Paint. The art of scam. (28 page)

‘Wonderful
Seymour, wonderful. It is Seymour isn't it?’ said a delightful, eccentric old
lady dripping with gold.

Seymour nodded,
his best stupid grin fixed firmly in place. Seymour wasn't sure how he should
look.

‘All so
delightfully refreshing. And the narrative that runs through it is so unique!
Wonderful! Truly, truly wonderful!’

‘Thank you.’ said
Seymour, presuming that the narrative thing was a compliment.

‘Hi Seymour,
really like the work. It's fantastic!’ said Sandra. ‘I'm Sandra, Harry's
friend.’

‘Oh right, thanks,
and thanks for coming along.’

‘Harry's been
going on all week about your work, I simply had to come. Actually Seymour, I
have a small interior decor consultancy in Mayfair and I was wondering. Do you
do commissions?’

Seymour looked at
Sandra.
What a beautiful, powerful woman.
No doubt a man eater,
he thought. ‘Commissions? um no.’

‘Thank God you
said that.’ laughed Sandra. ‘and I really love the Vase Lady. She's incredible
and a little unnerving, if you don't mind me saying.’

‘I don't mind at
all Sandra, Frankly she scares the shit out of me.’

‘Well at least
she's sold now, she can go and scare somebody else.’

Seymour shook his
head defiantly. ‘Oh no, she's not for sale we just put a sticker on her. I
could never sell her. Never. It's just that Polly insisted on putting her in
the show.’

‘Wow!’ said
Sandra. ‘integrity too.’

‘Integrity? Nah.
She just knows too much.’

‘Who? Polly?’

‘The Vase Lady.’
said Seymour as he looked at her hanging there, looking at everyone, looking at
her. It was true. Some people would look at the The Vase Lady and immediately
get drawn into her deep intricate, but abstract texture that oozed succulent
colours to a point where it started to feel uncomfortable. Like she was
waiting, spider like. Other people thought she just looked great and would be
nice to have around the house. But everybody had to look at her.

‘Damn good show Polly. Well done. Paintings are OK too.’ said
Harry to Polly with a nudge of his elbow. They chinked their glasses and winked
at each other.

‘Thanks Harry,
you've been great, hardly any of my invites have turned up yet.’

‘That's one of
the advantages of getting older Polly. All my contacts want to be in bed by ten
o'clock, preferably drunk. I'm afraid all these young hip people who seem to
run the art world these days think it's cool to be late, even cooler not to go
at all. Don't worry Polly they'll come during the week, scurrying around like
bloody rats when nobody can see them.’

‘You think?’

‘I know. People
hold you in high regard Polly. You seem to have made quite an impression. They
will be interested to see what you’ve come up with.’

‘Most of them on
my list have seen the slides of Seymour's work anyway.’ said Polly dismissively,
topping up Harry's glass.

‘They might have seen
them Polly, but I can assure you they will not have looked at them. No, that's
the trouble you see, gone are the days when people have a name, now you have to
be
a bloody name. Trust me Polly, Seymour's going to do well and you
will gain a lot of respect.’

‘Really?’ said
Polly, genuinely intrigued and enjoying every moment. ‘in what way?’

‘Well mainly for
your lovely ass of course, but also your intellect.’

‘My intellect? I
haven't had an intelligent conversation with anyone, oh except you of course
Harry.’ said Polly prodding his pot belly.

‘That makes you
mysterious Polly. Mysterious people are never stupid. Like most things, less is
more.’

Polly could see
it. Harry was in the first stages of getting drunk. He was being thoughtful.
Next he will have a chat attack, which is always amusing, then he will
disappear home before he gets kidnapped by the bingo brigade, who, Polly
noticed, where nowhere to be seen.

‘Well we'll see
Harry. I'm happy with the numbers who came, it's nice and informal and everyone
seems to like the work. So, who is Sandra then Harry? Beautiful woman.’

‘Sandra? Oh known
her for years. We used to be an item once. What a nightmare that was.’

‘Really? But you
look really good together.’

‘Oh we are Polly,
we are. I love her more than anyone else, actually more than anything else.’

‘So what went
wrong?’

‘We both did.
When we lived together we both turned into bloody monsters. Fought like rabid
dogs. Now we live apart we can go back to who we were when we fell in love in
the first place. It's perfect.’

‘That's really
nice Harry. You’re both very lucky.’

‘Yes I know.’ Harry
held his glass up to Sandra across the room and blew a kiss.

‘Hi, you must be
Seymour right?’ said Ed, his excited American accent slicing in.

‘Uh yes.’ said
Seymour, looking down at Ed, wondering why Americans always sound like they’re
on TV.

‘Great work
Seymour, so cool. Names Ed by the way, I'm a good friend of Polly's. Is this
your first show?’ said Ed beaming his too perfect teeth a little too close for
Seymour's comfort.

‘Yes, yes it is.’
said Seymour, pulling back and shaking Ed's dumpy cold hand that was being
offered.

‘Wow! It's
amazing, I've never seen anything like it before, mind if I take a few
pictures?’

Ed was showing
Seymour his Olympus Trip, sliding the casing open to proudly expose the tiny
lens.

‘Ok, why not?’
said Seymour, shrugging his shoulders.

Ed stood back,
pointed the camera at Seymour and clicked the shutter just as Polly was
approaching Seymour from behind.

‘Hey Polly. Great
to see you again!’ said Ed

‘Oh hi Ted, how's
things?’

‘Ed. The names Ed,
Polly. Remember? Yeh I'm great, things are going real well. Did you see the
article I wrote about Da Vinci in The Easel?’

‘Um. No. I don't
think so.’

‘Oh, pity, I'm
getting a lot of good feedback from the readers. They particularly liked the
section I wrote about Leonardo Da Vinci being the only artist that had truly
painted God, Cool huh?’

‘Very.’ said
Polly, grateful for Carva interrupting them.

‘Polly dear can I
have a word?’ said Carva.

Carva led Polly
into the office, weaving their way through the modest but growing crowd.

‘Listen Simon, there's
enough people here now. I'll buy, say, six now. Can you do the stickers?’

‘Don't worry
Polly, no need,’ replied Carva.

‘Ok, but just in
case. All right?’

‘I mean Polly
that I have already sold three!’ said Carva, proudly adjusting his dicky bow
tie.

‘What? Really?’

Carva smiled. ‘Yes,
really Polly.’

‘Who? Who bought
them? said Polly, flabbergasted.

‘That Sandra
Lady, Harry's friend, bought three just like that! Two more people are thinking
about buying. This is quite extraordinary Polly.’

‘Yes, yes it is.’
whispered Polly, staring out through the doorway at the crowd. ‘It is.’

‘Ah you must be
Seymour. Love the work. It's wonderful how the contextual similarity of your
work and the evocative flavour of its premise seem to reflect a completely
different attitude as they proceed,’ said a forceful, pretentious middle-aged
man wearing a loud pink cravat.

‘Yeh well,
suppose it is.’ said Seymour.

The man then
began delivering his predictable views on everything, using words Seymour would
have to look up later. Polly tugged at Seymour's sleeve.

‘Yeh, interesting,
interesting.’ said Seymour.

‘Sorry for
butting in.’ said Polly butting in. ‘Seymour, can I have a word please.’

‘Sure.’ Polly led
him away to the office in the back.

‘What a buzz
Polly, this is fantastic and it's down to you.’ Seymour wrapped his arms around
Polly and kissed her. ‘Thank you Polly.’

Polly pecked her
lips playfully on his. ‘Yes Seymour it is and guess what.’

‘What?’

‘You have sold 5
paintings Seymour!’

‘No!’

‘Yes.’

‘Shit!’ Polly
kissed him again, grabbed his hand and pulled him back out to the Gallery.

‘Come on do your
stuff Seymour.’

Polly kissed him
on the cheek and went into the ladies. By the time she came out there were
considerably more people in the gallery and she noticed another two of the
paintings had been sold. As she made her way through the crowd, politely
acknowledging the occasional familiar face, she could barely contain herself.
The buzz of excitement in the gallery was overwhelming and several people were
huddled around in groups admiring Seymour's work. She spotted Seymour across
the room, entertaining what seemed to be a queue of people waiting their turn
to speak to him.

‘Good evening,
Polly.’

Polly turned to
see a smiling Detective Sergeant Shoal and stood there, speechless, staring at
Shoal for a moment.

‘Mr. Shoal,’ said
Polly, shocked but attempted to hide it. ‘How are you? What are you doing here?’

‘I was just
passing Polly, just passing. You don't mind do you?’

Polly's flute
began shaking. She steadied it with her other hand. Shoal smiled knowingly and
glanced around at the crowd then back at Polly.

‘Seymour seems to
be doing very well for himself these days.’ said Shoal.

‘Um, yes, yes he
is, can I get you a drink, wine or something?’

‘No, thanks all
the same, Polly.’

‘You're not on
duty, are you?’

‘No no, driving’
said Shoal, as he took his eyes off Polly's again and gazed around the gallery.

‘Did you ever,
um, get the gang from the factory?’ asked Polly.

‘No, not yet, but
we'll get there in the end. These things take time Polly. Believe me you will be
one of the first to know when we do.’

Shoal's eyes
remained fixed on Polly's, but his expression softened. He seemed impressed by
the atmosphere in the gallery and smiled again.

‘Why don't you
take a look around at the paintings? Seymour's over there somewhere. I've um,
got some work to do. Taking deposits on the sales and stuff.’ said Polly

‘Ok,’ said Shoal
as he wandered off. ‘I'll see you soon, Polly.’

Polly took a deep
breath as she watched Shoal walk into the crowd and disappear. The sudden panic
she felt was hard to process. She stood for a moment, watching the crowd; which
was getting louder. The laughter and the drone of multiple conversations,
became a large lump of noise that she could take no more. Snapping out of her
thoughts she headed for the office. Polly closed the office door firmly behind
her and leant hard against it staring into space, biting at her bottom lip, her
mind racing.

Seymour, the
centre of attention of virtually everybody in the gallery, spotted Shoal
looking at The Vase Lady.

‘Hey, Mr. Shell
how are you? Didn't know you were invited. Good to see you.’ said Seymour
holding out his hand.

Shoal shook
Seymour's hand. ‘Shoal actually, my name's Shoal.’

‘Oh. Right.
Sorry, not very good with names.’

‘Looks like
you've moved along a bit since the last time I saw you Seymour.’

‘Yeh, well you
know Polly, it's all down to her really. She put the whole thing together.’

‘Yes, quite a
woman you've got there. I like the work, not that I know much about art.’

‘Me neither. ’
laughed Seymour,

‘Excellent, quite
a change in fortune for you both.’

‘Yup, so how's
things then? Did you ever get those bastards who robbed Hogarth's?’

‘No. Not yet, but
we will. So how are you finding living in London then? Bit of a change in
lifestyle isn't it?’

‘Oh Seymour there
you are! I've been looking everywhere for you.’ said an over excited, slightly
slurring Carva, grabbing Seymour's arm. ‘You've simply just got to meet Cythia
Reyner! She's a big collector and she's dying to meet you! Come on, off we go.’

Shoal watched as
Seymour was led away through the crowd, leaving him alone in the middle of the
packed gallery. Shoal looked around at the crowd and suddenly felt conspicuous
in his ill-fitting chain store suit, compared with the generally imaginative
dress sense surrounding him. Feeling uneasy, he grabbed a glass of wine from a
passing tray.

‘Nice work isn't
it.’ said a deep smokey voice next to him. Shoal looked at the effeminately
dressed man in his sixties standing next to him and shuffled uneasily.

‘Yes. Very nice.’
said Shoal.

‘So. Who are you
then?’ said the man offering his heavily ringed hand, ‘I'm Quentin.’