by Anthony Burn
‘The floor above is completely open, so I don’t think so,’ he said into his phone. Seeing us approaching, he added, ‘Can you bear with me for a moment?’ He took the phone from his ear and told us the landlord didn’t object to improvements in principle, but that they would have to be in keeping with the building and the area; that he would want to see architect’s plans before giving the go ahead; and that he would require an extra security deposit to reinstate the building, where necessary, if we were to leave.
I saw Lauren baulk at the last condition, but I said, ‘That’s all fine. Can you set up a meeting for me with the landlord?’
The agent gave me a withering look, which implied he felt all negotiations should go through him, but before he could put the phone back to his ear, I could hear the landlord on the other end agreeing to the meeting.
At my instigation, everything started to move very quickly after that. I finally began to behave more like a lottery winner than I had done so far, splashing the money about in order to move things along and get my own way. I knew I was going to get taken for a ride, but it didn’t matter to me. No matter how much I got fleeced, it was hardly going to make a dent in my fortune, and if necessary I could always go back to the trading account to top it up again.
I met with the landlord, and it turned out that he was less interested in what we did to his building than he was about the amount of extra deposit he could take. I tried to persuade him to sell me the building but he couldn’t be swayed, so I gave him what he asked for plus a little extra, and he more or less gave us carte blanche to do whatever we wanted.
I found a reputable architect, who introduced himself as Dan, and who for an enhanced price was able to take on a project at short notice. I showed him the building on Thursday morning, and he confirmed that the small offices could be removed without any problems. He took his time looking through the whole property, taking vast numbers of photos and measurements that he stored on his tablet, before he declared himself satisfied and told me there was a lot of potential.
‘You could do something pretty spectacular here.’
‘That’s exactly what I want,’ I assured him.
His next question was straight to the point. ‘What’s your budget?’
‘Whatever it costs,’ I said. We exchanged a knowing glance and an implicit understanding that I knew it wasn’t going to be cheap but that I didn’t expect to be ripped off.
I introduced him to Lauren that evening after she finished work. In his office, he produced some printouts of floor plans and a drawing of the front of the building. He told us that, at this stage, he just wanted to get some ideas of how we wanted to use the space. We told him we would like the gallery over two floors, and Lauren asked if we could make some sort of mezzanine between them. We discussed ideas for some time, but after a while it occurred to me that although they were continually deferring to me, I was actually bringing very little to the table. The meeting broke up with the architect promising to produce some detailed options for us to see on the following Monday.
As we left his office, I asked Lauren what she had thought of him.
‘Yeah, he seems really nice. He totally knows his stuff.’
‘I agree,’ I said, ‘and so do you. So, if you’re okay with it, I want you to work with him and sort out the design of the gallery between you.’
She started to protest, but I explained that I trusted her to handle it.
‘In any case,’ I told her, ‘that will leave me clear to get on with all the legal stuff, setting up bank accounts, employing an accountant and creating the website. So I’ll be pretty busy.’
‘But I’ll need you to tell me what we can afford otherwise I might ask for too much, or he might suggest stuff that’s way too expensive.’
‘Not a problem,’ I assured her. ‘He knows the budget, so he won’t suggest anything out of range. Ask for anything you want. He’ll tell you whether you can have it or not.’
‘Yeah, but you’ll have to see the plans before we go ahead—’
‘No, I want you to surprise me,’ I interrupted. ‘I don’t want to see it until we open.’
‘But what if I get it wrong? What if you don’t like it?’
I laughed. ‘Then I’ll sack you.’
‘You haven’t employed me yet,’ she said.
I smiled and looked deep into her eyes, and I realised I was hoping that her last small word had a big significance. ‘My only condition is that when I walk in for the first time, I want my jaw to hit the floor.’
‘Okay, I can do that,’ she said. Her voice sounded doubtful, but her face conveyed excitement and trepidation in equal measure.
I spoke to Lauren each evening to make sure she was still okay with taking on the project without my interference, but I needn’t have worried. Without revealing them, she told me she had come up with fresh ideas, and I could hear her enthusiasm growing with every call. Following her meeting with Dan on Monday, her excitement had grown to fever pitch.
‘Oh my God, Kee. It’s going to be brilliant.’ She sounded breathless, and I could sense her wanting to give me details.
‘Don’t tell me,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s got to be a surprise.’
‘Okay, okay.’ There was a note of disappointment in her voice, but it was gone as quickly as it arrived. ‘You’ll totally love it! I know you will.’
The architect put me in touch with his recommended project manager who, with a significant inducement, found he was able to delay other jobs and start mine later that week. He’d consulted with Dan, and between them they had decided the work should take about five to six weeks. I promised him a large bonus if the job was done in five and insisted on a penalty clause if it went over six weeks. He whistled at the size of the bonus and agreed readily before emailing me a contract to sign.
The following Monday, I couldn’t resist going along to see if anything had been done; I knew that builders often failed to live up to their promises, and I was ready for an argument if nothing had been started. But when I stepped out of the cab, I found the building covered in scaffolding, which in turn was wrapped in plastic sheeting. At ground level the site was surrounded by wooden fencing, painted blue and emblazoned with the name of the contractor.
I stepped through a small gate to find that the entire front of the building, up to the second floor, had disappeared. Piles of rubble were stacked up inside, and the small offices had gone, along with ten metres of the ceiling. A makeshift walkway straddled the gap, and a mobile scaffold tower stood in the middle, its top disappearing through the hole. There were men working everywhere, and the noise of their tools was close to deafening.
I spotted Lauren, together with the architect and project manager, at the far end of the building. They appeared to be concluding their meeting. She shook hands with the manager, but I felt an unwelcome twinge as she hugged Dan. Even from a distance I could see her eyes were alive as she gazed into his while making her goodbyes.
She turned and saw me, her face colouring as she picked her way through the debris. I couldn’t be sure if her flush was because of what I’d witnessed or because I might be spoiling her surprise. Her next words suggested it was the latter.
‘You’re not supposed to be here.’
I held my arms out with my palms turned up, and glanced around at the site. ‘I don’t think I can tell what it is yet. Don’t worry, I’m not going to keep turning up. I just wanted to see if it had started.’
She became serious again. ‘Of course. Did you want to look at the plans?’
I shook my head. ‘No, I’m serious about wanting the surprise.’
‘Great! Now I’ve got used to the idea, I want that too,’ she said. ‘Oh my God, this is so much fun… and a bit scary. I feel so grown up being in charge of a building project.’
‘You certainly look the part,’ I told her. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that were flattering rather than skintight. Her hair was tucked up inside her hard hat, presumably to keep the
dust out of it. The only thing that stopped her looking completely at home on a building site were her pink trainers. It was the first time I’d seen her in casual clothes, and she looked good in them. ‘What are you doing with the rest of your day?’ I asked.
Her shoulders slumped. ‘Oh… I was planning to go and see the new exhibition at Tate Modern, but I don’t have to. Is there something else you wanted me to do?’
‘No, nothing. At some stage, I want to show you what I’ve done so far with the website, but it’s not urgent. Would you mind if I tagged along with you?’
‘I’d love you to come,’ she said. There was genuine warmth in her renewed smile. ‘It’s so much nicer to look at new exhibitions with someone. We can look at the web pages first, if you want… But, don’t you want to surprise me?’
‘No, I definitely need your input, but it can wait. Let’s go to the Tate, and you can teach me more about art first.’
‘I’ve never felt so important,’ she said. ‘I can see you’d be totally lost without me.’ Her wide grin dared me to retaliate.
‘It’s lucky they’ve taken out the front wall – because we would never have got your head through the door.’
We toured the exhibition for over an hour, settling in to the roles we had adopted at our first meeting; Lauren as the engaging, knowledgeable teacher and me as the eager, attentive student. Even though she hadn’t seen the works before, she was able to offer fascinating insights into the pieces.
As we walked between the pictures, I couldn’t help wondering whether she was becoming more physically attractive each time I saw her or if her increasing allure was because I was becoming more and more captivated by her. From the beginning I’d been struck by her liveliness and humour, but my feelings towards her were beginning to feel like something much deeper. I’d dared to hope the emotion might be reciprocated but after seeing her with Dan that hope was fading, even though I had no real proof there was anything between them.
Unsurprisingly, Lauren was a member at the Tate, and as such she was able to invite me into the Members Room for lunch, allowing us to avoid the busier public restaurants in the main gallery. As we picked through our salads, I offered to show her my progress on the website, but before I could take out my phone she produced a brand new top-of-the-range smartphone from her bag.
‘That’s very nice,’ I said.
‘I desperately needed a new phone,’ she explained, and then laughed before adding, ‘to go with my new clothes and my new hair.’
I’d complimented her earlier on her new style when she’d removed her hard hat and shaken out her hair. Her long straight locks had been transformed into silken waves that fell to her shoulders, catching the light and dancing like flames whenever she turned her head.
‘Somebody’s paying you too much,’ I suggested.
‘Never,’ she said emphatically.
I gave her the web address, and she brought up the home page. We went through the menus, and she studied the different pages while I told her what each one did. I showed her that each artist we represented would get their own individual page with log in facilities so they could add news or blogs and communicate privately with us or among themselves. Lauren made a few suggestions for small alterations, but overall she was impressed and said she was looking forward to seeing the desktop version on a bigger screen.
We finished our lunch, and she suggested looking through the rest of the gallery and I agreed readily. We moved through the main rooms, pointing out what we liked and getting to know each other’s tastes.
At the end of one hallway, a room was in semi-darkness; I walked past the door, but Lauren stopped and asked, ‘Don’t you want to go in here?’
‘I’ve been in before,’ I told her, ‘but I’m afraid they don’t do anything for me. A bit like your Wellbecks.’
She was outraged. ‘Oh, no. I’m not having that. Mark Rothko’s work is amazing. Come on.’
She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the gloom. Inside, she explained that the works had been commissioned for a luxury restaurant in New York in the late fifties and that Rothko had completed forty paintings in the series, with the express intention of ruining the appetite of the everyone who ate there, but that he had withdrawn from the commission before any had been hung.
‘Do you feel claustrophobic?’ she asked.
‘Maybe,’ I said, wondering what she was leading to.
‘That’s deliberate. The dark colours, the compact space and the subdued lighting are all as Rothko intended. You’re meant to feel as though you are trapped in a room with all the windows and doors bricked up so all you can do is butt your head against the wall forever.’
‘You’re not really selling this to me, Lauren,’ I told her.
‘Sit down here,’ she said, and as I did she sat beside me. ‘This is called Black on Maroon. Now look at the painting but don’t try to focus on it. Don’t stare, just relax and look straight ahead.’
We were sitting in front of a large canvas covered in a dark maroon hue with a roughly painted black outline of a square positioned centrally and extending to the top and bottom of the picture. I did as she asked, and as my eyes became accustomed to the light, I began to notice subtleties in the layers; then without warning I felt myself being pulled towards the canvas. The impression was so strong that I was certain it was a physical movement, but as I turned in amazement towards Lauren the sensation stopped.
Her face was beaming. ‘Now you get it.’
I asked if she had the same experience, but she told me everyone would react differently; the important thing was to be moved by the work.
‘Yes, but I always thought that meant emotionally, not physically,’ I said.
‘How are you feeling right now?’ she asked.
‘Excited.’
She was triumphant. ‘That’s definitely an emotion.’
I laughed and nodded, but I wondered if it wasn’t just the painting I was excited about. She was sitting so close that we were practically touching, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to put my arm around her. I knew that if I tried and she reacted badly, there wouldn’t be a problem; I could simply turn back time and she wouldn’t know it had happened. It might be a lot trickier if she responded well; there was always a possibility that after a few days she would decide she’d made a mistake, or that she was more interested in Dan, by which time I wouldn’t be able to undo the initial advance, and I could lose her permanently.
I couldn’t finish setting up the gallery without her help, so I reluctantly concluded that right now I needed her working for me more than I needed her as a girlfriend.
Seventeen
We strolled out from the cool of the Bankside building into warm sunshine and crossed the square towards the Thames. As we paused by the river path, Lauren pressed her finger to her bottom lip and tilted her head to one side. Her voice became childlike. ‘If I’m a good girl, can I have an ice cream?’ she asked sweetly.
‘That’s very cute,’ I told her.
‘It’s how I always used to get round my dad,’ she said. ‘He totally fell for it every time. I wheedled all sorts of stuff out of him with this act, even when I wasn’t a little girl anymore.’
‘Yeah, I can see the poor guy didn’t stand a chance. What was the biggest thing you got out of him?’
She took her time to think about it. ‘Probably my puppy. Dad was dead set against us having a dog, but I held the puppy up to my face and said, “Daddy, if I’m a very good girl, can I take him home with me?” What could he do?’
I felt a wave of sympathy for her father. ‘I’m glad I’m not your dad,’ I said. ‘Do you still have the dog?’
Her expression turned to sorrow. ‘No, he got hit by a car and died when I was thirteen. It was the worst, you know, with all the teenage hormones raging at the same time.’
‘So, didn’t you get another?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I never wanted to go through that pain again.’
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nbsp; I bought ice creams, and suggested sitting on a bench next to the river to eat them.
‘Do you mind if we sit in the shade?’ Her sadness had evaporated and her cheeky grin was back in place. ‘Only with my fair skin, if I stay in the sun too long I might come out in freckles.’
I looked into her beautifully maculated face and down at her arms, which continued the theme all the way to her fingertips. ‘I can tell that you wouldn’t want that.’ I laughed.
We found a bench under the trees, and as we sat down she was serious again. ‘Kee, I owe you a massive apology. I can’t believe everything that’s happened in the past couple of weeks, and now I can see the gallery is really happening too. I’m so sorry I ever doubted you.’
‘I gave you no reason not to,’ I reassured her. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’
She thanked me and took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, I’ve been thinking hard about this, and I wanted to ask you. If the job offer is still open, can I take it, please?’
My face dropped, and I looked down at my feet before I spoke quietly. ‘I’m so sorry, Lauren. With everything moving this quickly I needed to get things in place, so as you hadn’t said anything I assumed you didn’t want the job and I’ve already employed someone else.’
She didn’t buy it for one second. ‘Yeah, right,’ she said. I grinned back at her and she poked me in the nose with the tip of her ice cream. ‘You couldn’t possibly have found anyone as good as me.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, wiping the stickiness away, ‘but that’s not the problem. It’s the expense of having to widen all the door frames that worries me.’
‘Seriously, though, Kee, you still haven’t answered my question.’
‘I didn’t really think I needed to. I never took the offer away, but, yes, the job is yours. I couldn’t be happier that you’ve accepted it.’