Nothing Ventured

‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to show me, Zac,’ she purred.

‘Follow me,’ said Knight, ignoring William.

As Beth passed him, William whispered ‘Poussin,’ before she followed the proprietor downstairs. He walked slowly around the upstairs gallery for a second time, but his mind was elsewhere.

Jez had gone off to Shropshire for the weekend, and William had wanted to tell Beth how he felt about her, but he was worried that she might not be ready to consider a commitment after such a short time, though when his father had proposed to his mother after only three weeks, she was famously reported as replying, ‘What took you so long?’

Beth and Knight had been downstairs for about twenty minutes when William began to wonder if he should join them, but he somehow restrained himself. Twenty-five minutes. Thirty minutes. Just as he was heading for the stairs, Beth reappeared with the proprietor following closely behind.

‘Thank you, Zac,’ she said. ‘That was fascinating, and I look forward to attending the private view on Wednesday. By the way, this is my brother, Peter.’

Zac shook hands with William.

‘Well, we ought to get moving, Sis,’ said William, ‘if we’re not going to be late for lunch with Mother.’

‘I must admit,’ said Beth, ‘that I’ve been enjoying myself so much, I’d quite forgotten about dear mama.’

‘You have my number, Barbara,’ said Zac. ‘Give me a call any time.’

William pretended not to notice as Knight opened the door and gave her a flirtatious smile.

‘See you on Wednesday, Zac,’ said Beth.

Once they were back on the street, William said, ‘Keep walking, and try to look like my sister, not my girlfriend, because Zac’s staring at us through the window.’

Beth kept a sisterly distance, and didn’t say a word until they’d turned the corner. When they reached a coffee shop she walked in and headed straight for a booth in the far corner, well hidden from the street.

‘Nell Gwynne,’ said William, as he took the seat opposite her.

‘More like Catherine the Great,’ suggested Beth, as she turned her back to the window.

‘Reveal all.’

‘Zac is also a fake,’ she began, ‘who imagines that he’s irresistible to women. I played along, until his hands began to wander.’

‘I’ll kill him,’ said William, rising from his place.

‘Not after what I have to tell you, you won’t. Once I told him you were my brother, he couldn’t resist making a move.’

‘Peter?’

‘No, Peter Paul. Our mother named you after Rubens and me after Hepworth, which I felt was appropriate.’

‘You’re a wicked woman.’

‘Cunning, I admit.’

‘So what did you find out?’

‘All in good time,’ said Beth as a waiter appeared by their side.

‘A cappuccino, please.’

‘Me too,’ said William.

‘When I asked Zac who’d painted A Dance to the Music of Time he was cagey at first. Told me the gallery was careful not to reveal the identity of its artists, otherwise customers might try to deal with the artist direct, and cut them out.’

‘So how did you get over that hurdle?’