‘This is nice.’ Patrick surveyed the cream sofas and the deep blue of the wallpaper on the accent wall. ‘Very rustic but in keeping with the exterior. Not my taste but charming all the same. How are you coping living out here? It must be hard adapting?’
‘Patrick. You didn’t come to discuss interior design. Why don’t you take a seat?’
‘You’re upset. I can tell.’ He peeled off his coat. It still had the label inside.
She deliberately sat on the other side of the room but he followed and crouched down beside the arm of her chair, staring earnestly up into her eyes.
‘I don’t blame you.’ His face softened. ‘I’m an arse, but I need you. I love you.’
Guilt tinged with sorrow hit her. He probably did love her in his own way. She’d never given him any reason in the past to think that she’d wandered off the page they shared. Unfortunately, it had become glaringly obvious to her that they were not so much on different pages but reading completely different books in different languages.
‘Ella, we need to get back on track. I admit I made a mistake going ahead with the show without telling you.’
‘That was a mistake?’ Did he think she was stupid? ‘It looked pretty deliberate to me. I don’t think you ever had any intention of telling me about the show. You were hoping that I might never find out about it.’
‘Everyone makes mistakes. I can explain everything.’
‘Really? The list of mistakes is pretty long. Have you got all day?’
‘Ella,’ Righteous confusion furrowed his brow. The sort that might belong to a hen who’d sat on an egg fully expectant of the arrival of a fluffy chick and instead was faced with a small snappy alligator. ‘You’re being unreasonable. Have decency and manners gone out the window? You could at least offer me a cup of coffee.’
Damn, how did he do that, wrong foot her and take the superior high ground?
‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘That would be civilised.’
She sighed and then sighed even more when he followed her into the kitchen.
Ignoring him, she concentrated on the familiar motion of making coffee. Cups. Kettle. Milk.
Patrick pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and in that stupid cowboy fashion turned it round and sat astride. She’d seen him do it a thousand times before, thinking it looked cool. Today she winced. For no reason she could possibly explain, she did not want him in her kitchen. ‘I brought you your favourite Champagne Truffles. I was passing and thought you might like them.’ He took the familiar box out of the bag and left it on the table.
Even though it was the largest box they did, he had seriously underestimated the size of the war with this peace offering.
‘Er, Ella. Don’t you have proper coffee?’ he asked as she spooned instant granules into a mug and pulled a pint of milk out of the fridge. ‘Or skinny milk?’
She glared at him.
‘It’s not a flipping coffee shop.’ He didn’t need to know that since George’s return from hospital she took him a cappuccino every morning after she returned from her morning walk with Tess.
She took the two mugs and went back to the lounge. Patrick fitted in better here.
‘So, you were going to explain everything to me.’ She clutched her mug in front of her in two hands. ‘Do we need an agenda?’
Patrick looked dubious.
‘Item One. How come you were selling my pictures in the gallery?’
He had the grace to look ashamed. ‘Ella, I needed the money. The gallery’s not been doing that well recently. I needed the refurb to give it a bit more pulling power. And it would have been all right if you hadn’t decided you wanted a break.’ The disgruntled downturn of his lips signalled his bitterness. ‘I’mhaving to cover all the bills on my own.’ He settled back into the sofa with a mulish huff.
‘So it’s my fault?’
‘I didn’t say that. However, you didn’t exactly give me time to make alternative arrangements. And with regard to the paintings, I was planning to give you the usual percentage of the sales. It’s not as if you’ve lost out.’
‘Except that I had no intention of selling those pictures.’
‘Ella. What would you do with them? Keep them in storage for ever? They were collecting dust.’
