‘I meant what does she look like? Is she a babe like Marina?’
‘No! Not at all.’ Marina dressed in smart shift dresses and heels and always looked immaculate with lots of make-up. Ella didn’t seem to do make-up or if she did, he’d never noticed it. ‘Blonde hair.’ Soft and sweet-scented. ‘Slimmish.’ Soft curves when he’d held her. ‘Gentle.’ He thought of her talking to George while they waited for the ambulance as he took another mouthful of his starter. ‘Although she can be a bit spiky.’
‘Sounds as if you like her.’ James grinned, lifting his lager glass in ironic toast. ‘She also sounds a hell of a lot nicer than Marina.’
Devon stared at his friend.
‘Come on, Devon. I admire the fact you don’t badmouth her but seriously . . . she was one high-maintenance babe. And my wife . . . can’t stand her. Sorry, mate.’ James suddenly looked horrified. ‘Oh shit, don’t tell Clara I said a word. She said I wasn’t to tell you. In case you ever get back together.’
‘You’re safe. I doubt we’ll be getting back together. I was tempted at first but . . . ’
‘You fancy this new chick.’
‘James!’
‘I can see the signs.’
‘She’s just a friend.’ Unfortunately, the more he said it, the more he questioned it.
Right on cue, his phone vibrated on the table. Finally, Ella calling. He snatched his mobile up to hear her unleash a torrent of agitated words. Listening and nodding, ignoring the avid curiosity on James’s face, it took almost a minute before he could get a word in edgeways.
‘I’ll be right there.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
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 againfor 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 beencomical 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.’
