Secret Things and Highland Flings. Tracy Corbett

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СКАЧАТЬ huge argument had followed. His parents’ excuse? That it was a necessary evil to save Rubha Castle from financial ruin. They’d refused to apologise or admit any wrongdoing. Instead, they’d accused him of being selfish for not wanting to help the family. But how could he continue to paint when he knew his works were being created deliberately to defraud people? It wasn’t moral or right, not to mention a contradiction of their holier-than-thou principles. So any loyalty or admiration he might have felt for his parents’ so-called traditional family values had evaporated in that moment.

      He took a swig of tea and dunked a biscuit, something his mother would never have permitted. He no longer cared.

      He was by no means a saint. But even as a teenager he hadn’t been able to reconcile the knowledge that his parents were crooked. So he’d left home the moment he could, not returning for eleven years, even to attend their respective funerals.

      He ate another biscuit.

      The irony was that having fought so hard to lead his own life, ending up alone and abroad at eighteen had scuppered his dreams to become a renowned artist. Instead, he’d drifted from one country to another, fruit picking and bartending, ending up as the ‘drop-out’ his parents had predicted.

      But after years of being estranged, he’d decided it was time to stop punishing his siblings for something that wasn’t their fault. They didn’t know about their parents’ shameful secret, only their charitable work in the community. So they’d never understood why he’d left, or what had kept him away so long. And he still couldn’t tell them. He never would. He’d just have to hope that in time they’d forgive him.

      Louisa yelped, reminding him he was supposed to be playing nurse.

      ‘We need to elevate your foot,’ Gilly said, lifting Louisa’s booted leg with all the tenderness of a caber tosser.

      ‘I can manage, Gilly.’ The pain of a broken leg was clearly testing the bounds of his sister’s normal chirpy demeanour. ‘If you could pass me that pillow.’

      He intervened. It was the brotherly thing to do. He might fall short in all other areas as far as family duty were concerned, but protecting his sister from a well-meaning Gilly was at least within his capabilities. He grabbed the pillow before Gilly could inflict further damage and eased it under Louisa’s foot. She mouthed him a ‘thank you’.

      He touched her cheek, wondering how she’d managed to blossom into such a tender human being when their upbringing had been devoid of any real affection. Neither parent had been the warmest of people, but his mother’s cruel streak had been magnified by the untimely death of their father and the bitterness she held towards her only son. His siblings had taken the brunt of his mother’s meltdown, the knowledge of which only added to his guilt.

      Despite not being close to his parents, he still felt a loss. Loss for not having had an adult relationship with either of them. Loss at being separated from his siblings for so long and loss for carrying a grudge around for eleven years that had slowly eaten away at his belief in the ‘happy ever after’.

      He tucked his hands under Louisa’s arms and eased her upright.

      She kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.

      ‘Are you in pain?’

      She shook her head. ‘You still don’t get it, do you?’

      He frowned. ‘Get what?’

      He never did find out. His phone rang.

      He left Louisa in Gilly’s care, nicked another biscuit and ducked into the corridor to answer his phone. But when his older sister yelled, ‘Louisa’s had an accident?’ he knew his day wasn’t getting better any time soon.

      He leant against the stone wall and braced himself for a bollocking.

      ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

      Sophie sounded pissed off, which was par for the course. If Louisa were a margarita, bursting with colour and flavour, her life garnished with a paper umbrella and bright red cherry, Sophie was the ice in the glass. An antidote to joy.

      ‘How come I got to hear about it from Gilly?’

      ‘Sorry, Soph. There was no phone signal at the hospital.’

      ‘And you couldn’t have gone outside?’ Her voice rose another notch.

      ‘I didn’t want to leave her alone. She was upset.’

      ‘But you don’t mind upsetting me? Cheers, Olly. Some brother you are.’

      He let her rant; he deserved her wrath. And it wasn’t her fault she was bitter – it was the upshot of growing up in a loveless household.

      When he’d returned to the UK, Louisa had welcomed him with an open smile and unadulterated joy at having him home. In contrast, Sophie’s reaction had been to slap his face, call him a bastard and refuse to talk to him for two weeks. He supposed her yelling at him was progress. It was painful, but at least she was talking to him.

      ‘Selfish … arrogant …’

      ‘You’re right, Sophie. I should’ve called you. No excuses.’

      ‘Too bloody right! I’ve been there for her, you haven’t. All through IVF, all through the miscarriages—’

      He dropped his head against the cool stone wall. ‘I know and I’m sorry, but I want to make amends for that.’

      ‘Too effing late!’ This was followed by a series of more expletives.

      Hearing Sophie swearing was like witnessing a Disney princess in a bar fight. She was tall and curvy, with long blonde hair and stunningly beautiful. She looked ‘expensive’, a real upper-class society girl. She was a freelance columnist for various fashion magazines and attended events with the who’s who of London society, where she smiled, charmed and spoke with a plummy accent. It was only behind closed doors that the façade slipped.

      He took another bite of biscuit, waiting until she’d finished ranting.

      It took a while.

      Finally, she said, ‘Is she okay? Do I need to come up there?’

      He swallowed. ‘I don’t think so. Gilly’s here and Harry’s planning to cut short his business trip. He should be back later tonight. And I’m here—’

      ‘Ha! For how long? You’re not exactly Mr Reliable.’

      He smothered a sigh. ‘How many times, Soph? I’m not going anywhere.’

      ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’ She mumbled another expletive. ‘And if you are staying, make yourself useful and help us sort out the estate.’

      ‘Can’t we leave it to the solicitors?’

      ‘Which part of we’re running out of money don’t you understand? If we leave it to the solicitors we’ll have nothing left.’

      He pushed away from the wall. ‘But I know nothing about probate. I wouldn’t СКАЧАТЬ