contrast between conventionality and intimacy.’

Tasha shrugged. ‘Still looks like some posh git with too much money to me.’

Lexi replaced the painting. ‘Philistine.’

‘Excuse me? I have a degree in fine art.’

‘I know, I was there, remember?’

‘Just because I choose skin as my canvas, doesn’t mean it’s not art.’

‘I agree.’

Tasha was by far the more talented sister. With a shared love of art and an unwillingness to be separated, they’d both won places at Oxford Brookes to study fine art. But whereas Lexi had gone on to study for an MA at The Courtauld Institute in London so she could focus on evaluating and selling art, Tasha had attended the Tattoo Training Academy in Essex. The result was two slightly unconventional outcomes but two highly successful businesses … Well, one successful business and Lexi desperately trying to hang on to the other, thanks to her cheating ex-husband.

Tasha frowned. ‘Hang on. There are twenty paintings here, but only nineteen listed.’

Lexi checked the list. ‘That’s strange. If I go through them, can you check for the corresponding listing on the inventory?’

‘Sure.’ Tasha picked up a pen. ‘Fire away.’