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 no longer alone, and she was hardly surprised when Sophie Ferreira came purposefully towards her.
‘Where’s Tom?’ Sophie fairly spat the words, her bristling personality making up for what she lacked in height. ‘You can tell me now. I realise you were trying to protect him from Oliver, but he’s gone.’
‘I know.’ Despite the fact that she knew what Sophie thought of her, Grace refused to be intimidated. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She and Tom were friends, nothing more. ‘And I don’t know where Tom is. Perhaps he is at the pub. Why don’t you go and find out?’
‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do.’ Sophie’s angry response was out of all proportion to the offence. Clearly something hadn’t suited her and Grace was being made the scapegoat. ‘Anyway, when he does come back, tell him I want to see him. I’ll wait at the house. I’ve still got my key.’
Grace shrugged. ‘Okay.’ But she knew Tom wouldn’t like it. She didn’t like it much herself. The possibility that Sophie might take the opportunity to check out where Grace was sleeping now that she’d left had her hands balling into fists. But there was nothing she could do about it.
‘Right.’
If Sophie had expected an argument, she didn’t get one, and after a brief assessing glance in Lucy’s direction she turned and left the café. The two women saw her cross the yard to the car park and pull open the door of a late-model BMW. Then, following Oliver’s example, she drove out of the yard, turning in the opposite direction from the one he had taken.
‘Bitch,’ said Lucy succinctly, passing Grace on her way to the door to turn the sign to ‘Closed’. ‘That woman is a grade one bitch! I don’t know what Oliver ever saw in her.’
‘Or Tom,’ murmured Grace, but Lucy only grimaced.
‘Tom deserved her,’ she muttered, stomping back to the till. ‘I hope Oliver realises how lucky he’s been.’
Grace didn’t feel qualified to answer her. Sophie’s and Oliver’s divorce had been final long before she came on the scene. She’d heard the gossip, of course. How Tom had had an affair with his brother’s wife. But she’d also heard, from Tom admittedly, that Oliver had neglected Sophie in favour of his work. And no one could deny Sophie’s part in the breakup. Once again, according to Tom, it had been Sophie who had encouraged him, not the other way about.
Grace decided it was not something she wanted to get into a discussion over. Her own position, as a paying guest in Tom’s house, was open to enough speculation as it was. But when she’d come to work at the garden centre, Sophie and Tom had been living together. It had seemed a logical solution to her accommodation problem to accept Tom’s offer of the spare room.
Now, however, things were different. Sophie and Tom had split up and Grace didn’t know how to get out of staying in the house. The trouble was, it was so handy for the centre. On the outskirts of Tayford, not far from his parents’ home.
Mr and Mrs Ferreira had been instrumental in her accepting Tom’s offer in the first place. Grace wondered now if they’d had some intimation that all was not going well with their son and his lady friend—who just happened to be their other son’s ex-wife—and had hoped her presence might act as a calming influence. If so, it hadn’t worked. Sophie had never liked her, and Tom had attempted to compensate for her rudeness.
The upshot was, Sophie had got jealous and had started accusing her of having designs on Tom herself. Grace shook her head as she left Lucy to lock up the café and made her way to the offices that adjoined the main building. She liked Tom. Who wouldn’t? He was easy to get along with. But he’d never given her that hot, melting feeling in the pit of her stomach that she’d experienced when she’d encountered Oliver Ferreira’s dark gaze.
Just for a moment she wondered how she’d feel if she were sharing a house with Oliver. His lean, dark-skinned face and tall athletic body were so different from his brother’s bland good looks. Oliver wasn’t good-looking in the formal sense, but he was very attractive. And sexy, she conceded tensely. No wonder Sophie wanted him back.
And she did want him back, Grace would bet her life on it. There’d been so much pent-up
