‘Whatever,’ Sophie said, now moving forward and slipping her arm though his. And, although he carefully detached himself, she insisted on staying close to his side as she edged him towards the pools that exhibited tropical fish. ‘That’s better,’ she murmured with satisfaction as a glance over his shoulder saw Grace look after them for a moment and then walk away in the opposite direction. Her tone grew suddenly venomous. ‘I don’t know how that woman has the nerve to speak to me!’
‘Why? Don’t you like her?’ Oliver halted abruptly, refusing to go any further without an explanation. ‘What’s going on, Sophie? What has Grace done to you? And why the sudden urge for my company? I know you and Tom have split up so, please, don’t pretend it has anything to do with me.’
Sophie stared at him. ‘You’ve seen Tom?’
‘This afternoon.’ Oliver’s tone was flat.
‘Then he must have told you about Grace.’
‘Told me what?’ But Oliver suspected he already knew. Sophie wasn’t particularly subtle when it came to personal matters.
She sniffed and shook her head, looking at him appealingly. ‘You don’t know what it’s been like for me,’ she exclaimed. ‘Since that woman came to work at the garden centre, things have gone from bad to worse.’
Oliver looked about him critically. ‘I’d have said the place was thriving,’ he remarked, and she uttered a most unladylike expletive.
‘In our relationship,’ she corrected him tersely. ‘Tom and I were already having problems before she came along. I’ll admit it. But I never dreamed he’d already found my replacement.’
Oliver felt a depressingly familiar sense of déjà vu. Not that he’d been seriously considering getting involved with someone who worked for his brother, he assured himself, but the news that Grace Lovell was Tom’s latest conquest wasn’t what he wanted to hear. She was too good for his brother, he thought grimly. Tom had already wrecked his marriage. He wouldn’t like to see him wreck her life as well.
He should have known, he grumbled silently. When Tom came to see him that afternoon, he should have guessed there was someone else involved. From the age of puberty, Tom had slept with countless women. He’d never married any of them, of course. Not even Sophie. So why should he, Oliver, have imagined that their relationship was any different?
‘He met her in Spain last year,’ Sophie was going on now, evidently under the mistaken impression that Oliver might be interested. ‘He’s gone out there before, when I’ve been unable to go with him. Not that your mother and father really want to see me, in any case. I’m persona non grata where they’re concerned.’
‘Sophie—’
‘He used to make the excuse that he needed to talk business with your father,’ she went on seamlessly. ‘I had no reason to doubt him. He and George often have their heads together when your father’s at home. I admit, he did seem a bit detached this time when he got home, but I put it down to his health. He’d said he was feeling a bit under the weather before he went away.’
Oliver held up both hands now, palms out to silence her. ‘Is this going somewhere, Sophie?’ he asked. ‘Because if not, I’ve got other things to do.’
Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Don’t be unkind to me, Oliver. I couldn’t bear it if you abandoned me. I know I’ve behaved abominably in the past, but you have to believe I regret it now.’
‘Sophie—’
‘No, listen to me. Perhaps it’s partly my fault that Tom found someone else. I kept comparing him to you. Yes, I did.’ This as Oliver gave her an incredulous stare. ‘It’s true. Tom and I were never meant to be together. I don’t know why I ever listened to his lies.’
‘That’s it. I’m out of here.’
Oliver had heard enough. Any minute now, she was going to say that she’d never stopped loving him and that she hoped he’d take her back.
As if.
Oliver scowled. When he’d had the—what he now acknowledged was a crazy—notion to make this diversion, he’d had no idea he’d be opening this can of worms. He’d wanted to see the garden centre. He’d half hoped he’d encounter his brother and get it over with. Now he didn’t know what to think. What did Tom really want from him?
Sophie had burst into tears at his words, her pale, delicate features stark and drawn. She’d aged, too, Oliver mused, resisting the comparison to Grace Lovell. But he knew his ex-wife well enough to realise that most of her distress was just an act.
‘Don’t go like this, Oliver,’ she begged now. ‘Please. You’ve got to help me. Tom says he can’t give me back the money I invested in the business, and I can’t support myself on what I earn at the charity shop.’
The money she’d invested in the business was her divorce settlement, but Oliver didn’t remind her of that. ‘Get another job,’ he said carelessly, heading towards the car park. He’d had enough of other people’s problems for one day.
‘I can’t,’ said Sophie desperately, trailing after him. ‘I don’t have any qualifications. You surely wouldn’t like to see your wife working behind the tills in some supermarket?’
‘Why not? Other women do it.’ Oliver paused when he reached his car. ‘And you’re not my wife, Sophie,’ he added, and for the first time it felt good to say it. ‘I’m sorry if things haven’t worked out the way you wanted, but that’s life. Get over it.’
Sophie’s chin wobbled, a tactic that would have tugged at his conscience years ago. But no longer. With a brief, ‘Tell Tom I couldn’t wait,’ he coiled his length behind the steering wheel, aware that he burned rubber as he accelerated out of the car park.
Grace saw Oliver leave from the window of the coffee shop. The small café was closing and she was helping Lucy Cameron clear the tables so the older woman could get away on time. Lucy had a family, four kids, all of school age, and Grace knew she didn’t like them being alone in the house after dark.
‘Was that who I think it was?’ Lucy asked now, joining Grace at the window as the Porsche peeled away off the site.
‘Who did you think it was?’ asked Grace, reluctant to sound too knowledgeable, and Lucy stepped back to give the younger woman a considering stare.
‘Well, it looked like Tom’s brother,’ she said. ‘I’d know that old Porsche he drives anywhere. I don’t know why he doesn’t get himself a new car. It’s not as if he couldn’t afford it.’
Grace eased her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. ‘Do you know him well?’ she asked, careful not to sound too interested, and Lucy shrugged before returning to her job of stacking the dishwasher.
‘Fairly well,’ she replied now. ‘Though it’s some time since I’ve seen him around here.’ She paused. ‘Did I see you talking to him? Didn’t he tell you who he was?’
Grace coloured, turning away so that Lucy couldn’t see her face. ‘I recognised him,’ she said. ‘He looks a bit like Tom, don’t you think? He’s darker, of course. And taller. But their features aren’t dissimilar.’
Lucy gave her a wry look. ‘It sounds to me as if you gave him a thorough once-over,’ she remarked. She frowned. ‘I always liked Oliver. I was really sorry when he and his brother fell out over—’
But she didn’t finish her sentence, and Grace guessed at once why she’d suddenly acquired an unexpected interest in the contents of the till. The clatter of heels on the tiled floor had warned her that they were