by Fanny Blake
Ellen was listening in astonishment. He must have heard the catch in her breath.
‘I know how stupid that must sound. But then she attacked me again. And again. Every time she apologised, crying and promising she’d never do it again. She didn’t know what had come over her. But she got worse. Once she even burned my arm with the iron. I tried so hard not to provoke her but I never knew what it was that I did to trigger her off. She couldn’t seem to help herself. I can’t tell you how ashamed and useless I felt, yet I tried so hard. What sort of man am I to prompt that sort of behaviour, then sit back and take it?’ His voice broke.
Ellen sat completely still. He hadn’t looked at her once while he spoke as if he couldn’t bear to see her inevitable disappointment in him. She reached across to hold his hand as he continued.
‘She had only just opened the gallery when we met but I worked hard for her, helping her build it up. In return, after a year, she gave me a half-share in it to show her gratitude. She really believed we were in it for the long haul. For a while we were a golden couple but nobody knew what was happening between us behind closed doors. I promised not to tell anyone, not even her family, and I kept my word. But the pressure built between us until we had a terrible fight, and in her rage, she said some appalling things to me. That was what gave me the courage to leave her there and then. I realised that if I didn’t she was going to destroy me. She was devastated, begging me to stay. I needed every ounce of my willpower not to. You’ve got to believe me.’
‘Of course I do.’ Having heard him out, Ellen could barely speak, but she wanted to reassure him of her support.
‘So I left. The only thing we had to sort out was the property because of course half the gallery was in my name. She insisted on buying it back. I would have given it to her gladly but I think she felt guilty about her behaviour and somehow this was a way of buying my silence. More than that, I think she was genuinely grateful for all I’d done to build the business. And I’d done a lot. So I agreed to accept well below the market value. That’s the money I’ve been existing on and it’s pretty much come to an end now. Thank God, you helped me by paying the rent.’ At last he looked at her directly. ‘There. Now you know the whole sorry tale. I didn’t want to tell you because I was frightened you’d think . . . well, that I was some kind of wimp, or something. And perhaps now you do.’
‘Of course I don’t.’ This was so far from what she might have expected, she wasn’t immediately sure what more to say. Instead, she just squeezed his hand. What courage it must have taken to tell her. Instead of diminishing himself in her eyes he’d erased any doubt in her mind about their relationship. He wasn’t less of a man for having endured what he had. If anything, she admired him more for his stoicism and the patience he’d shown towards Suzanne.
‘No wonder you didn’t want to talk about her,’ she said, understanding. ‘But you know what? I love you even more for telling me. We shouldn’t have secrets from one another if we’re going to live together.’ He started to say something but she carried on, encouraged by his obvious relief. ‘I’ve decided, if you still feel the same, that’s what I’d like. Why don’t you move in with us? Any time you want.’
He clearly hadn’t expected this. ‘Is this what you really want?’
When she nodded, he pulled her towards him. ‘Despite everything I’ve told you?’
‘It really is. What you’ve told me happened between you and Suzanne. I’m not her. I don’t see why it should make any difference to us.’ Resting her head on his chest, Ellen could feel the beating of his heart through his jumper.
‘And the children?’
‘The children will be fine. At least, Matt will be. We both know Em’s going to be harder to pull round.’ She heard herself echoing what she’d said weeks ago, knowing there was no reliable evidence that she was right. ‘But we’ll work on her together and, in the end, she’ll have to accept it.’ She wasn’t entirely convinced things would pan out that easily but she wanted to believe they would. And if she believed it, perhaps that was what would happen. As far as she was concerned, Oliver had vindicated himself. Bea’s accusations, whatever they were, were unfounded.
‘Well, I don’t want you to do anything that doesn’t feel completely right,’ he said.
She felt his hand on her head, tracing her hairline, down the side of her face to the back of her neck.
‘This feels completely right. Everything fell into place after I’d had supper with Jed and he told me he was looking for a place down here. I was thinking about everything and realised we could sublet the flat to him. I know strictly speaking it’s breaking the terms of the lease but who’s going to know? I’m pretty sure he’ll jump at it.’
‘Can he afford it?’
‘Of course he can. The paintings he’s sold already will cover six months’ rent and we’ve still got plenty of interest in the rest. I’m dying to see what he’ll do once he starts working down here.’
‘But the flat’s tiny. How’s he going to manage?’
‘Well, yes. There’s one more thing I haven’t told you.’ This was the bit that Ellen had been putting off mentioning. She looked up at him.
‘What?’ His hand was still on her head.
She waited for a second, then admitted, ‘I’m going to tell him he can use the studio.’
His face darkened. ‘But I got that for you.’
She felt his grip tighten on her hair till it hurt. She reached up to make him let go. Then, sitting up, she twisted round to face him. The blue vein had appeared in his temple again. She reached out to reassure him, but he inched away, his right fist repeatedly clenching and unclenching. ‘I know you did, and I will use it one day. But I’m so busy with the gallery and the kids that I just don’t have the time right now. This way Jed will be able to produce more paintings that we can sell at the gallery. And he’s going to pay rent.’
‘We?’
‘What?’ She watched his fist relax.
‘You said, “We can sell at the gallery.”’
‘Did I? I meant “I”.’
‘But that’s a brilliant idea. Why not “we”? I could come in with you. We’d be a great team. You’ve got the eye. I’ve got the organisational skills.’ His expression had been transformed with excitement and enthusiasm. He grasped her hand as if willing her to agree.
But she didn’t want to share the gallery with anyone, not even Oliver, with whom she was about to share her life. Perhaps she was being unfair, especially when he was having such difficulty on the work front, but she had made the gallery what it was and she didn’t want to compromise. He might not think she could run a business efficiently, she thought, slightly annoyed by his implication, but she had done well enough until now. ‘Steady on. You’re crushing me.’ She removed her hand from his grip and massaged her knuckles. Reluctant to break the change in mood, she hesitated before replying, wondering how to let him down gently. Living with him was one thing. Sharing her business was another.
‘Come on, Ellen,’ he broke in. ‘I could learn so much from you. Perhaps we could even extend to renting the floor above.’
He knew just which of her buttons to press. Taking the floor above the gallery had long been a dream of hers. For years, the same landlord had used the two small rooms for storage, accessing them through the back of the building. And for years, Ellen had imagined being able to open the front staircase and use the rooms herself, perhaps widening her stock to include some of the pottery and jewellery she’d seen on her travels. She steadied herself. ‘That’s a fantastic idea and perhaps, one day, we could. But not yet.’
His face fell.
‘Let’s take one step at a time. I’m not saying no,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Just not yet.’
‘But you do think it’s an idea?’
She couldn’t refuse the hope in his voice. ‘Of course I do. Let’s get you in here and the children sorted. Then, if you still haven’t found the right job, we’ll think again.’
‘I’ve got another idea.’
‘What?’
‘What if I were to help just on Saturdays? You’ve always said that’s the busiest day. And that way at least we could spend the whole weekend together. Or, when you decide that you trust me, you could spend more time with the kids while I cover for you.’
‘It’s not about trusting.’ But now he’d pressed another button. The guilt she had felt at not being around on Saturdays since Uncle Sidney’s death had weighed on her for a long time now. She had managed, thanks to her neighbours, to Bea or Kate, and to occasionally shutting when absolutely necessary or during the quiet winter periods, but it had never been ideal. If she agreed, she would be able to go to Matt’s football matches, spend more time with Emma and perhaps even ease her daughter into seeing that gaining Oliver was not the same as losing her mother. That final consideration decided her.
‘All right, we’ll give it a—’ She hadn’t finished the sentence when the breath was all but squeezed out of her by his hug.
‘You won’t regret it, I promise.’ His smile was wider than she’d ever seen it, his eyes brighter. ‘And then, if you think I’m any use . . .’
‘No promises.’ No thin end of the wedge. There would only ever be one person in control of her gallery and that was her. Not even Oliver would change that. She had always said she would never take on anyone in any capacity on any kind of a regular basis. But his delight made her feel as if she’d just given him the best present in the world, not to mention a sign of her commitment to him.
‘OK. I get it. But this calls for a celebration.’ He hugged her again, this time more gently, and then they kissed.
Chapter 31
Things had hardly gone as Bea had planned. In an attempt to make up for her dash to France she had got into work early on Thursday morning. Yelling, ‘Good morning,’ in the direction of the post-room, she had crossed to the door of her office. She was surprised to see the vertical blinds drawn down. She rarely closed them, believing it was more egalitarian, given she had one of the few enclosed offices, to let everyone in the open-plan area see what she was doing. Reading and typing; typing and reading; and talking. The cleaners must have been being unusually thorough. As she leaned on the handle, she thought she heard a noise inside. Puzzled, she let the door swing open. Amanda was stepping out from behind her desk, a file in her hand. Looking her usual chic, unruffled self in a neat aubergine suit and lime green boat-necked top, she smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be found there. ‘Morning!’ she chirped, nonchalance personified.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I was just looking for the original Archer contract.’
‘Couldn’t you have waited for me to come in and then asked?’
‘I could. But we didn’t know whether you’d be in today or not.’ A smile played at the corners of her mouth. Amanda was clearly revelling in her rival’s sudden fall from grace. But Bea had expected no less.
However, Amanda having the brass neck to snoop round her office exceeded her expectations. ‘What made you think you’d find it behind my desk?’
‘I thought you might keep author files in the drawers.’
‘Amanda, that’s the lamest excuse I’ve heard for years. Surely you can do better than that.’
‘It’s the truth,’ she protested, as cool as ever. ‘And now you’re here, perhaps you could give it to me yourself.’
‘The contracts are all filed in the rights department, as you well know. I suggest you look there.’
Bea crossed the room so she could check her computer screen. It was blank, thank God. She had remembered to log off before she left on Tuesday to go to the private view. What a long time ago that seemed.
Amanda was edging her way out of the room. As she reached the door, she turned, her composure fully recovered. ‘Oh, by the way, Bea, the presentation went well. Thanks for asking.’
Before Bea had time to react, Amanda had gone, gliding apparently without a care across the open-plan area to her own office. ‘Cat’ and ‘cream’ were the two words that sprang to Bea’s irate mind. Having safely locked her bag into her drawer, she glanced over her desk to see what might have interested Amanda. Most of her correspondence with agents about possible or upcoming projects was on email so she couldn’t have taken advantage of anything there. In fact, apart from the submissions, which were all logged in for anyone to see, she didn’t think there was anything that particularly mattered. Relieved, but still furious at the intrusion, she hung up her coat and strode over to Adam’s office to protest and apologise – if he would let her.
‘Adam, can I have a word?’
When he nodded her in, she stood in front of his desk, knowing she’d be well advised not to let her anger show. She waited to be asked to sit down but the invitation was not forthcoming. A bad sign.
‘So, you’ve decided to come back.’ He continued to study the sales screen on his computer, without even a glance in her direction.
‘Look, I’m really sorry but there was something I simply had to do.’
Behind him, she could see the London skyline sharp against the clouds. A small aircraft circled like a gnat somewhere towards the river. She became aware of the steady tick of a new clock that he’d had installed beside the door behind her.
‘But you can’t tell me what it was?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ For once in her life, Bea was at a loss as to how to handle a situation. She obviously hadn’t just blotted her copybook with Adam. She’d torn it up and thrown it away. He wouldn’t understand if she explained what she’d been up to and he certainly wouldn’t consider it justification for missing such an important meeting. Meanwhile Amanda was hovering, waiting for any opportunity to better her rival, and Bea was making it easy for her.
‘Bea, I’ve been talking to Amanda who incidentally did us all proud yesterday.’ He tore his eyes from the screen and directed his attention fully on her. ‘She’s come up with some good ideas about how the editorial department could work more effectively. Talking to her persuaded me she’s right. Particularly after you pulled that stunt yesterday. That, of course, was one of several things that came up in our discussion.’
I bet it was, she thought. His Beach-Barbie wife and son stared out at them both from the photo. Was there more credibility in the office gossip than Bea had thought? Had Amanda succeeded in flexing the boundary between her professional and personal relationship with Adam? If so, she might be getting a lot more of her own way in the future, which in turn would mean that Bea was going to find it almost impossible to scramble back into Adam’s good books.
His face was unreadable. ‘Not coming in yesterday and not warning anyone of your absence suggests to me that I can’t rely on you in the way I’d hoped.’
‘That’s ridiculous, Adam. It was just one day. You know full well that I do a good job.’
Adam continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘You have to accept that Amanda is part of this company now.’ He sounded as if he was talking to an educationally challenged five-year-old. ‘She has a job to do here just as you have. She’s told me how hard she’s found it to work with you. You need to be more collaborative.’
‘Even if I find her snooping about my office?’
‘That’s not Amanda’s style.’
‘Then how come I’ve just found her in my office, behind my desk, with the blinds closed?’
‘I’m sure there was a good reason. Ask her.’
‘I have.’
But Adam had already turned his attention back to his screen. His hands moved quickly over the keyboard. The discussion was closed. Bea gave an exasperated sigh and left him. She stormed over to the coffee machine for a polystyrene cup of the black sludge that passed as espresso. She took a double shot, marched back to her office and shut the door. She grimaced at the first taste. Heart-starter or heart-stopper? she wondered, and pushed the cup out of reach.
As she thought about what had just happened, she realised tha
t her working life was about to become more difficult than ever. Finding her way back into Adam’s favour was going to be difficult, perhaps impossible. Besides, did she really want to put herself through the humiliating procedure of trying? Her working life had taken a serious nose-dive from which it would be hard to recover. The seed that had been sown during her talk with Adele began to germinate. Perhaps she had reached a point at which she had to take control of her working life instead of going where it took her. Perhaps she would be able to survive outside the confines of Coldharbour, after all.
Adam was out of the office for the rest of the day. That meant she had the whole weekend to plan what she would say to him on Monday. She had no qualms about telling Amanda she had to go to Edinburgh to visit Audrey Balfour, a needy but much-needed bestselling author, who had asked her to travel up to discuss her next historical novel. Amanda had rolled her eyes at what she obviously felt was a further dereliction of duty, but Bea ignored her. Neither did she explain that her real reason for going was to find someone called Marion Drummond.
*
Bea sipped half-heartedly at her warm champagne. She turned to her left where Mark was hidden behind his copy of the Financial Times, a cup of coffee to hand. She thanked God the Edinburgh-bound budget airline had curtailed the jingle that had repeated itself ad nauseam before take-off until she thought she might scream or tear the plane apart with her bare hands until she found the off switch. But at least this time, on her third flight in two days, they hadn’t hit any turbulence. On Thursday night she and Mark had rushed to meet each other at Liverpool Street after work, each clutching an overnight bag, and boarded the train. As they sped to Stansted, she told him at length about her day and the life-changing decision she had made. Judging by his reactions, Bea guessed that while he envied her impulsiveness, it made him a little nervous too. But there was nothing she could do to change her nature. Besides, her sense of anticipation about what lay ahead was clearly infectious.