“Have you got a new assistant yet?”
“Yes.” I tell him the story of meeting Lacey at her father’s exhibition. I tell him everything. Shouting at her, not realizing she’s Petrou’s daughter, then coming face-to-face with her the next morning.
Adam is incredulous. “And you offered her the job after all that? And she said yes?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, Stian. Why can you never make things easy for yourself?”
I smile faintly. “That’s what she said today.”
“Sorry?”
I focus on my pint, quashing the smile. “Nothing. She was just observing that I exerted a lot of energy on getting the Laxos exhibition here when I could have gone after something easier.”
Adam takes a mouthful of beer, and when he puts his glass down he has a knowing expression in his eyes. “She’s got you pegged already. Pretty, is she?”
I give him a long, baleful look. “Adam, she’s fifteen years younger than me and she’s my assistant. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
He shakes his head, smiling innocently. “I didn’t say a word. When was the last time you went on a date, anyway?”
A date? Years. My last relationship was a disaster. Someone setting fire to all your clothes on the front lawn after a fight can put you off dating for a while.
My mind glides over the memory of Lacey gazing with rapt, delighted attention at the gorgoneion. Lacey doesn’t create drama, she just has a lot of it to deal with.
I wonder if I could help her with that.
I push that thought away and change the subject. We eat fish and chips, have another pint, and then I head home at ten.
The next night is the opening of the Phoenician exhibition. We’re hosting a drinks reception with a speech by the lead archeologist on the dig where several of the artifacts were discovered. I’ve told Lacey she doesn’t need to come if she’s busy, giving her a way out of a social situation she might be worried about, but she assures me that she’ll be there.
I wish I knew what she was digging in her handbag for the night of her father’s exhibition. Something upset her, and not knowing what it was makes me tense.
I head downstairs at half-past five to check on the arrangements and Lacey tells me she’ll be right there, she just wants to get changed.
The guests start arriving at six, and I get myself a beer. I can relax a little now that everything is in place. The pieces are correctly displayed, and the descriptions and flyers that Lacey wrote are perfect. Everything’s as it should be.
A few minutes later I see Lacey on the far side of the room. She’s wearing a white cotton dress and has removed all her jewelry except for the velvet choker. Her hair’s loose and shiny and her lips are glossy. I want to push past everyone and tell her how beautiful she looks. I shouldn’t though, because I’m her boss, and commenting on the appearance of someone with an eating disorder is probably something you shouldn’t do.
One of the collections managers has gone to talk to her. Derek, whom I know is single, and he’s looking at her like he wants to eat her. I feel my hackles rising. He notices Lacey hasn’t got a drink and gestures to the table where rows of wine and beer have been set up. She seems to say no but Derek presses her, and she says yes to something. White wine, I think.
I try to concentrate on what the head of museum operations is telling me about the order of service tonight, but my attention keeps getting snared by Lacey. She takes a sip of the wine Derek has given her, and I see her pained expression as she swallows. Derek doesn’t seem to notice. She’s wearing high heels, and her ankle is trembling.
Go over and get her out of there.
Leave her, she’ll be all right.
No, I can fix this.
I argue back and forth with myself, gripping my beer bottle tightly and imagining smashing it right into Derek’s face. The head of operations mentions that the speaker has arrived and I look, but when turn back to search for Lacey, she’s gone.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, putting my beer down and heading for the stairs.
She didn’t have her handbag with her, so she’s probably gone back to her desk. I jog up the stairs two at a time, hoping to catch her before she heads for the Tube. I need to tell her it’s all right. Tell her something. It’s my fault she’s so upset because it’s my event, and I’m ashamed too because this must have been the state she was in when I grabbed her and yelled at her at her father’s exhibition.
Lacey’s not at her desk when I reach it, but the door to my office is open. I peer in and see her hunched over something, shaking slightly.