“In the banking hall, so everyone can see it.”
“Sebastian, it’s a giant condom!”
“It is indeed, Mother, and I suspect one or two of our more enlightened customers might even recognize it as such.”
“And no doubt you can also explain the title to me,” said Emma. “Every Seven Seconds?”
Sebastian was saved when a distinguished-looking gentleman appeared by their side.
“Good evening, minister,” he said to Emma. “May I say how delighted I am to see you and your husband at the RA.”
“Thank you, Sir Hugh. We wouldn’t have missed it.”
“Is there a particular reason you interrupted your busy schedule to join us?”
“My granddaughter,” said Emma, gesturing toward Every Seven Seconds, unable to hide her embarrassment.
“You must be very proud,” said the former president of the RA. “It is to her credit that she has never mentioned her distinguished grandparents.”
“I suspect that if your father is a banker and your grandmother a Tory politician, it’s not something you would want to share with your artistic friends. But then I doubt if she’s ever told you we have two of your watercolors hanging in our home in the country.”
“I’m flattered,” said Sir Hugh. “But I confess I wish I had been born with your granddaughter’s talent.”
“That’s kind of you, but can I ask you for your candid opinion of Jessica’s latest work?”
The PPRA took a long look at Every Seven Seconds, before saying, “Original, innovative. Stretches the boundaries of one’s imagination. I would suggest it is influenced by Marcel Duchamp.”
“I agree with you, Sir Hugh,” said Sebastian, “which is precisely the reason I’m going to buy the picture.”
“I’m afraid it’s already been sold.”
“Someone’s actually bought it?” said Emma incredulously.
“Yes, an American dealer snapped it up as soon as the show opened, and several other customers, like you, have been disappointed to find it had already been sold.”
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Emma was speechless.
“Please, will you excuse me, because it’s time to announce the winner of this year’s gold medal.” Sir Hugh gave a slight bow before leaving them to walk over to the stage at the far end of the room.
Emma was still speechless when a couple of photographers began taking pictures of her standing beside the painting. A journalist turned a page of his notepad and said, “May I ask, minister, what you think of your granddaughter’s portrait?”
“Original, innovative. Stretches the boundaries of one’s imagination. I would suggest it was influenced by Marcel Duchamp.”
“Thank you, minister,” said the journalist, writing down her words before hurrying away.
“You are not only shameless, Mama, but your audacity stretches the boundaries of one’s imagination. I’ll bet you’d never heard of Duchamp before today.”
“Let’s be fair,” said Harry, “your mother never behaved like this before she became a politician.”
There was a gentle tap on the microphone, and everyone turned to face the stage.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Hugh Casson, and I’d like to welcome you to the Royal Academy Schools’ exhibition. As chairman of the awards panel, it is now my privilege to announce the winner of this year’s gold medal. I usually preface my words by saying what a difficult decision it has been for the judges, and how unlucky the runners-up were, but not on this occasion, because the panel was unanimous in awarding this year’s gold medal to—”
* * *
“You must be so proud of your granddaughter,” said the permanent secretary when she joined the minister in her office the next morning. “She’ll be among such illustrious company.”