“It’s ten o’clock at night!” She wasn’t sure she should accept a booty call. “You might have phoned.”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t tell you about this now.”
Serena’s face fell. Julian looked anxious. Had he come to break up with her already?
“Can I come in?” he asked again.
Might as well get it over with, Serena thought. “Of course,” she said. She led him into the sitting room. The atmosphere between them was heavy, as though he were a debt collector turning up to take what he was owed, rather than her lover.
“Can I have a drink?” he asked.
“Sure.” Serena poured the last of her whiskey. Julian had finished off most of the bottle on his last visit.
He took a sip and seemed to relax a little.
“So, tell me what this is about,” said Serena. Having agonized while she rinsed out a glass for the whiskey about which chair she should sit in, Serena chose to sit down next to Julian on the sofa. She pondered putting her hand on his, but decided against it. Hopefully her decision to sit next to him would make it easier to come out with what it was he wanted to say.
“I know it’s a bit much coming around here so late at night. You’ve got to get up early to take Katie to school. But this thought popped into my head today and I’ve just got to put it out there.”
“You’ve met someone else,” Serena jumped in.
“What?” Julian was taken aback by Serena’s assumption.
“I understand,” she continued. “I’m a single mum. I’m pushing forty.”
Julian took her face in his hands. “Serena, I don’t want to stop seeing you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Far from it.”
Then what did he want?
“It could be that what I’m about to say to you is pure madness, in which case, I’d be grateful if you could promise me before I put my proposal to you, that if you’re not interested, you will never, ever tell anyone we had this conversation.”
“Of course not,” said Serena. What was going on? Julian had on his face a look that Serena had seen on a man’s face only once before. When Tom had proposed. “Go ahead,” she said. “It’s just me here. Katie’s asleep.”
“Okay.” he took a deep breath. “I want you to go into partnership with me.”
Well, that was a very formal way to put it, but a smile still spread across Serena’s face.
“I’m not yet divorced,” Serena reminded him.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well, if it doesn’t bother you, my still being married. If you’re happy to wait. Tom is certainly keen to untangle himself as soon as possible, and I … well, I thought I would never want to look at another man so long as I lived, but then you arrived next door and …”
Julian cocked his head to one side. Confused.
“Oh. Er … Ha! You thought I meant … Oh, God. No. No, no, no. Business partnership, Serena. I want to go into a business partnership with you.”
“Right,” she said. “That’s what I thought.”
She got up on the pretense of stoking the fire. When she sat back down again it was in the seat opposite Julian.
“Carry on,” she said. Though she couldn’t possibly imagine what kind of business he thought they would go into. Open Trebarwen as a B&B perhaps, with Serena doing all the donkeywork, changing the beds and cooking the breakfasts, no doubt. She might have known that Julian Trebarwen saw her only as a skivvy.
“What is it you want?”
“You remember that painting you did for my mother?”
“The dogs? Yes.”
“I’ve got a confession to make. I didn’t know you were the artist behind that painting. I assumed it was something that had been in the family for years. And so, when Nat Wilde sent those kids from Ludbrook’s down to value Mother’s estate, I had them value that painting along with all the others. And they attributed it to Richard Delapole, which is how it ended up in the auction along with Mother’s genuinely valuable paintings and eventually sold for twenty-five thousand pounds.”
“What?” Serena blinked at the mention of one of the region’s most famous early-nineteenth-century artists. “They thought my painting was by Delapole? That’s ridiculous.”
“Apparently not. It was bought by an American collector. He paid another thirty thousand for a painting of my mother’s rather stern-looking maiden aunt. There is no accounting for taste. Which is not to say that your painting wasn’t good. Obviously, it was excellent. It fooled Nat Wilde, who has, so I was always led to believe, the best eye on New Bond Street.”
“So, you told him he was fooled—”
“Of course not! No. I mean, what good would that do anybody? Wilde’s reputation would be ruined. The American buyer would feel embarrassed. Who would benefit? As it stands, Nat’s reputation is intact and the buyer is probably very pleased with his new purchase. I bet he loves it.”
“Where is this going?”
“I want you to paint another picture of Mother’s dogs,” said Julian, coming to the point at last.
“For you?”
“No. I want to sell it.”
“Ha! This is all a joke, right?”
“I’m deadly serious. Nat Wilde fell for it. Other people will too. I’ll make it worth your while. Look.” Julian reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a wedge of fifties. “Here’s an advance on half my share of the dog picture proceeds, minus the seller’s premium. We can cut the same deal on everything else. I know you need the money.”
Serena recoiled from the cash.
“What kind of person do you think I am? What you’re proposing is illegal. You could end up in a lot of trouble.”
“I won’t try to pass your stuff off as antique. I’ll just take it along to a few dealers or auction houses and say I found it in my mother’s attic and have no idea who it belongs to. The way I see it, if they spot that it’s a new painting the minute they see it, I just look like someone who doesn’t know anything about art. If it’s not spotted until after the painting goes to auction, then it falls on the auction house’s head, as far as I can see. And it’ll never be traced back to you.”
“How can you be sure?”
“If you don’t tell anyone, I certainly won’t. You’ll paint the pictures in your attic and I’ll find them in mine. What do you say? If we could sell even two paintings a year for as much as the one you did for Mother, that’d make an enormous difference to you and Katie, right?”
Serena looked down at the coffee table, where Julian had put the cash. He was right. It would make a big difference to her life, but she couldn’t take it. She shook her head.
“Just think about it, okay?” he said. “You don’t need to give me an answer now. And you can keep that cash regardless. Because it was your talent that earned it. And because I wish I could give you and Katie more.”
That last sentence surprised her. Serena looked up and into Julian’s eyes. His expression was serious and sincere. Serena felt herself melting.
“Okay. I’ll think about it,” she said.
After Julian had gone, Serena went up to her studio. She took the cash with her and hid it inside a paint box along with the engagement and wedding rings she no longer wore. She still had the sketches of Louisa’s dogs pinned to her wall. Serena looked at them closely. She knew that the dog painting had been one of her better efforts, but the idea that it had fooled an expert in old masters was quite incredible. She would never have believed it. Though in fact, as an art student, she had been stung by a tutor’s assessment that she could copy anything. The implication being that she would never find a style of her own.
But did that matter? Albeit inadvertently, Serena’s talent for pastiche was worth twenty-five grand.
After closing the door on her studio, Serena looked in on Katie, who had slept all the way through her mother’s dodgy business meeting. Serena smoothed a strand of hair away from her daughter’s forehead. Katie
deserved so much more than she was getting from life. Now that Tom had abandoned them, it was up to Serena to be two parents’ worth of mother. And that meant, she decided, setting an example. Serena wanted to show Katie it was possible for a woman to be a creative force outside the kitchen. Julian’s proposition would enable her to pick up the plans she had abandoned the moment she’d married Tom.
If Serena were honest with herself, she already knew that she was going to say yes. She’d have been a fool not to. The possibility of twenty grand a year for doing two paintings was just too enticing. It would be enough to fund some child care so she could take some time away from motherhood and do some new, more adventurous work of her own.
It wasn’t long before her doubts had been all but vanquished and she was thinking bigger. If two pictures a year would net her twenty grand, then three meant thirty. She could use that extra money to take some fantastic holidays. She would bring Katie to France and Italy and the United States. She would show her the world. Katie would have the best of everything again. Suddenly, it would have seemed foolish not to get involved in Julian’s plans.
The following morning Serena picked up the phone to tell Julian she was on board.
“So,” she said, “let’s get on with it. What do you want me to paint first?”
“I think another painting of those two noble greyhounds, the beloved pets of the seventh earl of Trebarwen …”
Serena grinned. “I think I can manage that.”
CHAPTER 16
Carrie Klein’s farewell party was not a raucous affair. At least not for her. Carrie drank nothing but mineral water in the chi-chi new bar on top of the Gloria Hotel in Central Park. She made a brief speech at six forty-five and was out the door by seven. The colleagues Carrie was leaving behind would be partying until late (and possibly singing “ding dong the witch is dead” as soon as she was out of earshot), but she had to get to the airport. She was flying from JFK to London that very night, intending to be settled into her new flat over the weekend and at the office bright and early on Monday morning.
She had suggested to Jed that he might like to come with her. Ehrenpreis would have been more than happy to pay for his ticket. They’d even have stretched to business class for the de facto partner of the new London boss. Wouldn’t he enjoy spending a weekend in London with her? Jed had confirmed that he would love to spend a weekend in London with her, but not that one, or any weekend when her body might be next to him but her mind would be 100 percent focused on work.
“Though that doesn’t really leave us a lot of scope, does it?” Jed had added sadly. “Your mind is always focused on work.”
Carrie frowned as she remembered the conversation. Why did that have to be such a bad thing? Why shouldn’t she be ambitious? And this was the chance of a lifetime. Fuck Jed if he couldn’t understand just how important this London posting was to her.
If he really cared, she told herself, he would have come with her if only to see her safely installed in her new home. As it was, she decided that he was just like all the other guys she’d dated. If he wasn’t the star of the show, he wasn’t interested in taking part. Men were all the same. So egotistical. They could not be trusted to be there for you when it really mattered.
And so, Carrie flew to London alone. Though she was flying first class, this time she didn’t sleep at all. Instead, she spent the entire night awake, tap-tapping away on her laptop, fitting figures into spreadsheets and writing endless lists of tasks that would have to be implemented the moment the plane touched down.
It was early morning in the U.K. when the plane landed. London could not have been grayer. Though it wasn’t actually raining, the air was so damp that Carrie soon felt soaked through. The chap sent to fetch her in a “limo” turned out to be driving some ancient sedan, and he didn’t even help Carrie haul her luggage into the trunk. She didn’t tip him at the end of the drive into Chelsea and made a mental note never to use his company again.
The apartment where she would be staying until she had time to look for something better was fairly typical for a rental. It was on the third floor. There was a lift, but that morning it wasn’t working and, because it was a Saturday, there was no hope of getting someone to come out to fix it. The walls of the apartment itself were painted marigold. The furniture was all blond wood and oatmeal upholstery. Most of it IKEA, she could tell. The floors throughout were covered in a badly fitted laminate that bounced when you walked. It was all so offensively inoffensive. You didn’t have to be in there for long to see that a developer had spent the least amount of money possible in turning the place into a corporate crash pad.
Still, Carrie knew she wouldn’t be spending much time there. Ehrenpreis had sent her to London to set up an entire outpost of the auction house. Carrie expected to be working around the clock to get things off the ground. On Monday morning she would meet the few British people she had already recruited. Her own personal assistant would not be flying into London until the following week. Carrie was a little miffed at that. She had wanted Jessica to be with her from day one. There would certainly be plenty for her to do. But Jessica had never been out of the country for more than a week before, and then only to Canada. Unlike her boss, she was quite unnerved by the prospect of spending at least six months in the United Kingdom and had begged Carrie for an extra week so that she could say good-bye to her family properly. It was as though she were leaving for war rather than a new job.
Jessica was young, on her first job since college, and so Carrie tried to be understanding. But it was still frustrating. Carrie hadn’t seen her own family in nine months, even though they had been living just a couple of hundred miles away from her home in New York. They would have to continue to content themselves with emails and the odd conversation on Skype.
There was to be no slow start for Carrie. Having dumped her cases in the apartment, Carrie got on the tube and went straight to her new office. Once there she saw that her first job would be to rearrange the furniture that had been delivered the previous week and left in the middle of the room. With no one to help her, Carrie simply rolled up her sleeves and dragged her desk into place by herself. Then she passed a jolly hour cleaning the small bathroom that led off her office, making a mental note to sack the team who were supposed to have gotten the building into shape in readiness for her arrival. She spent the rest of her Saturday firing off emails that would remain unanswered until Monday.
At eight o’clock she got back to the apartment. She picked up one of the leaflets that littered the hallway table and called for a Chinese takeout. She fell asleep on the inoffensive cream sofa before the takeout even arrived.
CHAPTER 17
Carrie’s first few weeks in London were a whirlwind. She was hardly ever in her little corporate flat. The boxes from Manhattan that arrived the day after she did were still waiting to be unpacked a month later. Her house did not look like a home. On the other hand, the office was soon looking very well established.
The official launch of Ehrenpreis London was set for six weeks after Carrie first opened the doors to her new staff. Fortunately, Jessica responded to the challenge with her usual skill and alacrity. She had begun researching caterers and staff agencies via the Internet even before she’d left New York. On arriving in London, she chased up references and tasted a hundred different canapés before settling on a company called Elegant Eatz.
“That name is far from elegant,” Carrie pointed out.
“I know. But they do a great mini-burger,” Jessica explained. The theme of the party was to be the “special relationship” between the U.S. and the U.K. Elegant Eatz would be providing mini-burgers and bagels to represent the U.S. and tiny Yorkshire puddings with a sushi-like sliver of beef on top to represent the U.K. A little tacky, Carrie worried. But fun, Jessica persuaded her. And when Frank Ehrenpreis saw the menu Jessica faxed to his office, he pronounced himself delighted with the idea. Carrie had to admit that Jessica understood the older American male and his senti
mentalities far better than she did.
Carrie had hosted plenty of parties before, but this one was really important. The entire board of Ehrenpreis would be flying into London for the official opening. Though the real proof of her abilities would come with the house’s first sales, it was vital to make a good impression from the get-go.
The RSVP list looked pretty good. Almost 80 percent of the people Carrie had invited to the opening night party had responded in the affirmative. During the week running up to the party, Carrie drove Jessica nuts, constantly checking that no one important had suddenly sent their apologies. She was particularly anxious that the high rollers she had been courting so assiduously all showed up to be schmoozed.
The day itself ran like a military operation. Armed with a clipboard, Jessica proved that she was worth every dollar of her much-increased salary as she checked in the caterers and the sound system people and made sure that the grand gallery of Ehrenpreis looked exquisite. That had been a headache, involving the rehanging of a whole two walls’ full of wallpaper to ensure that the subtle red on red pattern was even. There was another brief moment of panic when the sound guy managed to blow a fuse, but that was soon dealt with.
However, at five o’clock, Carrie was still in her office, checking her emails for last-minute RSVPs.
“Carrie,” Jessica interrupted her. “People will be arriving in an hour and a half. You’ve got to go and get ready. Now.”
“But I need to stay here. Call Jo Hansford and cancel my blow-dry.”
“No way. Everything is under control. I promise you.”
“You have to get dressed too.”
“I’m just going to fling on my Diane von Furstenberg,” Jessica told her. “No one is going to be looking at me. You, on the other hand, are going to be the center of attention. You’ve got to make a speech.”
Carrie felt a momentary wobble as she thought about her first speech as London boss of Ehrenpreis.
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