Chapter Twenty-Three #2
To Devon, the gesture looked staged and phony.
Worse still, he could see from Ella’s sudden stiffness that it made her acutely uncomfortable.
She’d shut her mouth tight, the lips pressed in a firm line as if to stop the pain escaping.
He saw the previous sparks of ire in her eyes snap out with heartbreaking finality, to be replaced with unutterable sadness.
‘Ella. This has all been a terrible mistake. It’s so good to see you. Talk to me. I’ve missed you so much.’ Patrick lifted a hand and stroked her cheek, his eyes gazing at her adoringly. ‘I phoned the police station as soon as I’d heard what had happened.’
What a prat. Devon looked hurriedly at Ella’s face. Surely she wasn’t taken in by this?
*
When Ella looked at Patrick’s face just inches from hers, his eyes channelling earnest entreaty, she wrenched herself out of his reach and instinctively moved closer to Devon.
Although Patrick had a few inches in height over Devon, he was definitely smaller in stature.
Next to Devon’s broad shoulders and muscled forearms, his frame looked flimsy and lightweight, rather like his character.
The piercing revelation rocked home, shocking her.
She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.
‘Patrick,’ she managed in a breathless gasp.
‘What idiots for arresting you! Talk about going overboard. I’m really sorry you had to go through that.’
She stared at him, taking in the familiar pale skin lightly dusted with the heavy freckles of an almost redhead, focusing on the cluster of them just beneath his cheekbone which she’d always thought, but never told him, looked like a Scottie dog.
It took a while for her to muster the words and when they came out, in a sudden hot rush, they didn’t sound like her at all.
‘I don’t care about being arrested. You think that’s what’s upset me?’
‘Hey, Ella.’ He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. It looked patronising. ‘Calm down.’ He looked around anxiously.
Her fists clenched. Calm, she’d give him calm.
‘There’s no need to make a scene. We can talk about this. Why don’t you come back to the gallery, with your . . . ?’ The dismissive look he gave Devon infuriated her.
It was one thing Patrick being an arse to her, but she was buggered if she’d allow him to be rude to Devon. Not when Devon had dropped everything and come rushing to her rescue.
A sensation of warmth flooded through her and she looked at Devon. Completely at ease, he gave Patrick a pleasant smile and like the perfect gentleman he was, he smoothly took charge, and ignoring the undercurrents of emotion swirling, with diplomatic ease immediately extended a hand. ‘Devon.’
Pride filled her at the way in which he dismissed Patrick’s attempt at oneupmanship, making Patrick look like a small puppy nipping around the heels of an elder statesman.
Patrick had no choice but to extend his own hand and shake Devon’s, even though the look of distaste accompanying the gesture suggested he’d rather handle a cobra.
‘Ella, we need to talk. I can explain. I can explain everything. I should have told you but I wanted to make sure it went well first.’ He put his hands out in urgent appeal.
‘The exhibition was a bit of an experiment. I thought you’d be pleased but I .
. . I didn’t want to tell you in case it wasn’t a success. And it has been. Fabulous.’
‘Bollocks.’ Her rage erupted, making both Patrick and Devon start.
Good! ‘You’re a liar. A cheat. Admit it.
You’ve been selling them.’ She pointed to the price tag on the picture.
Suddenly Bets’ comments all those weeks ago made sense.
Patrick had been selling her pictures for years.
‘That price wasn’t plucked out of thin air.
If my commercial work was as mediocre as you’ve always claimed, then you wouldn’t be pitching the price at the same level as everything else in your precious gallery.
You’ve must have had some idea of a market value. ’
Patrick’s patrician face grew haughtier. ‘Ella, calm down. You’re making a show of yourself.’
‘I don’t care, you two-faced, hypocritical, cheating, lying, bastard toad.’ As the anger spilled out she became more incoherent but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘How long have you been selling my pictures?’
‘Not long.’ Patrick’s attempt at sincerity did him no favours. She didn’t believe a word he said.
‘How long?’
‘A year? Maybe two.’
‘And the pictures in the gallery and in the lock-up, is that all that’s left?’
Shame-faced, he nodded.
Gone. They’d all gone. All that work.
What started as a slow simmer in the police station, like a smoking volcano, exploded into a full eruption which she couldn’t put the lid back on.
Her face turned red and her palms itched.
With her feet planted firmly on the pavement, pugnacious and aggressive, she didn’t care what she looked like or what anyone thought.
‘Ella, you need to calm down. You’re being far too emotional about this.’
She froze. Far too emotional about this.
The words seeped in like poison, reaching into her heart, an echo of the exact words she’d heard once before.
Every nerve ending in her body stood to attention as rage, despair, desolation and fury fused in one coordinated flare of white hot painful combustion.
She couldn’t be calm. She couldn’t even put words together.
They’d come out in a crazy-woman stream of consciousness uncontrolled rant.
So, raising the picture with both hands, she brought it down as hard as she could on top of Patrick’s head.
‘Fuck.’ Devon breathed as Patrick crumpled to the pavement.
She watched dispassionately as the man she’d once loved with all her heart rubbed his head, looking unaccountably aggrieved. ‘Ow,’ he wailed.
Devon took the picture from her and turned to the crumpled figure on the floor.
‘Ella’s solicitor will be in touch.’ He tugged at her hand and pushing through the crowd of people who had materialised, led her to his car, saying, ‘Show’s over, people. Nothing to see here.’