About Last Night

“You like Gainsborough?”

“I love him. His people are so alive, I always find myself wanting to strike up conversations with them.”

Richard nodded. “I’ve read that he painted very quickly. Perhaps it helped him capture the essential character of his subjects.”

“Is she— Is this a relative?”

Richard chuckled, sounding so much like Nev that she smiled automatically in response. Apparently, Nev’s dad didn’t have a problem with rude women who burst into his library and quizzed him about his art. “No, when this was painted the Chamberlains were still bootblacks or something equally undistinguished. My grandsire bought the piece later on. And quite a few others as well.”

“Other Gainsboroughs?”

“We have a landscape. There’s a Turner, too, if you like that sort of thing.”

“Is it one of the sunny ones, or broody and apocalyptic?”

“Sort of in the middle. It’s a seascape. Which do you prefer?”

“Oh, I like the broody, apocalyptic ones. I also like the ones where it looks like he rubbed Vaseline on his eyeballs before he started painting.”

Richard laughed again. “Ours might be one of those. Would you like to judge for yourself? I could show it to you, though we’ll have to go clear to the other side of the house. We keep most of the paintings in a special room. Temperature and humidity controls, you know.” He gestured at the Gainsborough. “Even this one most of the time, though I like to have her brought up for a few weeks now and again for a visit. It seems a shame to have art if you’re not to be allowed to look at it.”

“I’d love that.”

Richard rose, and they walked across the house together. Cath tested him out along the way, asking questions about the furniture and the carpets, not making much of an effort to conceal her expertise or her impertinence. She kept waiting for his face to tighten up in shock and outrage, but it never happened. Like his son, he seemed to genuinely enjoy her company. She found herself won over by his easy manner and his knowledge of art and history.

“Have you seen the Gainsborough showbox at the V and A?” she asked a few minutes into the walk. “He painted these landscapes on glass so they could be arranged in a box and lit from the inside.” The showbox thrilled her with its weird uselessness. Outmoded technology combined with timeless artistic skill. She had such a crush on it.

“I haven’t.”

“You should come by sometime, I’ll show it to you.”

“I’d like that. In fact, if they can spare you from your work, I’d love to have a tour. I’ve been through the museum, of course, but I quite enjoy going through collections with people more familiar with them than myself. That way, you get the benefit of all their insights.”

Cath smiled. “I feel the same way. Though I can’t promise any good insights. The only thing I know much of anything about is knitting.”

“Is that so? Then you must be involved in the exhibit they’re working up on hand knitting.”

She stopped and stared at him. “Do you know absolutely everything that’s happening on the London art scene?”

“Not everything, darling.” He offered her a sly, amused smile that was exactly Nev. “I didn’t know about you.”

Flattered, she looked down at her shoes and tried not to blush. “I’m hardly ‘happening,’ ” she said. “But yeah, I work on the knitting exhibit. I’m assistant to Judith Rhodes.” She glanced up, bashful. “I’ve been co-authoring the catalog.”

“Christopher is allowing you to co-author, is he? You are something.”

“Not really,” she said, embarrassed but thrilled. Richard was an important donor, a connoisseur, and he thought she was something. She let herself enjoy the feeling for a full five seconds before she sabotaged it. “They’re not even going to print the catalog.”

“Whyever not?” he asked with a puzzled frown.

She explained about the sponsor pulling out, feeling more like a manipulative asshole with each passing second. They’d been having such a nice time. She didn’t want to hit him up for money.

Objectively, she knew, there was nothing wrong with asking a major donor for a donation. It was what Judith would do in the same situation, what anybody in the arts would do. Funding was hard to come by. You had to hustle for it.

But she didn’t want to hustle Richard. She liked him. Already at his house under false pretenses, she hated herself for compounding the sin by breaking out her begging bowl.

And part of her hated Nev for bringing her here and making her do it.

“I’m surprised Christopher didn’t phone me,” Richard said when she’d finished. “I’ll ring him up, and we’ll get you sorted.”