‘Come on, we’ve got a cake to finish.’ Ella had spent the evening, while attaching raffle tickets to bottles, racking her brains as to how she might decorate her cake and sometime in the early hours of the morning, an idea had popped into her head. An Easter bonnet. And she had all the equipment to do it, thanks to Magda and her white witch kick. Ella frowned, looking at the box. Her decision to make a cake had been hers alone and not influenced by anyone.
She’d cover the cake in white icing and dot it with sugar paste flowers, with Cuthbert, Herbert, Englebert, Bertram and Catherine peeping out from under the petals.
The internet was a wonderful thing. When she drank her first coffee of the morning, she’d already researched several techniques to make the spring flowers. Her own mice characters she could do quite easily.
She’d rolled out the first sheet of icing when she heard a rattle and looked up to see Devon, Dex at his heels, coming down the front path with another box of bottles. Twin emotions warred; the desire to avoid him and stay safe, fighting against the inescapable lift of her spirits at the sight of him.
She opened the door to see him dump the box on the step.
‘There’s another one in the car,’ he said over his shoulder as he took four paces down the path. Dexter wandered in through the open door to greet Tess and the two of them fussed over each other.
At least they were pleased to see each other.
She picked the box up and carried it into the kitchen, putting it on the table next to the laptop.
Devon appeared in the doorway with the second box, his face uncertain as he gave her a direct look. ‘Where do you want it?’ Dexter and Tess were chasing each other’s tails with unabandoned joy which Ella felt was distinctly out of place at that moment.
‘Here would be great,’ she nodded and turned her back on him, indicating the table
He popped it on the table.
‘Thanks, that’s good.’ She gave him a perfunctory smile.
‘So,’ Devon loitered despite her lack of welcome, ‘Patrick?’
‘I told him that I knew what he’d been up to, that he’d been stealing from me. My publisher sent me my royalty statements. Turns out I earn enough from the Berts to support myself. I think it’s enough to rent a place in London and I can probably get my old job back at the art supplies shop.’
‘You’re going to go back?’
‘I expect so,’ said Ella firmly. ‘So, we’ll both be moving on.’
Devon’s eyes narrowed. ‘I guess you’re right.’ He rammed his hands in his pockets and stood for a moment, as if he might say something else.
Ella swallowed and avoided his gaze. Letting him go was harder than she thought it would be. She didn’t want them to part on bad terms but she definitely couldn’t let him go back to Marina for the wrong reason.
‘Devon, listen. I think I might be able to help you.’
‘Help me? How?’
‘I think Marina’s been conning you, too.’
His head lifted sharply. ‘That’s a very strong word.’
Ella clenched her hands together, not quite as confident now, and then turned the laptop screen towards him.
‘Look.’
He scowled down at the screen and then paused as he scanned the spreadsheet.
‘Marina part owns the production company that makes her programmes,’ explained Ella. He lifted his gaze to hers, his expression guarded. ‘Which means she has a conflict of interest.’ She gulped and raced on, ‘The production company wants to make the programmes as cheaply as possible so that they can maximise their profit.’
‘And what do you hope to gain by telling me this? That I’m as gullible as you were with Patrick?’
She winced, feeling the icy hauteur of his words.
‘That’s not it at all. I wanted to help.’ His studied lack of attention made her pause, but she kept her cool even though she was shaking inside. ‘She’s using your joint property for filming but it’s her company making the profit. At the very minimum, it, the company, should be paying a location fee or rental for the hire of the consulting rooms. Look,’ she pointed to the figures in the final column, ‘I did some rough estimates of how much the production company would have had to pay over eight seasons if they had to pay for studio space. It’s a lot of money.’
Devon’s face darkened as he studied the spreadsheet and then his eyes bored into hers.
‘Ella. Did I ask for your help?’ His even, reasonable tone held a hint of menace.
She swallowed at the mutinous set to his mouth. Her stomach flipped. It felt as if she’d taken one step too far over the precipice of a cliff.
She shook her head, nervous now.
He rose to his feet. ‘If I wanted help, I’d ask for it. This is my problem. Not yours. Not my father’s. I will sort it out. On my own.’
He was already halfway to the door.
‘You’re being ridiculous.’ She wanted to help him, couldn’t he see that?
‘Ridiculous?’ Devon turned and glared at her.
‘Yes. I’ve found a possible solution. Something that will stop you working all hours. Stop your mother worrying about you. Stop Bets worrying. Your dad.’
‘I don’t need anyone to worry about me. It’s no one’s business but mine and I’d be grateful if you’d mind your own. Mum, Dad, Bets and you, you’ve all got problems of your own to deal with. I’m handling mine just fine, thank you.’
‘That’s just rude, Devon, and not worthy of you.’ With her arms folded facing him, she sounded braver than she felt.
‘I hardly think you know me well enough to be a judge of that.’
He was so wrong. ‘I do know you.’ Good, decent, kind, solid. Yeah, she might not have known him for long but she knew him. ‘You’re a man who does the right thing. You help other people all the time. You look after everyone else. That’s what you do, Devon. So why do you find it so hard to accept help from other people?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do.’
He stared stonily back at her. ‘When I want help, I’ll ask for it. But I don’t need it.’
Inside her muscles clenched. She might as well as talk to a block of granite. But she wasn’t prepared to give up. ‘Are you sure about that?’
Devon shot her a filthy look. ‘Absolutely.’
‘You’re being an idiot.’ OK, so finding refuge in insults wasn’t the best tactic but . . . grrr! Her fists bunched at her sides.
‘Yeah, tell me about it.’ He turned away and was already halfway to the door. ‘I was an idiot. That’s what got me into this mess in the first place. I’ll sort myself out. And that means by myself.’
‘So that’s all you can say.’ Ella lifted her chin. ‘You are an idiot.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know. I think it’s time I left.’
‘Yes, I think it is.’ Something in Ella’s stomach soured.
Devon walked out of the room and out of the front door, pulling it shut with a decided bang.
Ella waited a beat and looked down at Dexter with a wry smile.
When the rap at the door came, she opened the door with a smug expression. ‘Forgot something?’
Dexter trotted out as Devon turned on his heel and strode down the path.
‘Idiot.’ Ella slammed the door. Tess stood in front of her, tail wagging, her tongue hanging out with a doggy grin.
Ella patted her side. Some things you could always count on. ‘Come on then, Tess, it’s just you and me and another five thousand bottles to label up.’