Artistic Licence (31 page)

‘Veronica told me Toby had been kidnapped.’

‘Kidnap—I don’t believe it! You’re out of your mind. Where on earth did she get that idea from?’

‘So how would you describe removing my son from the custody of his mother and his nanny, and disappearing into the streets of Knightsbridge, then? A little gentle exercise in a thunderstorm?’

Thea shook her head to clear the rain from her eyes. He was now as wet as she was though, in a suit, was a little better protected. ‘You are mad,’ she declared. ‘Stark, staring, fucking mad! Why on earth did you think I’d kidnapped Toby? And if I did, why did I spend a small fortune on a taxi taking him home?’

Ben shrugged dramatically. ‘I don’t know! Nothing you do ever seems logical.’

Thea’s eyes flashed to rival the lightning. ‘Well, let me explain! I took him home to you because that’s where he said he wanted to go. Although it was bloody miles away and, as I said, cost me a fortune in fares. Don’t you think you should be inside, comforting him, instead of shouting at me, who’s done nothing whatever to be ashamed of?’

‘Don’t tell me how to look after my own son!’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it! Though just one tip: tell your wife and your nanny that it’s a good idea to stay where you last saw the child, rather than disappearing into Greater London!’

While Ben now realised that Thea had done nothing wrong, he was still upset. ‘Don’t stand there shouting. Tell me what happened.’

Thea was incredulous. ‘I think you mean, “I am so sorry, Thea, I don’t know how I could have been so stupid!” Only don’t bother to apologise, because what you’ve done to me is so much worse than you just being a dickhead about Toby.’

The expression broke through his anger. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I obviously got completely the wrong idea, but tell me what did happen.’

It was better than having to confront him with his perfidy, so Thea obliged. ‘I was talking to Rory – or trying to – in a pigging thunderstorm and Toby followed us. By the time he’d caught up with us we were all lost. It took us ages to get back to the gallery, and when we did, everyone had gone. I just cannot believe it! How could a mother just swan off when her son is missing in the middle of London?’

‘She didn’t swan off. She went back to her flat, in case Toby had gone there. They rang me at the office and said Toby had disappeared.’

‘So naturally you all assumed I’d kidnapped him. And you accuse
me
of not being logical?’

Ben sighed. ‘None of this is very logical. Let’s go back to the house and get you warm and dry.’

‘No! I’m not going into your house, Ben Jonson, and I wouldn’t if yours was the last house I could find sanctuary and a band of thugs were after me. Now I’m going to get a taxi.’ Then she remembered she’d just spent almost all her money on the taxi they’d recently got out of and would be lucky if she had enough left for a bus.

Ben took hold of her shoulder again. It still felt bruised from last time.

‘Let me go, you ape!’

‘Not until you tell me why you won’t go into my house. Rory and Toby are there. You’ll be quite safe from my lust.’

This unfortunate choice of word reminded Thea of when they’d been together varnishing the floor. She blushed hotly at the memory. ‘I doubt if you know the meaning of the word,’ she muttered, remembering her bitter humiliation.

His mouth hardened and his grip tightened. ‘Then what is it?’

She put her chin up and her shoulders back, losing his hand as she did so. ‘You should be able to work it out for yourself, but as you’re obviously incredibly dense I’ll spell it out for you. You let me go to all the trouble and expense, worry and hard work, of setting up an art gallery, when you knew bloody well your
wife was going to make Rory an offer he couldn’t refuse and I’d be left with a gallery but no star artist… and no chance of making any money.’

‘What?’ He frowned in puzzlement.

‘Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re deaf as well as stupid!’

Ben was obviously still angry too, but was better at hiding it than Thea. ‘I’m not deaf and I’m not stupid, and because I’m not stupid we’re going to carry on this conversation in the house.’

‘No. I said I refuse – ’

He didn’t argue. He just picked her up in a fireman’s lift, carried her back down the road and up the steps to the house. Thea found she couldn’t kick him, though it wasn’t for want of trying. Battering his back with her fists hurt her more than it seemed to hurt him. He pulled her down so she was on her feet when the nanny opened the door. ‘Thank you,’ he said to her. ‘Now, you.’ He turned to Thea. ‘Upstairs and into the bath.’

Thea was torn. She’d been wet and cold too long not to yearn for the comfort of hot water. On the other hand she was damned if she’d take orders from Ben, even if it was more for her good than for his.

‘I’m not listening to any arguments,’ he went on. ‘You can use my bathroom; you’ll be quite private. But when you come out, you’re going to tell me what the bloody hell you’re talking about.’

Thea made a rapid plan. She would appear to comply, go upstairs, run the bath and, when he was out of the way, she’d tiptoe back downstairs and out, and run away. His behaviour was monstrous, almost as monstrous as his betrayal had been. She was
damned if she’d explain anything to him, and get his calm and logical answer in reply.

Thea’s plan didn’t allow for Ben actually running the bath for her, giving her a towel and a robe, and ordering her to get out of her clothes. Not that it was quite an order, more a suggestion it was hard not to comply with. ‘If you give me your wet things I’ll put them in the tumble-dryer.’

Thea bit her lip. ‘Oh, all right.’ She snatched the thick towelling robe. She might as well avail herself of the facilities, but she really didn’t want a confrontation. She was too tired and angry to guarantee she wouldn’t get emotional. Tears would just add to the many humiliations she had suffered recently.

The bath, she decided, was the nearest thing to heaven you could experience this side of the Pearly Gates. Forget sex, or chocolate – hot, deep water when one is really chilled has to be the best. She sank down so only her head was above it, abandoning her plans for a quick dip and escape. After all, she might as well stay in the bath until her clothes were dry.

Once the heat had penetrated every chilly cell and pore, she washed her hair, using Ben’s herbal shampoo, which smelt expensive and slightly medicinal. She sat up a bit and examined Ben’s bathroom – knowing he’d betrayed her even more badly than Conrad had didn’t affect her curiosity.

It was a very male bathroom, black and white tiled floor, shiny white suite, white tongue-and-groove panelling and a small mirror. It was also extremely tidy. No rogue bottles of shampoo, conditioner or body wash littered the edges of the bath. No hair-filled Ladyshaves, cracked soap or crumbling bath bombs
either.

Mentally she doubled the size of the looking-glass, placed a large, spectacular shell in front of it and added some real sponges or large beach pebbles, something to provide a little cheer without making it feminine. Some big, square bottles would be nice, too.

She sighed. She could tell herself, quite convincingly, that her own bathroom was full of clutter and rubbish because of Petal and her other students, but she knew it wasn’t true. She was a cluttered sort of person and Ben wasn’t. Even if his betrayal hurt her far, far more than Conrad’s had done, even if he were the kind, sexy man she’d once thought him, they were totally wrong for each other. They’d drive each other to distraction.

Draped in towelling from head to foot in the form of Ben’s bathrobe and the towel he’d given her, Thea went downstairs and found the kitchen. She’d already gone into Ben’s spartan bedroom, telephoned Magenta and brought her up to speed, Thea thought, remarkably calm about it all.

Now, Thea didn’t feel very calm and she did feel rather foolish. She hadn’t been able to find anything even distantly related to moisturiser in Ben’s bathroom cabinet and her face felt tight and shiny. Without even a trace of make-up to soften the effect, she probably looked like a sunburn victim. Still, what did it matter if she looked a fright? She just needed her clothes back.

Toby was sitting at a completely clear pine table, eating a plate of pasta. His nanny, whose name Thea couldn’t remember, was leaning against the equally uncluttered work surface, drinking a glass of wine. There was no sign of Ben or Rory.

‘Oh, hi,’ said Thea.

Toby looked up and grinned. The nanny detached herself from the worktop and asked, ‘Would you like a glass of wine? Ben will be back in a moment, but I’ve got to go home, now. You might as well have one while you’re waiting.’

‘Are my clothes dry, do you know?’ Thea accepted the glass of cold white wine.

‘Nearly, I think. But now you’re here I’ll pop off. That’s OK, isn’t it, Tobe?’

‘Fine,’ said Toby with his mouth full.

Thea sipped the wine. It was not all right with her. If the nanny wasn’t here she couldn’t just get dressed and slink off, as she had planned. She’d have to stay with Toby. She couldn’t abandon him without a responsible adult. And it was a nuisance to have lost Rory again. Still, perhaps it was for the best. If she was going to have to seduce him into showing with her, she’d prefer to be dressed for the event. With Ben’s robe gathered round her, she looked like the Michelin Man.

‘Before you go, where’s the tumble-dryer?’ If she delayed the girl a little, Ben might come back, and in the changeover period between nanny and father, Thea could make her escape.

‘Oh, it’s here, in the utility room. Just open the door and it’ll stop and you can get them out,’ said the girl casually, unaware how badly Thea wanted to get into her clothes, damp or not. She put in her hand and felt the clothes as they stopped. ‘Another ten minutes or so I’d say. Sit down and drink your wine. Ben’ll be back in a minute anyway, and he might give you a gin and tonic or something before supper. He’s gone to get
some things from the 8 till Late.’

Supper. That sounded terribly like a meal, terribly as if Ben was planning that they should slug it out over a salmon en croute after Toby was in bed. Not long ago – yesterday, even – this would have sounded lovely, she and Ben alone, with no distractions. Now it seemed like torture. Ben would be calm and logical, and explain he’d acted in Thea’s best interests, and she would weep with frustration and possibly attack him with a fish knife. No, she couldn’t let it happen.

She debated putting on her clothes as they were and making a run for it, while the nanny was still wiping the perfectly clean worktop with a perfectly clean cloth. But Thea badly needed to know if Rory had said anything before he’d gone. No, however unpleasant, some sort of confrontation with Ben was essential.

Toby had gone upstairs to play on his computer, having assured Thea that his bedtime wasn’t yet and that Dad wouldn’t mind. Thea, dressed and made-up with the nanny’s emergency supply, planned what to say to Ben.

She tried to look surprised when he arrived in the kitchen, although she’d heard him come in, talk to Toby and come downstairs.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’ve bought some supper.’

‘Nice for you.’
Don’t be rude, Thea. If you’re rude he’ll guess how much you care. Keep it calm, polite and unemotional.

‘I hope it’s nice for you, too.’

‘Well, I think that’s unlikely, don’t you?’ Good resolutions abandoned, Thea turned on him. ‘Do you really think it’s possible for me to sit opposite you and
chat as if nothing had happened? As if your wife hadn’t purloined Rory, just before he was going to show with me? Where is he, by the way? Did he tell you?’

‘Thea, I do wish you’d give me a chance to explain a few things, before you let your imagination go completely haywire.’

‘What things would those be? Like why you watched me,
helped
me even, set up an art gallery when you knew from the beginning Rory wasn’t going to show there? Was that why you were so keen on me setting up a graduate show?’

‘Could we eat first? I’m starving and I’m sure you are too.’

‘No, we couldn’t. Tell me!’

He sighed, but switched the oven on before turning round to face Thea. ‘I didn’t know Veronica had any plans for Rory.’

‘Yeah, right! You didn’t come all the way to Ireland with Toby because Molly asked you to. You did it to track Rory down for Veronica, so she could put on the show he should have had first time round.’

‘Veronica doesn’t have a gallery. She’s a patron, she collects artists, but she doesn’t have space of her own.’

Thea made a dismissive gesture. ‘Well, whatever, you knew Veronica was interested in him, which was why you went to Ireland. What I want to know is why the
fuck
you let me set up the gallery?’

‘I tried to stop you. I pointed out the pitfalls.’

‘You’re pathetic! You didn’t try to stop me at all. You know bloody well that if you’d told me Rory was destined for Cork Street or wherever, and wouldn’t show with me, I’d have gone back from Ireland to my
lodgers and my part-time job, and taken up a hobby!’

‘I’ve told you I didn’t know Veronica had plans for Rory and I don’t believe she did until she heard about your gallery – and before you accuse me of telling her, she heard about it from Toby.’

‘Hide behind your son, would you?’

Then she winced as she watched his reaction. His rage seemed to fill him like an implosion of explosive gas. Frightened, she prepared to duck or run as surely he would direct his anger at her.

Seeing her hover, prepared for flight, enraged him more and his eyes glittered. He thumped his fist on the worktop and the glasses in the cupboard above clattered together.

Thea kept her weight on the balls of her feet, but held her own. Her fear had insulted him further and as much as she hated him, she wished she hadn’t shown it.

‘I am not hiding behind my son,’ he said in a dangerously quiet voice. ‘I am telling you the truth. If you don’t choose to hear it and prefer to write your own little scenarios about what happened, don’t let me stop you. But I’m not going to defend myself to you any more.’

‘Fine.’ Her voice was shaking. She no longer felt like slugging it out with words. She didn’t believe him, not because she didn’t want to, but because it just didn’t seem credible. Why on earth would Veronica only have become interested in Rory again when she heard about Thea’s art gallery?