Chapter Sixteen #2
Her shoulders shook. She needed to get a grip.
The wire and flowers had been dumped in the corner after she’d come back from the church after dancing with Devon.
Putting her hands over her mouth she tried to contain herself but every time she thought she’d calmed down, another gale of laughter would surprise her.
What would Devon make of it? She pressed her lips together, screwing up her eyes. It was too ridiculous for words.
After splashing cold water on her face and taking lots of deep breaths as well as pulling admonishing faces at herself in the mirror, she finally pulled herself together.
Britta was nuts. Once again she felt a million miles away from her old life but this time it didn’t feel quite as bad. She no longer felt exiled.
How could anyone think that was art? But with a sudden forlorn insight, she thought of all the galleries and exhibitions she’d been to over the years.
What was art? Maybe you could palm ‘Blood on a Wire’ off to an audience but if it didn’t mean anything to her, then it was cheating.
It wasn’t real. Not in the way her new painting was.
The secret world she’d tried to capture felt real, a glimpse of an alternate nature.
Painting it felt right. As pretentious as it sounded, it satisfied something inside her soul, even though it would never garner artistic acclaim.
Straightening her shoulders, she left the bathroom and guiltily started as she heard Tess whine downstairs.
‘Britta, fancy a drink?’ she called up the stairs, unable to go back into the studio.
When everyone’s head in the pub turned at the exotic vision of Britta in flowing white palazzo pants, a long white shirt and yards of white chiffon wrapped around her neck and trailing down the length of her body, Ella tried hard to ignore their avid gazes. Britta looked exotic anywhere.
‘You sit down and I’ll go get some drinks.’
Leaving Britta at the table in the corner slightly tucked out of the line of sight of the row of regulars lined up at the bar, she went up to order.
‘Hi, can I have a white wine and a gin and lime, please?’
‘Coming right up. What sort of wine?’
‘What have you got?’ asked Ella as Greta pushed over a menu.
‘And I’ve just added a French Viognier which isn’t on there yet. And do you want fresh lime in the gin?’
That would please Britta no end. Ella nodded. ‘Yes, that would be great and I’ll try the Viognier.’
‘Good choice.’ Greta grinned. ‘Good job on the flowers by the way. Magda will be pleased you kept the side up.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, the flower arranging thing is very competitive. Rather you than me.’ Greta worked with easy competence, gracefully swiping glasses from the overhead shelves, sliding the wine from the fridge and with an easy twist yanked out the cork. ‘Got roped into the salsa dancing yet?’
‘No.’
Greta grinned. ‘You will be.’
Ella smiled politely.
‘Here you go, one gimlet.’
‘Thanks.’ Ella’s eyes widened giving away her surprise.
‘We’re not complete philistines out here, you know,’ admonished Greta with a sharp look. ‘We’ve just opted for a better quality of life. You’ll learn,’ she added with an almost pitying smile.
Wrong-footed, Ella offered her a vague nod as she paid half the price she would have done for the same drinks in London.
‘So, babes.’
Ella didn’t like the sudden sharpening of Britta’s features, as if they were being schooled to go into attack, especially not when she took what looked like a steadying sip of her drink. ‘Whoa! Fan my little tush.’
Britta’s unexpectedly enthusiastic response allowed her to breathe more easily.
‘This is bloody marvellous. The good landlady knows her onions. I’m impressed.
’ Britta examined her glass and looked towards the bar, where Greta gave them both a mocking salute.
Ella lifted her glass in a slight toast. Despite Greta’s prickliness she rather liked her combative attitude.
You knew exactly where you were with her.
The respite was brief.
‘About you and Patrick, come on, you’ve punished him enough with this break business.
Stop pratting about with the “I vant to be alone” crap.
I’m no young romantic but you two, come on, you guys fit.
The smart art team. Patrella.’ With a sudden lightbulb bing moment, she sat up.
‘You should so name a gallery that. I can see it now. Somewhere in Hackney, lots of brick walls, fractured lighting and the last word in installation art. A vision of your combined talents. The two of you merged. The ultimate creation.’
At this, Ella looked down into her glass.
Britta’s words couldn’t have been more ill-chosen.
They had created something together. Far greater than a stupid art gallery, and Patrick didn’t want it.
Her heart twisted at the utter irony of it all.
A couple of months ago she’d have been giddy and excited at the idea of a new gallery linking their names.
‘Hello – come in Ella.’
She swallowed and focused back on Britta. ‘Can we just not talk about this, please?’
‘That’s the problem. You won’t talk about it. Not to me. Lord knows not to Patrick. Poor guy, he doesn’t understand. What went wrong? One minute everything was hunky dory, I saw you that night at Gallery 99, the next thing I know you’ve packed up and moved out here.’
Which just showed what a brave face she’d managed to put on while dying inside.
‘I just need time to think about things.’
‘He wants you back, you know.’
With sudden insight Ella looked at her friend across the table. ‘Did he put you up to this?’
Britta stilled, her eyes unable to quite meet Ella’s.
It all made sense. Britta’s uncharacteristic desire to visit.
Ella sighed and then almost sagged with relief at the sight of frantic waving through the window.
Bets burst through the door, her happy smile at a lower wattage than normal. ‘Ella! Hi. How are you? Crikey, what a day, I’m dying for a drink and I brought old Grumpy Git with me.’ She tossed her head of curls over her shoulder towards Devon bringing up the rear.
‘Hi, Ella.’ Devon shook off his coat.
‘Devon, Bets, this is my friend Britta. She’s come up from London for a visit.’
‘Hi, Devon.’ Britta’s voice appeared to have dropped several octaves and had acquired a chocolate depth that Ella had never heard before.
Oh Lord, it wouldn’t have occurred to her in a million years that Devon might be Britta’s type.
She normally favoured emaciated artists whose facial hair outweighed their bodyweight and who rarely ever took their hats off.
With his lush almost too long curls and broad shoulders, Devon made Britta’s previous conquests look like the living dead.
With incredulous disbelief, Ella watched Britta.
Thankfully Devon seemed oblivious, but then he’d never met Britta before and had no idea that this was a far cry from her usual cultivated languid, indifferent air.
‘Nice to meet you.’ He stood awkwardly in front of them.
‘Who wants a drink?’ asked Bets, giving Britta a cheery smile to which the other girl responded with a cool nod. ‘After today, I need a very large one.’ She shot Devon a disparaging glance.
‘Just got one, thanks.’ As always with Bets, Ella felt as if a whirlwind had just passed by.
Seconds later, Bets had abandoned her coat on top of one of the bar stools at their table and sailed off to the bar, cheerily hailing people as she went.
A bit too cheerily. There was an almost frantic edge to her voice.
Devon smiled fondly after her and shook his head.
‘Do you mind if we join you?’ Despite the fact that it was a done deal, Ella liked that he bothered to ask. She gave him a rueful smile. ‘No, it’s fine. Looks as if Bets has already decided.’
His face dropped. ‘She’s a bit disappointed. Jack cancelled at the last minute. He was due home this weekend.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Bets had done nothing but talk about him the other morning as they did their usual walk.
‘So what do you do, Devon?’
‘I’m a vet.’
‘Oh! How interesting,’ lied Britta. ‘Lovely. Gosh, it must be so complicated. Knowing the insides of all those different animals. If Damien Hirst hadn’t got there first, you might have just given me an idea for an installation. It must be so fascinating dealing with them all day.’
Ella thought of poor Tess who’d been shut in the kitchen since Britta’s arrival in order to protect the purity of all those white clothes. Britta’s fascination had been in short order then.
‘Every day is different, especially compared to when I was in London.’
‘London? Where were you?’
‘Islington.’
‘Do you know the Green Bean bar?’ Britta almost batted her eyelashes at the mention of London. ‘Ella, they make the most amazing decaffeinated coffee. It’s the place to go for brunch at the moment.’
‘What happened to Frankinelli’s?’ asked Ella.
‘That’s so last year, darling. Honestly, you are so out of date already.’ She shook her head and smiled conspiratorially at Devon. ‘So will you be going to back to London?’
‘Not sure.’ The familiar bleakness descended on his face but Britta missed it.
Ella wished she could have clued Britta in to spare Devon the obvious pain that her subtle probing dredged up.
‘I think you should. I can’t imagine there’s a lot round here to entertain a man like you. It must be quite limiting.’
Ella imagined that life with Marina must have been more than entertaining and wondered if maybe he’d had enough of that. Like her, he was looking for a period of respite.
Devon shrugged. ‘I’ve been quite busy running the practice for Dad.’
‘And trying to update some of his systems,’ added Bets as she came up behind him and handed over his pint of beer. ‘Poor Geoffrey isn’t going to be able to find a thing when he comes back.’