‘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 thinkthat’swhat’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?’
