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Molly’s face was expressive, but not nearly as eloquent as her silences, which she deployed like missiles, with deadly effect. Lexie finally gave in.

  ‘He did say he wanted to meet me to explain, but…’

  ‘There’s a but?’

  ‘I don’t want to know. That’s the truth of it.’

  ‘Don’t you? I do. The bugger runs off and simply abandons my best mate, you bet I want to know.’

  ‘Why? What difference does it make?’

  ‘It makes the difference between me cutting his balls off and stuffing them in a pickle jar and maybe, just maybe, being civil to him.’

  Lexie laughed.

  ‘I suppose I would like to know, but the last thing I’m going to do is sit down and listen to lame excuses.’

  ‘What if they’re not lame?’

  Lexie had been happy when she’d been with Cameron. Their characters were nicely counterbalanced. Where she could easily drift into a dream world of her own, he was naturally gregarious. If she hid too long among her paints and her canvases, he would take her brush out of her hand and lead her to the door, cheerfully ignoring her feeble protests.

  ‘You need to be in the world to understand it,’ he’d say, kissing the tip of her nose and wiping a smudge off her cheek with his thumb, ‘and if you don’t understand it, you’ll never be able to paint it.’

  When she’d first met him (through Jamie, of course, and the Hawks) she’d thought him blunt to the point of insensitivity. Later she’d decided that his tactlessness was more a painful honesty that had a tendency to burst out before thought caught up with it. Above all, she’d found him outrageously sexy. She still did – that chemistry hadn’t changed.

  Cameron Forrester had been Lexie’s first real love and it wasn’t lame excuses she feared – it was that he might tell the truth, and that she wouldn’t like it.

  She looked away.

  ‘I must go.’

  ‘So you still love him.’

  ‘No,’ Lexie shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Methinks the lady doth prot—’

  ‘Shut up, Moll.’

  ‘—est too much.’

  ‘No, I mean, really shut up.’ Lexie seized her elbow. ‘Look.’

  Molly began to turn to where Lexie was staring.

  ‘Don’t turn round, he’ll see you.’

  ‘Lexie, you’re hurting my elbow. And how the hell can I look if I can’t turn—’

  ‘Screaming abdabs, he’s seen us.’

  ‘Will you just relax and talk in English?’

  Two men in two days. Correction. Two lovers in two days.

  Molly said, ‘Isn’t that Patrick Mulgrew? No-one else has a mane of hair like that, surely. Or a suit like that either,’ she added admiringly. ‘Wow. Gorgeous. I haven’t seen Patrick in an age. He’s got that girl with him, the one who was in Scotland Daily .’

  Impeccable Ferragamo loafers, a black merino wool suit and a bronze throat rising out of crisp white cotton. The last time Lexie had seen that combination Patrick had snatched up her contract and ripped it in two, his grey eyes glacial.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘If you must. But I warn you, you’ll find it impossible to succeed without me.’

  Unforgivable.

  In fact, Patrick wasn’t on a date tonight, he was working.

  Yesterday, after seeing Lexie, he’d driven right on through Hailesbank to the slip road back onto the dual carriageway, and headed for Diana Golspie’s impeccable flat in Edinburgh’s Georgian New Town, not a stone’s throw from his gallery. When Diana had answered the door, cool and elegant in grey silk, he’d stepped inside, virtually ripped off her clothes, and had urgent, ungentle sex with her on the carpet.

  ‘Something biting you?’ she’d inquired mildly when he’d thrust and panted his way to a speedy climax.

  Ashamed, he’d buried his face in the sweeping arc of her long neck and had showered it with gentle kisses.

  ‘Sorry. I’m a rat. And you’re much too tolerant of me.’

  She’d begun to unbutton his shirt.

  ‘I just think,’ she’d said, ‘that it’s a little unfair of you still to have all your clothes on while I lie here naked.’

  He’d let her undress him, then carried her to bed and spent the next hour being much more considerate.

  ‘I don’t want to know what all that was about,’ she’d said eventually, ‘but I suppose it’s not too much to expect dinner?’

  Patrick knew he didn’t deserve Diana Golspie, but he also knew that there were another dozen Dianas in the same stable. Women who believed they could tame him. Women who craved his ring on their finger. Women who wanted nothing more than to live at The Gables and play golf with the smart set in Scotland, be seen with him at the opera and the ballet and the best receptions. It was why he never asked a woman to spend the night with him at his house in Hailesbank. It was why (or partly why) he’d never lived with another woman since Niamh’s betrayal ten years ago. Cynicism had set in as a means of self-preservation.

  It didn’t mean he wasn’t generous to the women he chose to spend time with, and he had accepted Diana’s discreetly phrased demand with good grace.

  ‘Where would you like to go?’

  It had cost him a packet, naturally, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered, yesterday, was not having to think about Lexie Gordon – and now, here she was. Silly to come to Besalú really, but Esther had been so eager to try it.

  He offered his arm to Esther Goldwyn, his not-date, and readjusted his expression. After all, he and Lexie were adults, and they understood each other. Once there might have been something between them, now there wasn’t, and that was it.

  ‘I believe that’s our table,’ he said to Esther. ‘Let’s go.’

  He looked down at her. She was pretty but bland, her face a mere canvas she clearly had to paint liberally in order to add character. Esther’s art was deliberately shocking (she stuffed road kill to make decorative lamps and coffee tables and fashioned Ascot-style hats to sit on top of stags’ heads) but it had humour too. It wasn’t world shattering, but he enjoyed it and believed it would do well in London and the States – while Scotland, home of the stuffed deer head, was likely to accept the work with barely a murmur.

  Esther was excited. She had migrated from mere euphoria to a state of unalloyed bliss since he’d signed her and although he’d found it gratifying at first, it had palled. Patrick planned to hand the management of Esther’s budding career to Victoria. It could be her first big challenge. Neither girl would be pleased, but both would accept the inevitable and get on with what needed to be accomplished.

  When they were a yard from the table where Lexie and her friend were sitting, he stopped.

  ‘Good evening, Lexie.’

  Lexie raised her dark chocolate eyes to meet his gaze and he was reminded again of the fawn. What was it he’d said the day they’d rowed? He fumbled in the recesses of his mind and came up with, ‘You’re completely unprofessional.’

  He had a horrible feeling that he’d added, ‘You’ll never make it without me,’ but that couldn’t be right, could it? Could shock and anger have unshackled the ties between brain and speech so preposterously?

  Lexie didn’t speak. Esther, sensing tension, fell silent. He had no idea what to say next and it was left to the girl with Lexie to say, ‘Hi. I’m Molly. I’m sure we’ve met.’

  Patrick grabbed at this straw.

  ‘Molly. Of course. Delighted.’

  He stuck out his hand to shake hers and produced a smile straight from the rulebook on manners: warm but not too intimate, polite and not too impersonal. He drew Esther forward, introduced her.

  ‘This is Esther Goldwyn, I’ve signed her for a show. She’s extraordinarily talented.’

  He saw Lexie’s eyebrows lift, but her smile matched his own for courtesy.

  ‘Hi, Esther. I saw the article in the paper. Congratulations on your exhibition. And good luck.’

  Patrick said, ‘We must g
et together for a drink.’

  Politeness masked the depth of his desire for reconciliation, and when Lexie replied, ‘I’m quite busy,’ and turned her head away, the rebuff had an almost physical effect on him.

  ‘Of course.’

  He bent forwards in a tiny half-bow of acknowledgement. The manners he’d learned, not on an Irish farm but at the feet of his masters in the galleries in London, had become so deeply seated that they were automatic and he was grateful he could summon social grace so easily.

  ‘I quite understand. Well, good to see you.’

  A waiter lifted the ‘Reserved’ sign from the last table and they turned towards it.

  Behind him he heard the girl, Molly, hissing, ‘Why were you so rude to him? It wasn’t his fault that…’

  And he thought he heard Lexie say, ‘Don’t, Moll. Just don’t.’

  But the noise levels in the restaurant were high now and in any case, he wasn’t sure what to make of the words.

  Chapter Six

  Catalogue number 11: Bride’s shoe (left), cream silk, kitten heel. 2007. Donor: Bob Hutchison, Hailesbank. ‘We were due to get married in August, but in May, Susie was walking home from work when she was knocked down by a car. Susie nearly died and they were forced to amputate her right leg, but she was determined to walk down the aisle. Four months later, she did.’

  ‘We’ll need to do the window by the end of the week,’ Neil said, sliding onto the chair by Alexa’s desk.

  Lexie, absorbed in drawing, didn’t look up. ‘Don’t worry, it’s under control. I’m thinking about the next few displays, actually. I thought we might major on bedrooms next.’

  It was part of their strategy to keep the window fresh and attractive, even though they both knew that any good impression would be instantly dispelled as soon as anyone entered the cluttered store. Thinking of this, she pulled a face.

  ‘I refuse to construct one of Dad’s beloved white fitted units. Something a bit more contemporary, don’t you agree? Sticking to the theme of bright, fresh colours?’

  Lexie’s thoughts turned again to the idea of leaving Gordon’s. She’d wanted to do this because she wanted to support her parents in the only ways she could think of, but it wasn’t what she was best at. She still hadn’t spoken to her father, though, because she could see him struggling in the web of potential failure and knew she couldn’t abandon him to disaster. Perhaps if she stayed she could persuade him to adopt a more realistic strategy for survival.

  She examined her sketches. Would the display look better with an ottoman, or might that be too much? She’d spotted one in a catalogue, covered in figured velvet, a chocolate background with vast scarlet poppies.

  Neil said, ‘I can see you’re busy. Just wanted to check you haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘No, it’s all fine.’

  She didn’t mean to be rude, she became preoccupied when she was deep into designing.

  ‘See you later, then.’

  ‘Sure.’

  But the interruption had derailed her concentration. She abandoned her drawings and stretched. Rain had started driving against the window. She stood up and wandered across the room. In the yard below her, a Pettigrew’s lorry was backing into the loading bay. She could hear the beep, beep, beep of its reverse warning signal. The turn into the yard was narrow and sharp but Kev, the Pettigrew’s driver, was well used to it.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Why wasn’t he taking the usual line? She watched, astonished, as the rear corner of the truck moved towards the bricks. He’d hit the wall in a minute and it would cost a fortune to rebuild. She wrenched open the door and flew down the stairs.

  ‘Stop!’

  She could barely hear her own shout above the noise of the engine and there was no chance that Kev would. She battered her hands against the back door of the van in the vain hope that he might notice, but the lorry still kept inching towards disaster. Now she was in real danger of being trapped between the van and the wall. She looked around frantically, but there was nothing she could do except retreat and watch it happen.

  The truck stopped abruptly. Alexa’s heart was racing. Glancing down she saw that, miraculously, the outer wheel had caught on a low stone buttress. The engine died and she yelled into the sudden silence, alarm making her voice sharp.

  ‘You could’ve taken the whole wall down, Kev! You should’ve turned hard over as soon as the cab reached the gatepost.’

  It was raining heavily now and Lexie was soaked. Water ran off her hair in a steady stream and dripped down inside the collar of her jacket, but she barely noticed it.

  The cab door opened and the driver jumped out.

  ‘Sorry. Couldn’t see for the rain.’

  ‘Cameron?’

  Cameron Forrester’s hair shed water like a duck’s feathers. Raindrops glistened on his thick brown thatch, others found their way down his face and onto the shoulders of his tee shirt, but his hair seemed unaffected. He grinned.

  ‘Bit close, eh?’

  ‘What the hell were you doing?’ Lexie was rigid with fury.

  Cameron spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  ‘Give us a break, Lexie. It’s my first day on the job and the weather’s crap.’

  ‘On the job? What are you talking about? Where’s Kev?’

  Another man appeared round the front of the cab.

  ‘Hi Lexie. Ah was trying tae tell him.’

  ‘Joe! So something’s normal at least.’ Sarcasm was a poor tool but the only one that came to hand. ‘Can you please explain what’s happening?’

  Joe McPhail’s bulky belly shook as he moved. Lexie had seen him demolish a lunch that would comfortably feed a family of four, but there was real strength in his arms, a necessary asset for a furniture remover.

  ‘Kev’s gone. Buggered off to some fancy job in Edinburgh. Says he’ll earn twice as much.’

  ‘I’m just temporary,’ Cameron said cheerfully.

  ‘You have no idea how temporary you’d have been if you’d hit that wall.’

  ‘Hey. It was a mistake. Anyway, I didn’t hit it.’ Cameron seized her elbow. ‘You okay? You’ve gone white.’

  ‘I’m fine. If you’re done with demolition, perhaps you could unload.’

  She turned and strode back inside. She knew she shouldn’t blame Cameron. Kev had been making that tricky turn for years. A new driver, in conditions like these, was bound to find it difficult. She towelled her hair dry and glared at her reflection in the mirror, annoyed at her reaction. Would she have been so angry with another man?

  When the van had been unloaded and reloaded, Joe declared it was time for a tea break. This involved his flask and a large paper bag full of doughnuts.

  ‘Dinnae worry aboot me, Lexie. Ah’ll just step outside.’

  That meant a cigarette. Lexie worried about Joe’s health. He was a top candidate for a coronary, but there was no point in saying anything, because Joe would never change.

  Cameron didn’t move.

  ‘It’s stopped raining,’ she snapped. ‘You can take your break outside with Joe.’

  ‘Sure.’

  He still didn’t move. Exasperated, Lexie said, ‘Don’t tell me. You didn’t bring anything.’

  Cameron grinned. ‘I didn’t realise it was the form.’

  ‘Where Joe is concerned, breaks involving food and drink are a core clause in the job description. I suppose you’d better come up to my office. I’ve got a kettle.’

  ‘Brilliant. Thanks. Could I have a biscuit too? I did get up rather early this morning.’

  ‘You’re a chancer,’ but she laughed.

  As the kettle bubbled to a boil, she asked, ‘So how did this come about?’

  ‘The job? Someone in the pub told me they were looking for a driver to start right away. Seemed like a good idea, so I went in on Friday and they told me I could start today.’

  ‘Have you got an LGV licence?’

  ‘Yeah. Course.’

  ‘Really?’
She looked at him suspiciously.

  ‘Would I lie to you? I had to get one for a job I had for a bit, before I started on the cruise ships. I delivered bread for a large baker’s down in Oxfordshire.’

  Six years was a long time. There was so much she didn’t know about what he’d done or where he’d been.

  ‘I’m a bit rusty, as you maybe noticed.’

  He looked so genuinely rueful that she softened. ‘Well, there’s no damage.’

  ‘You won’t tell on me to old man Pettigrew?’

  ‘I won’t tell.’

  Cameron never inhabited one mood for long. He changed instantly from abashed to ecstatic.

  ‘Thanks, Lexie. I’ll love you for ever.’

  He tossed statements like pancakes, and with as little care. They flipped up and over and lay, flat and pale, in front of her.

  Would I lie to you?

  I’ll love you for ever.

  ‘Kev left in a hurry.’

  ‘I think it probably suits them to slim down the number of staff on their books.’

  She sighed. ‘Everyone’s struggling.’

  ‘Yeah, and if I want to keep this job, I’d better move. Joe’ll be wondering where I am. Thanks for the coffee.’

  ‘You forgot your biscuit.’

  She held out a packet of digestives.

  ‘You’re all right. Thanks. Sitting next to Joe puts you off eating, the consequences are a bit too obvious. I’ll wait till lunch and find a sandwich.’

  It would have been easy for him to run to seed after the accident, but he hadn’t. Lexie tried to stop her mind from hopping to memories of taut skin and firm flesh, of muscles that rippled and fascinated and delighted. She failed dismally. She remembered skin that smelled fresh as mountain air, and hair that was spicy, like eucalyptus. Later, after limbs had entwined and bodies writhed together in youthful ardour, there’d always been that intoxicating odour of fresh sweat and sticky sex.

  ‘Lexie? Hello?’

  He had stepped right up to her, so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. The scar on his face was as familiar as an old friend. Unthinking, she lifted her hand to stroke the white line and he caught it in his fingers. The touch was shocking. Desire stabbed through her and she swayed towards him.