Ella looked at her watch. ‘What time are you meeting your friend?’
‘At twelve-thirty. We’re meeting for a pint and then we’ve got a table booked for one-thirty.’
Ella made a sudden decision. ‘Would you mind if I joined you at the restaurant? I can be there by half one and then you can catch up with him properly on your own.’
‘No, that would be fine. We’re only meeting in Carluccio’s in Garrick Street.’
Ella bit her lip and smoothed clammy palms down her jeans. ‘I think I might go to the gallery. See Patrick.’
Devon raised one eyebrow. ‘Sure you want to do that?’
‘No, I’m not sure at all. I’ve been avoiding it.’ It was time to face Patrick. Even though her head was telling her it was time to have a talk about going their separate ways, her heart worried that when she saw his familiar face, the slim angular body, she might change her mind. She’d be giving up so much. A life built together over the years.
‘Are you going to be OK?’ Devon asked, his eyes shadowed with concern. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
She swallowed and tried to school her face into a blank mask. His obvious anxiety on her behalf touched her. She wanted to clutch at the firm hand on her arm. His eyes held hers, his gaze strong and steady as if he could see all the confusion and hurt raging inside her, offering reassurance. That calm, solid demeanour he wore like a second skin gave her a tiny bit of comfort. Inside, her stomach churned at the thought of walking into the gallery and seeing Patrick. Taking Devon along would be like putting on a suit of armour. It would also be incredibly cowardly and unfair to Devon. He had enough problems of his own.
‘No, you go on and see your friend. I’ll meet you there. I shouldn’t be long.’
‘Can I help you?’
Ella couldn’t help staring at the rather magnificent cleavage on display. It was rather hard to miss. In a royal blue dress cut to emphasise her assets, the woman in front of her reminded Ella of Snow White with her glossy black hair and dark red lips. For a moment, Ella wondered if the colour of the dress had beenchosen deliberately to evoke just that image. She thought the red Alice band might be overdoing it a bit, or was that her being bitchy.
‘Hi. I’m looking for Patrick. Is he in?’
‘Patrick?’ Snow White asked, looking coy and startled.
Ella sighed inwardly. She didn’t need any one-upmanship today. ‘Yes, Patrick Clarkson. The owner.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The girl’s saccharine sweet smile made Ella want to throttle her. No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t the least bit sorry. She was about as far from sorry as humanly possible. ‘No, I’m afraid he isn’t.’
Ella gritted her teeth and tried to smile politely. It wasn’t like her to take an instant dislike to someone.
‘Do you know when he might be back?’
It was unusual for him not to be here and she felt quite aggrieved that she’d screwed up all her courage to saunter so casually into the gallery and find he wasn’t here.
‘I’m sorry.’ The sickly factor of the smile had dimmed. Even less sorry than before. ‘He’s at a meeting. I’ve no idea when he’ll be back. Would you like to make an appointment?’
‘No,’ said Ella.
‘Can I take a name?’
‘I’ll just take a look round.’ After all, it was an art gallery.
Snow White pursed her lips and pointedly went back to whatever she was doing behind the high gloss wall of the reception desk.
Ella invested a huge of amount of time and energy helping Patrick set this place up but as she went into the main room, she realised it had undergone quite a makeover in the last few weeks. It was odd that Patrick hadn’t mentioned any plans to make changes.
New windows and skylights had made the place much brighter and the slate black floor made a vast improvementon the previous white painted wooden floor boards which had needed touching up every couple of weeks to keep them looking the part. She scowled down at the new stone – she’d invested a lot of hours in that damn floor, it seemed an insult for Patrick to have finally replaced it without even telling her, but that’s what life would be like going forward. The knowledge came with an unwelcome pang.
It looked as if things were finally going well. The gallery had been open for ten years now and the first couple of years had been real touch and go as to whether it could be sustained. Patrick had felt that sense of insecurity keenly. Always on the look-out for the next big artist that would make his and the gallery’s name. Ella winced. She was supposed to be the draw when they first got together but several miserable shows later followed by poisonous reviews had killed her confidence stone dead and the more Patrick wanted her to be able to paint, the less she was able to deliver.
She turned to study the first picture on the wall to her left, her vision blurring with sudden tears. Coming here brought home what she stood to lose. Investment in ten years of life. She’d leave with nothing. She didn’t even have a job any more.
Blinking hard, she stared at the image painted on a large jagged edged sheet of Perspex. Black and white with electric blue spots colonising one corner. The blurb beneath talked at length about the connection between man and technology. She took a step nearer, focusing on the blue spots. Nope, she didn’t get it at all. Nothing new there, then.
Her boots clunked on the hard floor as she rounded a corner, passing a couple more pictures that failed to speak to her. No wonder she couldn’t paint proper pictures. She didn’t have a clue any more. This was cutting-edge stuff. Patrick had an eye for the avant-garde. Actually, she thought as she took a step back andstudied the nearest picture, it was utter bollocks. With a smile, she turned her back on it.
