Devon took the steps of the police station two at a time. He’d crossed town in record speed, abandoning James in the restaurant. How did someone like Ella get arrested?
And there she was huddled into a seat, clutching a framed picture to her chest as if her life depended on it, with a mutinous expression on her face, looking ready to punch anyone who came too close. As he came through the double doors, she jumped to her feet.
‘Devon. Oh, thank you.’ She crossed the floor, bumping into plastic chairs, completely ignoring the bumps and bangs to her legs in her haste. ‘Did you bring your car with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ She grabbed his arm, in an uncharacteristic show of bossiness, and shepherded him back the way he’d just come, so he had to walk backwards. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ She shuddered.
Devon looked back uncertainly at the uniformed desk sergeant, who was half-heartedly keeping an eye on proceedings in between looking at a computer screen on his desk. ‘Are you free to go? I thought you’d been arrested.’
She gave a contemptuous pout, which shouldn’t have amused him but it did. Grumpy primadonna was a side to Ella he’d not seen before. ‘I was. And then they realised,’ she raised her voice, shouting the last few words and shooting a pointed look at the officer, ‘they’d got it wrong.’
All heads turned their way. ‘Right.’ Probably best to get her out of there quickly before they decided to arrest her again for disturbing the peace. Her body language suggested she was spoiling for a fight.
‘So are you going to tell me what the hell has happened?’
‘As soon as we get out of here.’ She pushed him again, clearly keen to get away.
‘So what happened? Did you see him at the gallery?’
‘No, I flipping didn’t. He wasn’t there. But this was.’ She held out the painting of Cuthbert in a black hat with a fancy purple feather. It looked familiar and he realised he’d seen it on her drawing board not that long ago.
‘Nice price tag,’ he said, squinting at the white label in the corner of the picture.
With a frown she spun the painting around to take a better look. ‘How much! I don’t believe it. I’m going to kill him. I am absolutely going to kill him.’ She bounced on the balls of her feet, with the pent-up angry energy of a lightweight boxer pumped for action.
‘So what happened?’
He’d never seen her like this. Energy fairly buzzed from her as she fizzed with manic agitation, emotion spilling out with tangible movement. What had happened to reserved, restrained Ella who even when pouring her heart out, kept a tight rein on her emotions?
‘I went to the gallery. Patrick wasn’t there.’ Her voice vibrated with suppressed fury. ‘I would have probably walked out but the new manageress, who didn’t know me, was so snotty.’ She pulled a disgusted face. ‘Seriously snotty. She made a song and dance about not knowing where Patrick was. Cowbag had no intention of telling me when Patrick would be back. I didn’t want to look stupid and there was no way I was going to give her the satisfaction of walking out, so I stayed to have a look round.’ She screwed her face up in an expression which might have been comical if she hadn’t been so cross. ‘Not because I particularly wanted to but just because I could. I should have realised something was up.’
She looked at him as if he was supposed to say something but he wasn’t falling into that trap, not with her in this manic, agitated mood.
‘There were more people there than usual. And Patrick doesn’t run that sort of gallery. Empty is more his style. Dead is normal operating procedure. He wouldn’t want the masses in there anyway. I thought it was intriguing. So I went into the other room to see what they were all looking at.’ She paused and he felt her shoulders rise in tension before she burst out, ‘Only an exhibition of my flipping pictures.’ She clutched it tighter to her chest, her elbows winging out like an indignant penguin.
Devon didn’t quite follow. ‘I thought having an exhibition was a good thing.’
From the icy glare she gave him, it didn’t take Einstein to surmise he’d said something exceptionally stupid.
‘It is if the pictures haven’t been stolen,’ she spat the word, ‘from you.’ She stopped in the street and turned to face him, her face full of irate indignation. ‘Patrick took them. From the lock-up. All my mice pictures. They were mine. He stole them. After all he said.’ Her eyes widened with every sentence.
Her mouth opened and shut for a couple of seconds, her cheeks reddening. ‘I didn’t know anything about it. I can’t believe . . . I just . . . how dare he?’
‘Ah.’ Devon floundered for a minute. In the face of her anger, it would be as easy to say the wrong thing as it was to take a wrong step in a minefield.
‘Not just that.’ Her eyes widened, flashing with fury. ‘This,’ she stabbed at the image of Cuthbert with venom, ‘is a new one.’ With clenched teeth, she made a noise pretty close to a growl. ‘It wasn’t in the lock-up. No! Not even my publisher has seen it.’
It took a minute for Devon to work out what the implications of that were.
‘So how did he get hold of it?’ he asked cautiously, still aware of his precarious position.
‘As to the exact process, your guess is as good as mine, but it wasn’t legit. He’s never been to the cottage. So who has?’ Her eyes burned with a sheen, suggesting she was close to tears. ‘He must have phoned a friend. A mutual friend. Britta.’ She slowed down and he could see the weariness settle heavy on her shoulders as her posture sagged. Betrayal did that to you.
‘I think that’s what tipped me over. I don’t care that he’s selling the pictures. It’s that he’s such a hypocrite. And that she came and pretended to be my friend. I lost it. Just took it off the wall and walked out with it.’
‘Ah,’ he could picture it, the sense of injustice powering her, ‘and that’s when you were arrested.’
Ella’s face fell with chagrin. ‘Yeah. It never occurred to me that they’d set the alarm off. I didn’t really think that far ahead. I don’t know what I thought they’d do. Or what I’d do. I didn’t think at all, just acted.’
She suddenly looked so woebegone as she stared down at the picture, holding it out at arm’s length. He stopped and they looked at it together. He smiled – it was Cuthbert at his finest. The mouse had an imperious look on his face as he posed paw on furry hip, the feather of his hat tickling him under the chin. Devon slid an arm along her shoulder and pulled her closer to him.
‘You’re very talented. This is brilliant.’
‘It’s not brilliant.’ She wrinkled her nose and then her mouth softened. ‘Although, I like it.’ Her mouth curved into a smile. ‘Yeah, I really like it.’
‘You should. It’s clever. Witty. Warm. You can almost imagine what Cuthbert is thinking.’
She shot him a quick grin. ‘I know what he’s thinking.’
‘I’m the bee’s knees and isn’t this just the best hat you’ve ever seen?’ said Devon. ‘But you love me despite my vanity.’
He felt Ella’s shoulders lift and she turned her head towards him, delight showing on her face. ‘Ten out of ten, Mr Vet.’
‘And I’d say achieving that takes real talent and a certain skill.’
‘Thank you. That means a lot. I’d not really seen it like that before. Too wrapped up in worrying about the pictures not being meaningful.’
‘I’d say that’s in the eye of beholder and you. Cuthbert looks like he means to get up to plenty of mischief.’
Ella nodded. ‘He does that all right.’
Devon was pleased to see he’d put a smile back on her face – she had to be feeling pretty crappy at the moment. Being let down by people you loved and trusted ranked up there as being officially shit.
‘So, now that you’re a master art thief . . . Were you charged? What happens next?’ He slowed down; the car was in sight now.
‘They arrested me. Took all my stuff away, so I couldn’t even phone you. I had to wait for a duty solicitor except there wasn’t anyone.’ Her mouth trembled and he could tell she was getting upset again. Of course she was, it had to have been quite a traumatic experience.
‘Hey, it’s OK. You’re out now. So what did the solicitor say?’ He gave her another squeeze and she responded by nudging up to his body which wasn’t that easy when she was still hanging onto the picture.
‘It didn’t get that far. The custody sergeant came in and told me they’d received fresh information and I was free to go.’
‘Ella!’
‘Oh shit.’ The colour leached from her face. ‘It’s Patrick. I do not want to talk to him.’
‘Ella, wait!’ The shouted cry came from down the street.
Although taller than Devon had expected, Patrick looked exactly as he’d thought he would. Seriously, outside of films and Sunday supplements, who wore a wanky, cream-coloured linen suit? They were in downtown East London, not the bloody Tropics.
It was a personal prejudice, Devon knew that, but seriously, this man had a hairstyle. Shaved at the back, long at the front. Real men did not have hairstyles, at least not in his book.
Ella prodded Devon in the back, as if to hurry him along.
‘I don’t think you’ve got much choice. He’s clearly seen you.’ As soon as he added, ‘And it’s better to get it over with,’ he regretted it when she shot him a very dirty look. She slipped from underneath his arm and turned to face the man striding down the street towards them.
‘Ella, my God, are you all right? I am so sorry. I nearly fired Sandra for having you arrested. A complete overreaction.’ He put both hands out in a dramatic grasp of her upper arms.
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.’