Page 151 of Off the Pitch

“Sorry to drop in like this, but don’t worry. I’m not here to pick a fight. I’m not actually here to see you at all.”

“Pardon?”

“Is Kit here?”

“Why?” I knew I was probably being a little rude, but I was still stunned by her appearance. She was wearing a smart dress and heels, hair and make-up impeccably in place, and I wondered if she’d come straight from the gallery.

“I wanted to talk to him. First to apologise, and then I have a business proposition for him.”

“You’d better come in then,” I said because I couldn’t really refuse, since Kit was a grown man. If he didn’t want to talk to her, he didn’t have to.

“Thank you.” She stepped through the open door, carrying the cupcakes in front of her, and I followed, wondering if my evening could get any weirder.

“Who was it?” Kit asked, not looking up from his sketchbook, and I doubted he’d even heard us. He had an amazing ability to tune out the rest of the world when he was working.

“You have a visitor,mon chéri,” I said, leaning over the back of the sofa to press a kiss to his temple. He looked up, first at me and then at Hélène, eyes widening.

“Hello,” Hélène said, placing the cupcakes on the coffee table in front of him and stretching out her hand. “I’m Hélène Penaud. It’s nice to meet you. Properly this time.”

“Kit Macken.” Kit stretched for her hand, shaking it tentatively. “I’m sorry, but why are you here?”

I laughed, and Hélène smiled, taking a seat on the chair opposite him. “First, I wanted to apologise to you. I’m sorry for last week. I didn’t mean to cause problems or to hurt you. That wasn’t my intention, and if I would have known you were together… well, anyway, I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Kit said, swinging his legs onto the floor and beaming. “We all have bad days. Are the cupcakes for me? Can I have one?”

“Of course. I got a selection,” said Hélène, sounding surprised. I didn’t think she’d expected Kit to forgive her that quickly, but I knew he had. Whatever Kit thought, he was good at understanding people and had an innate ability to know things about them. He knew why Hélène had come here that afternoon because in his own way, he’d felt the same.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” Hélène continued. “There’s lemon meringue, chocolate and salted caramel, and raspberry and white chocolate.”

“I’ll have to try all of them,” Kit said and leant over the box, his expression rapt. “Just in case.” He pulled a lemon meringue one out of the box and carefully peeled the wrapper back. “You said ‘first’ a moment ago. Was there something else you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes. I don’t know if you’re aware, but I run the Daaé Gallery in Chelsea, and when I was here last time, I saw some of your work, particularly a piece Hugo said you had painted in Scotland. I wondered if you had any more?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

KitApparently sunsets on Mars are blue

HugoIs it weird that I’d like to see that?

KitOf course not! I can’t take you to Mars, so I’ll paint it for you instead

Kit

“More?” I stared at Hélène, cupcake halfway to my mouth. “I’m sorry, did you say more?”

“If you’ve got any.”

“Of course,” I said, my eyes flicking to Hugo to see if he had any idea what was going on. Apparently, he didn’t because he looked just as confused as I felt. I put the uneaten cake on the coffee table.

“Can you give me a hand?” I asked Hugo, and he nodded, following me back to the spare bedroom. We’d carefully stacked all the paintings here when they’d arrived from Scotland while I decided what to do with them.

“What’s going on?” I whispered as I began to collect canvases, checking over my shoulder to make sure Hélène hadn’t followed us.

“No idea.” Hugo shrugged, taking the picture I offered him. “I’m as confused as you.”

“Did you show her my work?”

“No. She just saw the one that was leaning against the door.” I knew the picture he meant because it was still propped against the door. I picked it up and carried it back to the living room, propping it up on the sofa, arranging the others around it, leaning them on whatever I could find. There were six finished ones in total, and two unfinished pieces that I’d been pottering away on since we’d gotten back. Hugo had been true to his word and had set up a little corner for me to paint, but I hadn’t had as much time as I wanted because as soon as I’d returned to the real world, I’d found myself snowed under with digital work again.

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