Taking a steaming mug upstairs, she went up to her studio and quickly reviewed the week’s progress. She could get an hour’s work done before Bets arrived. For once she was actually well ahead and had enough ideas for the next book and possibly a series about her little alien characters. Her publisher would be pleased.
With a smile she surveyed the mice. Perhaps she should . . . flamenco. That was it. Grabbing a pencil, she started to sketch. Cuthbert would love one of those Cordoban flat black-brimmed hats and his sister Catherine would look rather swish in a bright red frilled and flounced dress and little red Latin dancing shoes.
Dropping her pencil, she ran back downstairs, scooped up the shoe box and taking the stairs two at a time hurried back.
Latin shoes with socks looked quite odd but they were perfect and they twinkled as she swivelled her foot at the ankle to let the light catch the diamonds. They’d been diamonds in her head at fifteen and they were still diamonds now, she decided with a happy nod of defiance.
She needed music. A quick YouTube search and she had the Gipsy Kings playing. Yes. With her shoulders rocking and her feet tapping to the music, she added a guitar-playing Englebert.
‘Bamboleeeeo, bamboleeeea, lalalala.’
Her fingers flashed across the page, the drawings flowing from her fingers. When the music stopped abruptly, she clicked to play the track again but this time stood up. Shoes like these needed trying out. Up here in the attic with the skylights facing to the brilliant blue sky, no one could see her. With a wry smile at her own silliness, she stood up and started to dance.
Tess thought it was a great game and as Ella swivelled her hips and raised her hands above her head, she tried to join in, weaving in and out of Ella’s legs and jumping up and down.
‘Crazy dog.’ Ella laughed. They probably looked totally ridiculous but no one could see her. When was the last time she’d danced? When she was in her early teens she’d done Latin and Modern. At college, she’d gone regularly to a local salsa club. With a sudden sense of sadness, she realised it was another thing she’d got out of the habit of doing. Patrick wasn’t much of a dancer.
This time when the music stopped, another track began before she could get to her iPhone. ‘Baila, baila, baila, me.’ She joined in the refrain, making up the words she didn’t know. Whirling around the room, her heart full of lightness and joy, she danced through several tracks. Eventually Tess got bored, the initial excitement wearing off, and she wandered out of the room but Ella, relishing the feeling of her heart pounding and her pulse beating furiously, carried on dancing.
‘Er, excuse me.’
Startled, she whirled round to find Devon standing in the doorway at the head of the stairs to the loft conversion, an apologetic smile full of sympathy on his face and right on cue the music stopped.
A fierce blush fired up her cheekbones.
‘Crikey, you scared the life out of me,’ she said. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ The aftershock of fear made her sharp. Tess bounded over to him and gave his hand a welcoming lick.
‘Great guard dog, you are,’ she snapped, irritated by the dog’s complete lack of loyalty. ‘You do remember that this is the man who called you fat?’
Devon rolled his eyes. ‘I’m sure I didn’t use the word “fat”. Although she is looking much better.’ His eyes slid to Ella’s waist where her shirt had become untucked.
‘Don’t you dare say it.’ Ella gave him a mock glare and shook her head in warning.
‘Nice shoes.’
Automatically she went to cross her feet at her ankles as if that might hide them and then thought better of it, lifting her head to say with a regal nod, ‘Thanks,’ as if they were her finest footwear.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He gave her an unrepentant grin.
‘Well, what did you mean to do?’ She put her hands on her hips, a smile playing at her lips. There was a sense of freedom in talking to him today. The shared misery of the other day on the Beacon had seeded a tentative friendship. ‘Do you make a habit of breaking and entering?’
‘The door was open and I could hear the music – I did call up several times.’ His eyes sparkled with wicked humour. ‘Bets said you might be working.’ He looked around. ‘This is a great room.’
‘Yes.’ She ran a hand through her hair. What on earth did she look like? Slight sweaty and a bit breathless and very scruffy, apart from the shiny new shoes. He was used to super-sophisticated Marina with her immaculate white coat, perfect tanned legs and trim ankles. He probably thought Ella was a lunatic. Deranged. So uncool. And terminally clumsy. ‘The light’s good.’
‘I imagine it is. So this is where you work.’
‘Yes.’
Now she sounded stupid but she couldn’t think of anything to say. In jeans and a big navy sweater, he made a larger than life contrast to the stark white brightness of the room. His dark curly hair was a little too long for her taste and his clothes too casual but something about his confident stance made her heart jump and her mouth go dry. He looked solid and reliable. All man. More masculine than she was used to. It made her feel smalland the strangest thought popped into her head. How lovely it would be to be encircled in his arms. Like she’d been when he’d comforted her on the Beacon yesterday.
Shaking her head as if to dislodge the unwelcome thought, she folded her arms as if that might keep any further fanciful notions at bay. ‘Did you want something?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’ He nodded towards her drawing table. ‘Bets is tied up and asked me to come instead. I assumed you’d be working, not . . . dancing.’ His mouth twisted with a wry smile. Ella blushed again. There was an awkward silence as she tried to gather her thoughts.
Ignoring her discomposure, he moved across to her drawing table.
‘Mind if I take a look? I’ve never seen a real artist at work.’
