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.’