She was heading for the bank to check out the balance on both her business and personal accounts, to make sure she had enough to put a deposit on a new place and see her through while she continued to build up enough paintings for the exhibition. Mike had signed over his right to manage her finances without a hitch, so there should be enough funds to rent a larger, even cosier home, maybe with a bit of a garden for the baby.
She was feeling optimistic, which was a happy bonus of the show she was planning. Full of laughter and light, it reflected all the good things she’d brought home from Kaimos...including the beloved bump.
Kris.
Her heart yearned for him. She would never forget him. Why hadn’t they done a simple thing like exchange phone numbers? She had no idea where he lived in London, or if he stayed in hotels. His private email was just that: private. She’d rung the top hotels, but had drawn a blank. Determined not to be beaten, she ended up using old-fashioned pen and paper, writing and delivering a note to one of the receptionists at his fabulous London offices. The woman had stared at her sternly, before putting the letter in an in-tray bulging to the brim. Would it get lost? Would the woman remove it once Kimmie had left the building? There were no guarantees. She’d even hung around a while in the hope of seeing Kris until the security guard had politely asked her to leave.
Ships that pass in the night, she mused sadly as she reached the door of the bank. Surely she’d meant more to him than that? Maybe not, and there was nothing to be done about it now. She’d tried to call him too, but had been stonewalled at all his numerous offices. She could imagine Kristof Kaimos received plenty of calls and visits from women and they were all blocked, though not from women carrying his child, she hoped.
She had to forget Kris and get on with her life. She’d known it was never going to be for ever. No promises had been made on either side and it had been obvious he didn’t want to be part of her life. If he had, he would have found her by now. Billionaires must have security teams and investigators, but clearly no one had tried to find her.
New life, new start, new everything, Kimmie pledged as she passed through the bank’s revolving doors on a wave of determination.
Unfortunately, it didn’t prove to be quite that easy.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you with a short-term loan,’ the bank manager said flatly.
‘But it’s only until my next exhibition,’ Kimmie explained, feeling numb and faint. ‘I need more funds for canvases and paints, and to hire a hall. And I need a deposit for a new place. My paintings are stacked up in every spare inch of space where I’m living at the moment, and I can’t carry on like that when my baby’s born.’ She cradled her bump, already knowing from the look on the manager’s face that there would be no new place, and no way of earning the money to pay for one.
‘There’s no certainty in your profession,’ the manager explained, as if Kimmie didn’t know this. ‘The bank has changed its policy where the arts are concerned.’
Kimmie felt as if her stomach were being turned inside out. ‘Surely my past record in selling out an exhibition—’
‘Might be a fluke,’ the manager interrupted, echoing Kimmie’s worst fears. ‘I’m really sorry, Ms Lancaster, but there’s nothing I can do to help you.’
‘Well, thank you for your time,’ Kimmie said politely as she forced herself to her feet. ‘I’ll just transfer some money across from my business account.’
‘I’m afraid you can’t do that,’ the manager said.
‘Why not? I can—I must. There has to be some money left,’ Kimmie exclaimed, finding it a struggle to remain upbeat.
The manager checked her records. ‘It says here that your fiancé signed over all signature rights to you, as per your instruction, but prior to that he emptied the business account. I thought you knew that. At the time of the transaction his was the only signature required, so he had every right to do so.’
The letters from the bank that had remained unopened while she’d been too busy working to pay much attention to anything outside the drive to paint and paint!
Kimmie had some money in a personal account, which she’d been eking out week to week, but her business account had been under Mike’s control since their engagement. That was what they’d agreed. It would take a weight off her shoulders, he’d said. She’d known Mike most of her life and had thought she could trust him.
There was an awkward pause, and then the bank manager stood to indicate that their meeting was over. ‘I’m very sorry, Ms Lancaster. I can see this has been a shock for you.’
To put it mildly. But there had to be another option, Kimmie determined, trying to shake off the shock as she left the bank and walked briskly down the street, heading goodness knew where.
There was another option! She’d go to the gallery that held her last exhibition, explain the position she was in and ask if they could possibly help her out in exchange for an increase in the amount of commission they took on each painting.
They might not want to hold the exhibition at all.
True. But it was worth a try.
* * *
GALLERY CLOSED
Kimmie stared in disbelief at the sign on the door. Her shoulders slumped. Now she really was beaten. No money. Nowhere to hold her exhibition. And a baby on the way. She didn’t even have enough money for next month’s rent on her little flat.
So make a plan.
Based on what? Smoke and mirrors?
Well, standing here fretting wouldn’t do any good.
Turning up her collar, she strode off down the street. When the going gets tough, et cetera, et cetera...
* * *
‘No one disappears into thin air,’ Kris raged as he paced his London office. ‘Someone must know where she is.’
‘It’s a big city and plenty of people disappear,’ his uncle told him with an accepting shrug.
If it hadn’t been for Kris’s genuine regard for his Uncle Theo, he would have ordered him out of the room. Instead, he was conciliatory. ‘Lunch,’ he said. ‘We’ll go out,’ he added, when his uncle pulled a face. ‘Somewhere nice,’ he promised.
Somewhere different...somewhere that might stand a chance of distracting his thoughts from an extraordinary woman with purple-streaked hair, a woman he’d missed more than he could possibly explain...a woman who had cut him off like a dead limb. If Kimmie had wanted to see him, these offices were like a flashing neon sign in the best part of London’s business district. She could have left a message or asked to see him. Admittedly, the changeover of receptionists was fast and furious, since any job with Kaimos Shipping was the golden ticket to a better position in a smaller company, but none of them admitted to seeing her. And she was distinctive. How could that have happened?
Quite simply, he concluded with a fierce scowl. Kimmie hadn’t wanted to see him, and so she hadn’t come near the place.
‘You have to find her, Kristof, and sort this out,’ his uncle informed him as they boarded the glass lift. ‘You’re in pain without her, and you’re being a pain to everyone you meet. And I include myself in that number,’ his uncle snapped as the glass doors slid open to reveal the vast white marble lobby of Kaimos Shipping’s London office. ‘Start with the college where she studied and work your way forward from there. Think, Kristof. Think like her.’
‘Kimmie,’ he said. ‘Her name is Kimmie Lancaster,’ he added tersely as his limo drew up at the kerb. ‘And if I thought like Kimmie I’d be the artist in residence here and not the CEO of Kaimos Shipping.’
‘Maybe you could learn something from this artistic girl.’ His uncle’s face softened in sympathy as he climbed into the rear seat. ‘She sounds a lot like your aunt, without whom I might have become a bitter tyrant rather than a loving uncle.’
‘And a good man,’ Kris added with feeling.
‘This Kimmie has certainly made an impression o
n you,’ his uncle observed as the sleek black vehicle pulled smoothly into the slow-moving London traffic.
‘You could say that,’ Kris admitted grimly.
‘I’ve seen a big change in you over the last few months, Kristof.’
He grunted noncommittally.
He was crawling out of his skin with impatience, having drawn a complete blank when it came to Kimmie’s whereabouts. Work and calls on his time had piled up remorselessly over the past few months. He’d had to delegate the search, only to end up firing the investigators. He would take charge. A full work diary had always brought him contentment in the past, but Kimmie had changed everything.
Try as he might, nothing could replace her. He’d found himself drifting off in crucial meetings to relive moments with her, and had known then that he’d have no rest until he found her. After the wedding debacle, he could imagine her going to ground to lick her wounds. She wouldn’t rely on him. She wouldn’t rely on anyone. And she’d be good at hiding. Kimmie had been hiding in one way or another since she was a child. The last thing she’d want would be to inconvenience anyone by unloading her worries on them. What she had to realise was that people who knew her wanted to help her, and he was in pole position where that was concerned.
‘Where are we heading now?’ his uncle asked querulously as Kris instructed the driver to take a detour on their way to the restaurant. ‘I’m hungry and you promised me lunch.’
‘And you shall have it, Uncle. As you instructed, I’m trying to think like Kimmie. She didn’t leave a number or a forwarding address with Kyria Demetriou, and the investigators seemed sure she didn’t have a mortgage, so I’m starting at square one to try and find where she might be renting.’
‘Lunch first, then hunt,’ his uncle requested. ‘I know you’re impatient, but an old man needs feeding regularly.’
Grinding his jaw, Kris amended his plan. ‘I’ll take you to the restaurant, make sure you’ll be treated like a king, and I’ll leave the car at your disposal.’
His uncle sighed heavily but knew there was no arguing with Kris in this mood. ‘Very well,’ he agreed grudgingly. ‘Do what you must.’
Kris was too fiercely absorbed in his most recent plan to notice the small smile that had crept on to his uncle’s face.
* * *
The word MEN, with a thick black diagonal warning sign painted through the three bold letters. How good did that feel?
Maybe she’d take up graffiti art, Kimmie mused as she stood back with the brush she’d been using to express her feelings on the canvas poised in one hand. Or not! Black paint was running down the hand in question, and did this really fit with her sun-drenched exhibition—the one that was supposed to make people feel happy?
Taking the canvas off the easel, she stacked it with the rest of the rejects in the one remaining corner of her tiny room. She huffed as she stared at the rejected painting, knowing it was a reaction to her latest knockback by a trendy gallery.
‘Sunny?’ the snooty owner had exclaimed as if Kimmie had suggested something vile. ‘How utterly un-cool,’ he’d added with a sneer.
‘Not really,’ Kimmie had pointed out with a thoughtful expression. ‘It’s full of sex and heat and naked bodies, so I think you’d call it quite hot.’
‘Come back here, young lady. I might be interested—’
‘Too late,’ she’d called out gaily. She needed someone who was one hundred per cent on board to stand a chance of her exhibition being successful. A lot depended on the buzz being circulated, and as the artist she could only do so much of that.
Undaunted by this latest setback, she quartered the streets of London that she was familiar with, searching for somewhere she could paint, store her work and potentially exhibit it too. She struck gold when she spotted a large notice in the window of a community centre. Space available, it read. Suitable for dance classes, lecture hall or exhibition space.
Perfect, Kimmie thought as she walked in. Finding the caretaker, a no-nonsense woman called Mandy, she introduced herself. ‘I’m an artist,’ she explained, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t have much money, so maybe I could help out as well?’
‘So you’re familiar with paint?’ Mandy asked, wrinkling her nose as if an idea had just come to her.
‘Absolutely.’
‘This hall needs painting.’
‘Ah...’ Kimmie smiled. Here was someone who could not only get her out of a mess, but who could give Kimmie a sense of purpose while she did so. ‘I’m quite happy to barter my services as decorator in exchange for a reduced cost on the space,’ she confirmed.
‘Reduced cost?’ Mandy exclaimed. ‘You can have it for free if you paint the hall. Are you sure you’ll have enough time?’
‘I’ll make time,’ Kimmie said, firming her jaw.
‘Right then. We’ve got a deal,’ Mandy confirmed. ‘I’ll close the hall while you’re working, and even provide the tea.’
She’d have to make several trips with her paintings, Kimmie reflected, but once the hall was decorated she could hang them in a weekend. This was perfect.
‘Thank you so much.’
* * *
‘Wow...’ Mandy breathed on the first day of that weekend. Kimmie had just hung her painting of Kris. Naked on the bed, he was fortunately lying on his stomach. Even so, the sight of him, impossibly masculine, hard-muscled and deeply tanned, indolently displayed to best advantage, was a breath-stealing sight.
‘Obviously post-sex, with those bed sheets rumpled around him,’ Mandy commented thoughtfully in her usual blunt manner. ‘Lucky you,’ she added with a twinkle in her eyes as she stared at Kimmie.
‘Oh, no. I...’
‘Don’t even,’ Mandy warned, holding up her hand to silence Kimmie, ‘because I won’t believe you.’
‘He’s just another man,’ Kimmie protested. ‘Another subject to paint.’
‘Hun,’ Mandy said wearily, ‘that is not “just another man”.’
She sighed dramatically. ‘That is the man, the pinnacle of the expectation of our collective wombs, and it’s your duty to share him with the world. I expect he’ll sell out first. Who wouldn’t want that hanging on their wall?’ Standing back to admire the nude of Kris once more, she sighed again. ‘And you’re good,’ she added, turning from the painting to stare at Kimmie. ‘You’re really good and I believe in you. Don’t you think it’s time to start believing in yourself?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE PAINTINGS DID look fabulous, thanks to Mandy’s help with hanging them. Now all that remained was to spread the word and hope someone turned up. Whatever happened, at least the community hall had had a facelift. Who needed a fancy gallery when Kimmie had a fairy godmother in the comforting shape of Mandy? A second fairy godmother, Kimmie thought wistfully as she remembered Kyria Demetriou and hoped she’d see her again. The bright scenes of Kaimos were largely due to her encouragement. They made Kimmie smile. She could only hope they made everyone else smile too.
‘Go home, Kimmie,’ Mandy prompted. ‘There’s nothing more you can do here tonight, and you can leave it to me to lock up.’
‘Thanks. The hall looks fabulous, thanks to you.’
‘And to your hard work and the exhibition,’ Mandy put in, ‘and in your condition you need a rest now.’
‘I’m pregnant, not sick,’ Kimmie protested smiling.
‘Even so, I’m taking charge and you’re going home,’ Mandy insisted, shooing Kimmie towards the door. ‘You want to be fresh for the opening, don’t you?’
‘If anyone comes,’ Kimmie said wryly, hoping they would. She needed to pay the rent this month and, however carefully she budgeted, her small reserve of money had almost run out.
Would anyone come to the wrong side of town?
Fortunately, she’d put a small sum aside to pay for some flyers, which she had posted all over town, including
the West End and Knightsbridge, as well as other fashionable areas like the King’s Road, Marylebone High Street and Notting Hill. Literally anyone who had agreed to take one of her carefully designed posters showing just a snapshot of her work had been thanked from the bottom of her heart before she’d moved on.
The miles of walking had done her good. As she’d criss-crossed the wintry streets of London, she had realised how kind people could be. Some had even expressed an interest in coming along to the exhibition, so perhaps it wouldn’t be a washout after all.
Meeting Mandy had been the key to everything, Kimmie mused as she hugged her friend and said goodnight. On her way out, she gazed up at her painting of Kris and smiled. She couldn’t help herself. Perhaps his uncle wouldn’t want Kris naked on his wall, but there were the earlier sketches as well as the finished painting of Kris, looking hard and driven and every bit the commanding CEO. Perhaps they could hang that one on the boardroom wall in one of his offices.
‘Now, don’t you worry about anything,’ Mandy insisted as she opened the door and an icy draught blew in. ‘I’ll make sandwiches and tea for everyone tomorrow.’ And when Kimmie protested that they didn’t even know if anyone would come, she added, ‘Spending a lot of money on paintings will be hungry work, I expect, so I’d better stock up and get cracking first thing in the morning.’
Nothing she could say would put her friend off. Maybe it was time she took the same line, Kimmie thought as Mandy added, ‘Those beautiful posters are enough to charm the birds from the trees. We’ll be turning people away. Your work is fabulous. I predict you’ll be a sell-out. I’ll make sure there’s water, as well as decaf tea for you, so you’ve no excuse not to enjoy the event to the full, and make a lot of money.’
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Kimmie said as they parted at the door.
‘Think about what you’ve done for us...for the community,’ Mandy called after her. ‘It was a lucky day for everyone when you knocked on the door, and we’ll all be here to support you.’
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