the paintings. Just because Rhoda likes them – or, should I say, thinks she can match a buyer to them – doesn’t necessarily mean that anything will happen. I’ve heard of lots of instances where artists think they’re on the verge of some big sale, just to have it collapse at the last moment because of some stupid last-minute decision by someone.
I try to put the whole thing out of my mind. I try to put everything out of my mind.
Thursday 19th
I’ve only been in the office for about five minutes when my mobile goes off. For a second, my heart leaps. Is it Rhoda with some news already? But it isn’t Rhoda, it’s Alexis, an old school friend of mine.
I was very close to Alexis between the ages of fourteen to seventeen, but after that, our paths diverged and we didn’t really see each other very much, until about three years ago when, by coincidence, we were both with respective bunches of friends at the same pub. We started chatting about all sorts of rubbish and got to know each other all over again. I last saw her about six months ago.
She’d been married at the age of twenty to some guy called Robyn, who she was madly in love with until she found him in bed with a girl who’d come to their house selling solar panel deals. I think that’s what it was, anyway. This was a little over six months after they’d got hitched, so as you can imagine, it rather put Alexis off the idea of marriage and she’s never done it again. I often wonder, though, what the sexual chemistry must have been like between Robyn and the solar panel girl. Sparks must have been flying!
‘Are you busy, Chloe?’
‘I’m at my bloody office job. I’m never busy here. You know that.’
Kristin looks up and grins. She hasn’t asked me about the Mark situation so far today and I don’t think she will unless I happen to bring it up. Mrs Goddard is, as usual, silently ensconced in her office, looking, no doubt, out of the window and thinking about the past.
‘D’you fancy going out for dinner tonight?’
‘Sure. Have you got anywhere in mind?’
This is a relief. I don’t fancy another evening on my own at home. I need distractions, particularly as I haven’t any more painting to do.
‘Well I found this great Japanese place in Baker Street. That’s not too far away for you, is it? I thought we could meet in a pub first and have a couple of drinks if you like.’
‘It’s not one of those places where you have to sit on the floor in an awkward position, is it?’
She laughs. It’s like a bell tinkling.
‘No! It’s got seats just like a normal restaurant. What time do you finish there?’
‘Five-thirty.’
‘OK. You know the Waggoner’s, don’t you. I’ll see you in there at six?’
‘Fine.
Kristin smiles as I put the phone down. ‘Going out to get hammered?’
‘Just seeing an old friend’
She nods sagely. ‘Going out to get hammered.’
I print out the letter I’ve just typed and stick it in an envelope. Mrs Goddard likes to email and send a hard copy at the same time. She thinks it’s more polite. She used to send a fax, too, before Kristin talked her out of it. Probably with the intention of keeping the chat away from Mark (I think we both had enough of that yesterday), she asks me about my painting. I tell her that I’ve just finished two and my agent seems to think she might be able to sell them.
Kristin was obviously surprised when I told her how big they were. I think she’d imagined they were A1 size at the most, and probably nice watercolours of kittens or similar.
‘Wow! I’ve like to have a couple of huge, fuck-off paintings in my place. Something like when a friend comes in, it’s like ‘BANG! Look at us!’’
I smile when I remember Jake calling ‘round to get them yesterday. Jake must be about seventy if he’s a day. As soon as I opened the front door to him, he raised a hand as if to indicate that not only should I not help him carry the canvases, or touch them in any way, I should also go into another room, not speak to him and keep out of his way. All of that in one gesture!
I suspect he’s had years of experience carrying large, partially-dried canvases and has also had disasters when some dumb