The Forbidden Mistress

‘Your table’s ready, Mr Ferreira.’

The waitress from the pub’s dining room appeared just as Grace was considering making an excuse and leaving, and Tom nodded his thanks before emptying his glass. Oliver, meanwhile, put his untouched Coke on the bar and held out his hand to help her down from the bar stool. For a moment, his cool fingers gripped her arm and her eyes darted to his. But he wasn’t looking at her and he clearly felt none of the heat that spread along her veins at his touch.

The dining room wasn’t busy. It was early yet, barely half past twelve, but it had been obvious from the start that Oliver had wanted to get this meeting over and done with. Grace guessed that was why he’d come to the house when Tom wasn’t at the garden centre. Perhaps he’d hoped to avoid a formal gathering at somewhere public like The Crown.

Whatever, Tom had been having none of it and he’d insisted Oliver come back to the centre and see for himself how successful it was. Consequently, Oliver had driven Tom back in his car, while Grace had taken the Volvo, as before.

But for the remainder of the morning the situation had not been ideal. Oliver had renewed his acquaintance with the members of staff who’d been there since his father’s tenure, and Tom had done his best to behave as if he weren’t facing financial ruin. Grace, meanwhile, had tried to concentrate on the web site she was designing. The idea was to expand Ferreira’s mail-order business by advertising online.

They were seated at a table in the window. Menus were produced and Grace regarded the choice of entrées with a heavy heart. She wasn’t hungry. Indeed, if she was honest she felt physically revolted at the thought of food. She couldn’t bear to look at Tom’s deceitful face and not remember the deliberate way he’d tried to mislead his brother.

‘What are you having?’ To her annoyance, Tom leaned towards her and examined the menu over her shoulder. ‘The steak and kidney pie is good,’ he said. ‘I can recommend it. Or the rack of lamb. It’s locally produced, you know.’

Grace managed to control the urge to put some space between them and gave a shrug. ‘I just want a salad,’ she said. ‘I’m used to just having a sandwich at lunchtime.’

‘All the more reason to splash out today,’ declared Tom, clearly not getting the message. ‘Go on. The business can afford it.’ He paused, and then added significantly, ‘Or it could if Oliver’s wife wasn’t trying to bankrupt me.’

Grace cast an agonised look in Oliver’s direction. But although she’d expected him to say something, even if it was only that Sophie was his ex-wife, he continued to study the menu without commenting.

‘I think I’ll have a burger,’ he said at last, and now his dark gaze did meet Grace’s briefly. But there was no liking there, no warmth at all. Just a dismissive contempt that chilled her to the bone.

‘Oh, but, hey, is nobody going to have a starter?’ Tom protested. ‘This is supposed to be a social occasion. You’re both behaving as if we’re eating at the local fast-food joint.’

‘Perhaps we should be,’ remarked Oliver, speaking at last, though clearly not saying what his brother wanted to hear. ‘If, as you’re implying, you’re on the verge of bankruptcy—’

‘The business isn’t on the verge of bankruptcy,’ Tom snapped angrily. ‘And you know it. If you’d just look at the books—’

‘Have you decided what you’re going to have?’

The waitress who had shown them to the table was now standing beside them, her notepad raised expectantly, and both men were forced to abandon their discussion in favour of choosing what they wanted to eat. Grace picked a ham salad and Oliver did as he’d said he was going to do and ordered a burger. It meant that Tom had to choose something similar in deference to his guests.

‘Would you like anything to drink?’

The waitress clearly handled the drinks order, too, and Tom looked reflectively at Oliver and Grace. Then, with an impatient exclamation, he said, ‘Just a bottle of sparkling mineral water, Stacey, thanks.’ His lips twisted sardonically. ‘Must keep a clear head for business.’

The waitress left and Grace assumed an intense interest in her place-mat. She really didn’t want to be here, she thought, wondering why she’d ever agreed to come. Somehow, appeasing Tom had lost its imperative. She didn’t even know why he wanted her here. Not when his brother obviously resented her company.

‘Have you heard when Mum and Dad are coming home?’ asked Oliver into the awkward silence that had fallen, and Tom gave him a brooding look.

‘Dad can’t bail me out, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ he said shortly. ‘We’re not all money magnets like you. He’s had a few dodgy investments lately. You know what the share market’s been like. Last I heard, he was thinking of selling the villa in San Luis and buying a condo in one of those holiday complexes instead.’

Grace saw Oliver’s brows draw together. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘Why not? Lots of people do it. Especially people who’re getting on like Mum and Dad.’

Oliver’s jaw tightened. ‘Dad would hate living in a condo, and you know it. Half his pleasure in owning the villa is the land it stands on. He’s a gardener, Tom, not a beach bum!’

Tom shrugged. ‘That’s not my problem.’

Oliver stared at him. ‘He’s your father!’

‘And you’re my brother, and a lot of good that’s done me.’

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying this is my fault?’

At last Tom had the decency to hang his head, but his words were grudging. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘Not exactly. But you should have warned me about Sophie. Goddammit, you must have known what she was like.’

Grace didn’t know where to look. It was bad enough being present at what was, essentially, a family meeting. It was much worse having to listen to Tom discuss his brother’s personal affairs in public.

Whatever he thought, however he felt, Oliver had been married to Sophie for six years. And judging by the way he’d behaved the day before, he still cared about her.

Oliver was regarding his brother almost humorously now, a look of mild amazement on his face. ‘So I was supposed to warn the man who’d been screwing my wife that she wasn’t to be trusted,’ he remarked thoughtfully. ‘Have you forgotten where she got the money to invest in the business, or did you think I sold my house because I couldn’t bear the unhappy associations it held?’

Tom flushed then, his fair features looking older suddenly. ‘You could afford it,’ he muttered, glowering at the waitress who had arrived with the bottled water. ‘I can’t.’

Oliver waited until the woman had filled everyone’s glass and left again before responding. ‘I couldn’t afford it,’ he told Tom forcefully. ‘She took half of everything I had. Why do you think I live in a loft apartment? It taught me never to trust a woman again.’

Tom gave a scornful sniff and Grace, who had hoped that would be an end of it, closed her eyes. She dreaded to think what Oliver must be thinking at that moment. If Tom had intended to pay her back for what she’d said earlier, he had certainly succeeded.

‘We all know that’s no ordinary apartment,’ Tom persisted, and she stifled an inward groan. ‘I wish I could afford to live on Myer’s Wharf.’

Oliver’s expression hardened. ‘Where I live isn’t relevant,’ he said as the waitress returned with their burgers and salad. ‘I’m sure Grace is fed up with listening to us arguing.’ He looked down at his plate with apparent enthusiasm. ‘Mmm, this looks good.’

Grace flashed him a grateful smile, but she wasn’t sure he noticed, or that he particularly cared what she thought. Still, she desperately hoped the food would keep Tom’s mouth occupied long enough for her to eat a little of her salad. Perhaps she could excuse herself before they offered coffee. She could always get a taxi back to the garden centre.

But she should have known better, she reflected. ‘So you’re determined not to help me out,’ Tom demanded, his jaw set in a belligerent scowl. He pointed a stubby finger at his brother. ‘I just hope you can sleep nights when the business goes to the wall.’

‘Hold it right there.’ Oliver had apparently had enough, and although the glance he cast in Grace’s direction was impatient, he didn’t hesitate before going on. ‘You chose the life you have now, so get over it. It’s not my fault if it’s kicked you in the b—teeth!’

Tom grunted then and pushed his plate aside, almost knocking his water over as he did so. ‘I’m going to the loo,’ he announced loudly and Grace guessed that everyone in the room must have heard what he said. ‘You speak to him, Gracie. Try and get it through his thick head that I’m not the bastard he thinks I am.’