‘Tell me you told him no, Katharine,’ he says, this time a little louder.
‘I haven’t told him anything,’ I say.
‘That’s not the same thing.’ He runs his brush through a rag that hangs from his apron. ‘What is it? You’re waiting to see how this pans out before you give him an answer?’
‘Listen, I know that you’re angry.’ I hook my hands together. ‘It’s okay to be angry. In fairness, I probably would be, too.’
‘Angry?’ He looks up. ‘Katharine, I’m furious.’
‘And that’s okay, Christopher. It’s okay to feel like that.’
‘Of course it bloody well is!’ he shouts. ‘I wake up after a night with a woman I think might be my girlfriend, though I’m not entirely sure yet because we haven’t talked about it yet, only to find her other boyfriend on the doorstep ready to pop the question and crack open the champers.’
‘But it’s not like that.’
‘How can it possibly be any different?’
‘Because we broke up,’ I plead. ‘This is what I’m trying to tell you. We broke up before you and I ever met. To my knowledge, I was single when I met you and I’ve been single the entire time I’ve known you and been with you.’
‘So he just woke up this morning and thought today was the day he was going to drive three hours to propose marriage?’
I nod and shrug. ‘I can’t explain it either.’
‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know, maybe the week I moved here?’
‘You mean you don’t remember?’
‘It was the week I moved here,’ I repeat. ‘I’d been here a week, he hadn’t stopped calling, and I hadn’t answered because I wanted a clean break. I wanted to move on, so I rang him and asked him to leave me alone.’
‘He certainly seems your type.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I snap.
‘Flashy suits, fast cars, Pimlico apartments.’ He looks at me from the corner of his eye. ‘Drama.’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘I’ve known tons of people like you. As long as they’re the centre of attention, that’s what matters. Not happy with the fancy London job? Didn’t get the promotion you wanted? That’s okay, you can quit and walk out because there’s always Dad to pick up the pieces. I mean, even the stuff with Lainey last night, all of this, this trouble and drama comes back to you being the common denominator, doesn’t it?’
‘How dare you use that against me.’
He stops on the spot, Simon Says, before throwing his hands up in the air. ‘Do you even care about the art, or is it just about the fame and glory behind it? Is it all just status?’
I try cutting in over the top of him. ‘I know you’re upset, but you don’t have to be cruel.’
‘Sometimes the truth hurts, Katharine,’ he utters, his eyes wet. ‘It certainly did when I found him on the other side of your front door down on one knee.’
‘I didn’t know that. I’m so sorry.’
‘Do you remember the day we met? You had no interest in me whatsoever. None at all. You knocked me back at every turn. Didn’t even know my name.’
‘Excuse me?’ I say with a laugh. ‘Are you actually serious? You openly mocked and insulted me in front of my own family. If all you’re worried about from that day was the middle-aged equivalent of “Don’t you know who I am?”, then maybe you need to check your priorities. You want to rail on me about my name in the spotlight? It’s exactly what you did that day. It is exactly you. You’re just as bad.’
‘You wanted nothing to do with me until you found me online. Not a damn thing,’ he says. ‘When you found out who I was, I couldn’t get rid of you.’
‘Couldn’t get rid of me?’ I scoff. ‘That’s rich, considering you seemed to be everywhere I went.’
‘Prove me wrong,’ he says.
‘But it wasn’t like that,’ I plead. ‘Okay, so maybe I did turn you down that first afternoon, but I’d just left Webster so I couldn’t do anything with your art if I wanted to. I couldn’t. You know that. Then, when I decided to open my own place then, yes, I chased you. I thought you’d be good for the gallery. You are a phenomenal artist and a wonderful person.’
‘I’ve made a decision about what’s happening this week.’
‘Please don’t do this.’ I can feel myself turning to water. He’s going to cancel; I can feel it. Every single thing I’ve built up will vanish in less than a heartbeat and I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. ‘Please, no.’
‘When I agree to do something for someone, I follow through. No matter the cost, so you can have your artwork, but I won’t be there on the night. I refuse to be wheeled out like some draw four card for you to show off to your friends.’
‘But I want you there, you have to be there,’ I plead. ‘This is just as much your show as it is mine.’
‘No. This is about the students. I told you that from the start. Clearly, again, you weren’t listening.’ He purses his lips and looks away. ‘If my work doesn’t sell, then your father can drop what’s left back here, but I don’t want to see you, talk to you, or hear from you again. I’m done. Go and marry your uptown boy and leave me be. I was happy as I was.’
Chapter 30
Without another word, I leave his studio feeling like everyone on earth knows just how awful I am. From our very first meeting, he’s always had this way of making me feel completely exposed. It’s not always the worst thing, especially when I felt it pushed me to do better, but this is beyond even the worst of that.
My legs have been blown hollow and I’ve been shown for the fraud he’s always known I am. I slip on gravel as I approach the car park, a fence post and new splinter the only thing saving me from a muddy backside.
Looking back at his house, I freeze and consider pushing my way back into his studio and pleading with him again to please listen to me. But there’s so much anger hubbling and bubbling inside me that the best I can do is sit in my car and cry. Again. It’s all I’ve got left at this point.
My hand trembles as I shove my car into gear because I realise there’s every chance this could be the end of my dream. Packing up my life, upending everything I’ve known will have been for nought. And why? Because I hedged my bet on him, the big drawcard for the exhibition.
All the online traffic and chatter has been about angling for a spot at the front door just to get a look at the glorious, reclusive Kit Dunbar. Sure, there are other artists, people I believe to be just as important, but I can’t deny that he’s the main attraction. Without him, will anyone show up?
And I don’t mean merely spectators at this point. The closer I get to home, the more panicked I become about the future of the entire exhibition. Regardless of his own beliefs about seeing plans through, I can’t be certain that any of the other artists won’t start pulling their work once they realise Christopher won’t be there. After all, they’re his friends first and people take sides. I’ve seen it happen in every single relationship breakdown I’ve ever witnessed. It’s human nature, for better or worse.