Artistic Licence (36 page)

Thea spent a few seconds trying to find an appropriate response.

‘It’s in Goldenley,’ Ben went on when she failed.

‘Oh. Lovely views up there.’

‘I know. It’s why I bought it.’

‘I look forward to seeing it some time.’

‘I’m sure you will. Molly will make me have a housewarming party.’

If Thea hadn’t been so ferociously busy she’d have wept.

Rory was wonderfully uncomplicated and when he appeared in the gallery doorway, Thea went to embrace him. His strong arms were comforting and
she clung on to him, wishing they belonged to someone else – someone not comforting at all.

‘Hey, Thea! Put me down!’

‘I’m just so pleased to see you.’

‘Well, I’m not staying long. There’s a woman over towards Gloucester I’ve got to see. Now what’s happened? You’re not usually so keen to put your arms round me.’

Thea laughed, feeling better. ‘Nothing’s happened, exactly. It’s just the phone is ringing constantly and until Petal arrives to answer it I’ve got to. And Molly is stressing about your statements. She says if we’re to get them typed, copied and laminated, she has to have it now. Or yesterday, for preference.’

‘I’m not writing a statement.’

‘Not even one? Molly wants one for each picture.’

‘Well, she can’t have it. They’re a load of shite.’ He grinned. ‘Or, at least, mine would be.’

‘I could help you write it. If you’re not so hot on the written word.’

‘Why is it, for Christ’s sake, that artists, who communicate visually are expected to become writers? It’s like asking novelists to illustrate their work, or paint pictures for their covers.’

Thea laughed. ‘That sounds like a well-rehearsed argument. You’d better polish it up for when Molly gets back from the printer’s.’

‘I’m back now,’ said Molly from behind a pile of boxes. ‘What argument?’

‘No statements, Molly,’ said Rory firmly. ‘They’re shite and they interfere with the work on the wall.’

‘They wouldn’t be on the wall. They’d be in lovely shiny folders, on laminated sheets. Look!’ She
produced a folder of impeccable glossiness from the bag which hung over her shoulder.

‘Oh, Molly! More money!’ Thea wailed.

‘They’re only samples,’ she said to Thea and then turned back to Rory. ‘People like to know what they’re looking at.’

‘They can see what they’re looking at,’ Rory told her. ‘They’re landscapes. They’re not abstracts; they don’t have any secret codes in them. What more can they possible need than a bloody great picture, eight foot high?’

‘I’ve visited a lot of galleries just lately to find out what they do and I like to have something to read.’

Rory laughed. ‘Shite galleries, if you’ll forgive the expression.’

‘Oh, don’t apologise now,’ snapped Molly. ‘You’ve already used that word several times.’

Thea put her hand on Molly’s arm, to make up for the fact that she was on Rory’s side in this matter. She’d visited a lot of galleries with Magenta and mostly she found the statements embarrassing. ‘Rory’s right, Molly. His work doesn’t need any explanation and I like things simple. People should be able just to wander around and enjoy themselves without having to carry a huge book to refer to.’

Rory, who’d made his stand, was getting bored. ‘So, when you’ve got the rest of the prints up it’ll be finished, with a whole day to spare. You’ve worked miracles, Thea.’

‘We have,’ Thea agreed. ‘But we haven’t got a day to spare. Have you seen the state of the lavatory?’

‘I suppose I must have done. I’ve certainly used it.’

‘Then you’ll realise it needs decorating.’ Thea had
hoped they’d get away without doing this, but when Molly pointed out that ‘Kim luvs Simon’ and other far less acceptable graffiti was clearly visible, she was forced to capitulate. ‘You wouldn’t like to do it for us? I’m sure you’ve got time before your hot date. I can lend you a boiler suit.’

‘Sure, I’d love to help you. But you know I told you I’ve got to see a woman about – ’

‘
Please
say it’s about a dog, or even a whole pack of them. I’d let you off painting the John for that.’ Thea, who was still going home to soggy newspaper and piles of poo, had given up hope of Rory ever taking responsibility for Lara and her pups again.

‘Thea, I promise you I’ll sort out Lara and find homes for all the pups very soon.’ He grinned. ‘But actually it’s about a television programme she wants me to make. Talking about art through the ages. They saw my picture and thought I’d be perfect for it. Something to do with my cheekbones.’

Thea and Molly exchanged glances but didn’t comment. ‘Well, as long as you’re back here tomorrow by five thirty at the latest – sober! I’ve got all my photography friends coming to take pictures. I’ll need you – or at least your fabulous cheekbones.’

‘Bitch,’ he said fondly, ‘of course I’ll be back. I might even beg a bed for the night tonight.’

‘You know which your room is. It’s still got your sheets on it. And if you’re home before I am, see to the puppies, will you?’

After he had gone, Molly and Thea exchanged glances. ‘Well, I hope he’s better at art through the ages than he was on Cézanne,’ said Molly.

‘He was so crap!’

Molly frowned. ‘I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Petal, but do you have to raid her limited vocabulary?’

Thea shrugged. ‘Crap or not, as he’s not going to paint the bathroom I’d better do it while you’re here to man the phones.’ She yawned. She’d been keeping very late hours recently.

‘Did I tell you I’ve got my cleaning lady to come in tomorrow and give things a final polish? It’s so important that everything is
gleaming
.’

‘Molly, love, I despair of you. We’re supposed to be running this gallery on a shoestring. I’ll let you get away with it this time, for Rory’s show, but after this we’re going to have to wield that vac ourselves. Do you think you can manage that?’

Molly made a face. ‘I was a chalet girl once, you know. I can do cleaning if I have to.’

‘Oh, good. What about the windows? Newspaper and vinegar puts on a lovely shine.’

Molly’s expression was so horrified that Thea relented. ‘It’s all right. I’ve got one of the boys booked. He did window cleaning as a Saturday job. He’s got all the gear and he’s coming first thing.’

‘What are you going to wear for the opening?’ Molly asked Thea nervously, as she watched her climb into the boiler suit she had offered Rory. ‘Not that, I hope.’

‘Oh, I thought I would. I thought it would be cool and funky, a sort of urban statement.’

‘Thea, really, I don’t know …’

‘It’s all right, I’m joking again. You should know me by now.’

‘So, what
are
you going to wear? I’m willing to bet you’ve nothing suitable in your wardrobe.’

‘And nothing suitable in my bank balance, either, so it doesn’t matter that I haven’t time to buy anything new.’ Thea chewed her lip. This problem had crossed her mind a few times, but as she couldn’t think of a solution to it she just let it pass right on through.

‘Thea.’

Molly was so stern that Thea put down the paint she had just picked up. ‘What?’

‘I am begging you, please, please, please let me take you shopping to buy something. You are the human manifestation of this gallery. It is essential that you look absolutely beautiful.’ She held up her hand before Thea could even draw breath, let alone speak. ‘Yes, the work will speak for itself, but when half the art world think you and Rory are having an affair, you don’t want them wondering
why
.’

‘Oh, my God! They don’t, do they?’

‘What? Think you and Rory are having an affair? Of course they do! And so do most of your friends, for that matter.’

‘But – ’

‘
I
know you’re not, of course.’ Molly gave Thea a sidelong glance to check she was right about this. ‘But I’m willing to bet all those arty London types will assume it. Why else would he show here?’

Thea had been entertaining a tiny hope that it was because of the beautiful space, but that had been deflated and now she couldn’t think of a single reason. ‘Why indeed?’

‘So it’s essential that you look so drop-dead gorgeous that it seems perfectly logical.’

It seemed anything but logical and totally impossible. Thea tried to protest. ‘But I want the
gallery – ’

‘No. You’re not having them come through the door, take one look at you and think, my God, those rumours can’t be true.’

‘But –’

‘Good God, woman! Have you no feminine pride? Apart from anyone else, there’s Ben!’

‘What about Ben?’

‘The women he’s been toting around like Lulu Guinness handbags! There was a family party last week and he brought this…woman.’ Molly obviously couldn’t think of a word bad enough for her. ‘She was a size ten, or possibly eight. She looked about nineteen, but it turned out she was twenty-five – hardly any better for a man Ben’s age – and she smoked almost continually.’

‘What has this to do with me and what I wear for the opening?’ Thea asked, trying to match her expression to the casualness of her words.

Molly looked discomfited. ‘Oh, nothing really. I just think it’s time Ben settled down and not with someone Toby will be having the hots for by the time he’s eighteen. Honestly, Ben has no sense when it comes to women.’

‘Really.’

‘But none of this is to the point. We need to get you a dress. I’ll give you two hours to paint the loo, then I’m taking you away. I know a lovely shop in Cheltenham. It’s a good thing you’ve lost a little weight recently.’

Molly had left the gallery before Thea could protest that it
wasn’t
a good thing. It was because she hadn’t time to eat properly during the day and was too tired
to cook anything when she got home. All her calories at the moment were derived from chocolate, orange juice and the occasional portion of chips. Thea did not approve of society’s requirement that all women should be stick thin and certainly didn’t want to subscribe to it. But on the other hand it was hard not to feel just a tiny bit pleased to have dropped a dress size.

Reluctantly, two hours later to the minute, Thea handed her paint roller over to Petal’s boyfriend who had appeared simultaneously with Petal. ‘If you don’t do a good job you’ll never show here,’ she said earnestly.

‘Don’t worry, I’m an artist. I can paint.’

Thea let this pass. ‘Don’t forget, we don’t want any contrasts of texture, or experiments with perspective. We just want plain white walls.’

‘You’ve done one coat already, I’ll just go over where you’ve been.’

‘I’ll see that he does a good job,’ Petal promised. ‘Now, you just go shopping with Aunt Molly.’

Reluctantly, Thea climbed out of the boiler suit. In fact, she’d rather have finished painting the lavatory. There was something very soothing about white paint.

Once in Molly’s car, a leather-seated, power-steered automatic that had cost the equivalent of a small house, Thea felt glad to get away. Molly was a stylish driver and just now the gallery was full of noise and chaos, and the moment when she could declare it ready seemed like winning the lottery: wonderful, but very unlikely to happen.

‘I think you’ll like the shop where I’m taking you. It’s run by such a talented woman.’ Molly overtook an
artic and a tractor with one swift movement. ‘She knows what suits one better than one does oneself.’

‘I’m sure it must be horrifically expensive.’

‘An investment. But I promise you she won’t let you buy anything you’re not happy with.’

The shop was terrifyingly tiny – the sort you could never go into on spec, because you’d be too embarrassed to leave without buying anything. However, once over the threshold in Molly’s company, Thea found it a pleasant space and the owner an extremely attractive woman who was fifty if she was a day. It was a huge relief. Thea might not feel she was nearly as good-looking as this elegant person, but knowing she was fifteen years younger did give her some advantage.

Molly and the owner kissed each other fondly. ‘Caroline, this is Thea. I’ve brought her to see you because she needs something absolutely stunning. We’re … she’s opening an art gallery tomorrow.’

‘Oh! Is that the one I heard about on local radio this morning? With the new Irish artist? It sounds so exciting.’

‘I hope it will be,’ said Thea somewhat glumly. The enormity of what she’d taken on suddenly seemed a terrible mistake and now it would be a public mistake. Like the Millennium Dome, it would be a spectacular failure.

‘Of course it will be! With Molly on your side it’ll be smashing. Now, what do you feel comfortable wearing?’

‘Jeans.’

‘So, trousers, then.’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’ve got thighs.’

Caroline asked a lot of questions and then said, ‘Right. You two sit down and have a glass of wine, while I find a few for you to try on.’

‘She didn’t ask me what size I was,’ whispered Thea anxiously.

‘No need. She can tell at a glance. Most of the women who come in here have got personal trainers,’ Molly went on.

‘Personal trainers?’ Thea was awestruck. ‘Does that mean no one else can wear them? How lovely!’

Molly opened her mouth, and then closed it again. ‘Oh, you’re joking. Sorry.’

Thea wondered if it was the wine on an empty stomach, or whether she really looked as good as the mirror in front of her told her she did. She looked svelte, a word she thought she would never be able to apply to herself – not in a million years. ‘Crikey,’ she said.

The dress was black, strapless, short and close-fitting. But it was so well-cut and well-boned, so carefully, subtly ruched, that instead of feeling like a streetwalker, Thea felt like a minor film star on Oscar night.

‘That’s the one,’ said Caroline.

‘It’s
fabulous
!’ said Molly.

‘I bet it costs a fortune,’ said Thea glumly, ‘and I’m not going to have many opportunities to wear it. The cost per wear is going to be horrendous.’

‘Usually’ – Caroline poured more wine into Thea’s glass – ‘I’d agree with you totally about the cost per wear. This dress is never going to be truly cost-effective. But I always say that some occasions are
worth more than others. After all, a wedding dress, which could cost several thousand, is only worn once. But for that particular
occasion
, it’s worth it.’