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That night she slept in Kris’s arms, and in the morning they made love again. No words were necessary. They came together by mutual consent and worked effortlessly towards pleasure with the certainty of knowing what each other liked. She dozed afterwards and woke to find Kris fresh from the shower with a white towel wrapped around his washboard waist, looking like that hero from Greek legend again.
‘Do you want your present now?’
‘I thought I’d just had it,’ she murmured groggily, turning over lazily in bed.
‘Something more tangible...’
‘Than this?’ she teased as she caressed her belly. ‘You’ve already given me the only gift I want.’
‘But my uncle would like to give you something more...something very special and very dear to him.’
‘What is it?’ Sitting up in bed, she covered herself with a sheet and waited.
Kris produced a ring box from the nightstand. ‘I know you don’t like rings unless they come out of a cracker, but I thought you might make an exception in this case.’
‘Oh, Kris...’ Kimmie’s emotions welled as never before as she stared at the beautiful ring.
‘I believe my aunt was a little like you, in that she was always impressing on my uncle that it was him she loved and not his money, and so he had this jewel specially set. It’s modest, as you can see, but unique and very beautiful.’
That was putting it mildly, Kimmie thought as she reverently removed the ring from its deep blue velvet nest. ‘What is the stone?’
‘It’s a cabochon star sapphire the same colour as my aunt’s eyes, with the same light I see in yours. We both thought it would be...appropriate.’
‘But how can your uncle bear to part with it?’
Kris hesitated and then shrugged. ‘He thought it might help my cause.’
‘Your cause?’
‘When I ask you to marry me,’ he said as if this were obvious.
Kris’s tone of voice might have been the same to discuss the arrangements for a new office block, Kimmie thought as her heart squeezed tight.
‘Kris, we’ve already been through this,’ she said as she carefully put the ring back in the box. Snapping the case shut, she handed it back to him. ‘I can’t marry someone who doesn’t love me, especially when the financial gulf between us is so wide. I would rather continue as I am—’
‘Poor but proud?’
‘If you like. I’m sorry if I misled you in any way, and please believe me when I say I would do anything not to offend your uncle. This gesture by him is huge and amazing, and generous beyond belief, but I can’t accept this ring. And wasn’t it you who said we didn’t have to get married?’
‘We don’t,’ Kris confirmed, bristling. ‘But I thought—’
‘For the sake of our child?’ Kimmie interrupted. ‘Or for the sake of Kaimos Shipping?’
‘Well, I hope you know the answer to that by now,’ he said tersely. Turning, he pulled on his jeans as if to signify the end of the discussion.
And it had not ended well. Again.
* * *
Kimmie set out on foot to walk from Kris’s house in an exclusive part of London to the city and her bank. It was time to pick up the reins of her life and she needed some cash. A new start, a new outlook on life—she felt optimistic, not defeated, and, in fairness, Kris had helped with that, by making her feel beautiful, wanted, desired for the first time in her life.
But even he had an angle: an heir for Kaimos Shipping. Her love for him was as simple and as complicated as that. Yes, they would share responsibility for their child and split the time between them, they had decided. Lots of families did that successfully, and it was wrong to want more, she had insisted. But she did want more. She wanted the family she’d never had, but perhaps that was as much a fantasy as the dreams she depicted in her paintings. Even so, she remained positive as she hurried along, smiling to herself. It wasn’t everyone who said, No, thank you, to a billionaire’s proposal. Yes, but wasn’t that a hollow triumph? Kimmie mused as she entered the bank. She loved Kris. She would always love Kris, no matter what the future held for them.
For some reason her card wouldn’t work in the cash machine. The queues were long in front of the counter, so she asked to see the manager. She didn’t have to wait long before she was called into the office.
‘What do you mean there’s no money in my personal account?’ she demanded. ‘I know I instructed you to close my business account, but...’
‘Your accounts were still linked,’ the manager explained stiffly, ‘and so the money in your personal account went to paying off the significant overdraft in your business account before we then closed it. It’s the bank’s policy.’
What a mess. So much for pride. The bank manager had warned her before that Mike had emptied the business account—he’d clearly done more than that. She should have checked her balances, but life had been so hectic recently. Now all she wanted was to leave the manager’s office before the stifling air of condescension smothered her.
‘Thank you,’ she said. For nothing, she thought, holding her head up high as she left the room.
It was raining when she reached the street. Of course it was. How fitting. She had a baby to think about and no money at all. Finally forced to a halt by pedestrian lights that, obviously, were also against her, she had the humiliating task of checking the few coins in her purse before deciding if she could afford to duck inside a roadside café to shelter herself from the rain.
‘Flat decaf and a packet of caramel wafers, please,’ she said when it was her turn in the queue. Both came under the heading of emergency rations, and could therefore be justified. She had two pounds twenty pence exactly left in her purse, which wasn’t even enough for her bus fare home. As she waited, she noticed a sign. Reading was a distraction, and she had something of a history with signs. This one read Staff Needed.
‘Can I help you?’ the young woman behind the counter asked, seeing Kimmie’s interest.
The barista looked nice and friendly and so Kimmie dived straight in. ‘I need a job and you’re advertising for staff?’
‘Do you have any experience?’
‘Well, yes, but no, I mean...’
‘Which is it?’
This was not her finest moment. Still reeling from the news at the bank, she had tears in her eyes. ‘I know how to make coffee,’ she offered lamely.
The barista smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m really sorry. We should have taken that notice down. The position has been filled. No. Really, it has,’ the barista insisted. ‘Why don’t you try further down the high street? There are always flyers on the shop windows advertising jobs down there.’
For out of work artists whose only experience was with a paintbrush?
‘Thank you. I will,’ Kimmie said as she went to find a seat. Predictably, every seat was taken.
For someone who’d been self-supporting for as long as she had, this new development took some getting used to. She thought about Kris. If the gulf between them had been unbridgeable before, what was it now?
She couldn’t tell anyone. Why burden them with her stupidity? With nothing else to do, she checked her phone. There was a message from Mandy to let her know that people were already asking about Kimmie’s next exhibition, and a text from Kris that made her heart pound: Are you okay? Let me know. She couldn’t fault him for his sense of duty and caring nature. If only he could express his emotions as freely... I’m fine, she replied. Adding a kiss seemed inappropriate. Theirs was more of a business relationship now. There was also a lovely little message from Kyria Demetriou that made her eyes sting, and made her long for things that seemed permanently out of reach, like a simple life where people loved each other openly, and where everyone was kind and smiled a lot. It was time to start painting again, she concluded.
And she would b
uy paint and canvas how, exactly?
* * *
‘To what do I owe this honour?’
Kris flinched inwardly as Kimmie silently, but quite obviously, braced herself, before saying whatever it was she had come to say.
‘You don’t mind?’ she said, glancing around, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ‘I mean, my coming here to your office in town?’
‘Of course I don’t.’ With a look at his PA, he indicated his wish not to be interrupted until further notice. His agenda was full for the day, but never too full to accommodate Kimmie. ‘What can I do for you?’ he said as soon as the door had closed. ‘Sit down,’ he invited, choosing a chair where she could look over the landmarks of London without feeling she must stare straight at him. ‘Would you like something to drink?’
‘I just had a drink down the road, thank you.’
‘Then stop wringing your hands and tell me what’s on your mind. Come on, Kimmie. This isn’t like you. You always come straight out with things. Where’s my Warrior Woman gone?’
‘She’s on a break,’ Kimmie admitted dryly, but it was a poor attempt at humour and her shoulders slumped. As he might have expected, her dejection didn’t last long and, lifting her chin, she informed him, ‘The woman you see before you now is Crushed Woman... Broke Woman... Woman in Need of a Loan.’
‘Well, if that’s all...’
The look she gave him reminded him they were both survivors. ‘I’ve never asked you for money and I’m not going to start now,’ she said.
‘Tell me what’s happened, though I should tell you that I can’t see you as Crushed Woman. You’re more of a cork than a piece of tinfoil.’
‘How flattering.’
But she was smiling. ‘I try my best,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘So, how can I help you to bob up again this time?’
‘I need a loan to buy canvas and paint, but I’ll pay you back.’
‘You need a loan?’ he echoed, frowning.
