Guilt pricked at Ella. So typical of Mum. She was absolutely incapable of not offering to help someone in need. She and Dad had often joked that they should tape her mother’s hands to her side to stop her agreeing to volunteer for things so often.
‘So,’ Ella hid her amusement and put on her crown prosecution cross-examination face. ‘You’re telling me that this dog doesn’t belong to Magda at all.’
‘No, dear.’ Her mother straightened, which made Ella smile. Now she had fessed up, she was going to take it on the chin. ‘She belongs to Mrs Bosworth.’
‘Mrs Bosworth? And why do I have Mrs Bosworth’s dog?’
Her dad stepped in, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulder. ‘We were worried about you. We didn’t like the idea of you living there on your own.’
‘I’ve lived in some pretty dodgy parts of London over the years.’
‘We were more worried about you being . . . lonely. You weren’t . . . your usual self.’
Both her parents looked distinctly uncomfortable but her father tucked his arm around his wife.
A fist closed around Ella’s heart and she swallowed. Ducking down to hide the tears, she stroked Tess’s head again. They were right. She hadn’t been herself.
She slipped off the stool and went to hug them both. Despite her doing her absolute best to shut them out and keep them at a distance while she grieved, they’d known her well enough to know the depth of her misery but respected her enough to leave her be. Tess had been their compromise.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered as their arms linked around her and an overwhelming sense of love and security filled her heart. As they stood there, she felt Tess wriggle in beside her legs as if to saydon’t forget about me, I’m one of the family too. They alllooked down and laughed at Tess staring with those beseeching amber eyes up at them.
The roast beef was every bit as good as it smelled and as Ella pushed her chair out from the table to slump in satiated happiness, her mother jumped up and insisted she stay and talk to her father while she made coffee.
‘In fact, why don’t you two go and sit in the comfy seats in the lounge and I’ll bring it through.’
Ella and her father settled amicably into the big squashy sofas in the L-shaped lounge.
‘So, what’s this tax letter you said you’d had?’ he asked.
‘I nearly forgot. I brought it with me. I’ve no idea what it’s for. Patrick’s always looked after that sort of thing.’
His mouth pinched in disapproval. ‘You shouldn’t leave your tax affairs to anyone but your accountant.’
‘I don’t have an accountant. I didn’t think I needed one, it’s not as if I earn anything. The shop paid me and I got a payslip with my tax showing on it.’ She delved into the handbag at her side, trying to find the letter.
‘Yes, but what about your Cuthbert Mouse earnings. That’s separate so you need to declare it.’
‘Like I said, Patrick took care of all that.’ She pulled the letter out, crumpled from being stuffed into the side pocket. ‘He’s used to that sort of thing, so he’s always done the business side of things with my publisher.’ She’d have to speak to her publisher and explain that arrangement had changed. It was time to start extricating her life from Patrick’s and find out how much money he owed her from the sales of her pictures. And then there were the merchandise deals and what about the royalties from her books? Had he been honest about those in the past?
She smoothed the letter out and pushed it over to her father.
His forehead immediately crumpled with consternation. ‘Ella, this is a tax demand and your statement on account.’
‘All I know is it’s a lot of money. Seven thousand pounds. Do I have to pay it?’
‘Yes, you do,’ he said emphatically. ‘This is based on whatever was submitted on your tax return.’
Shit, she didn’t regret hitting Patrick over the head with the picture. It looked as if he owed her far more than she’d first thought. First thing tomorrow she was going to get on the phone and speak to her publisher. Perhaps she should ask Devon for the details of that solicitor too.
‘Here we go. Coffee. And some nice chocolate.’ Ella’s mother put the tray down on the coffee table and busied herself arranging coasters on the polished table before pouring out heavily scented rich dark filter coffee from a huge cafetière.
Her father picked up a section of the Sunday paper and started reading. Ella and her mother chatted, catching up. It had been a while since Ella felt so completely relaxed.
‘So do you know what you will do when Magda comes back?’ asked her mother – destroying, in one fell swoop, any sense of peace. Ella paused, taking her time and a long thoughtful sip of coffee.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Do you think you’ll go back to London?’
