‘Ah. Your miracle man. Of course.’
‘Excuse me,’ Jason cut in. ‘I did all the paintings before I got the suit.’
‘Of course you did,’ soothed Tabitha. ‘And it’s those we’re here to talk about, not your lovely clothes. They really are lovely, though. Customers will be clamouring to meet you, Mr Watson.’
‘Do you think so? So we’re going to do a show then?’
‘Oh, I think so.’
‘When we last spoke, you mentioned that you were booked up here until the autumn,’ Jenna reminded her.
‘Oh, yes, I’m booked up here. But who says we have to do the show here?’
Jenn
a sat forward.
‘You have another venue in mind?’
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, darling, but you have a glorious great mansion house in the country, don’t you? Why not have an exhibition there?’
‘In Bledburn?’
She looked wildly at Jason, who laughed.
‘I’ve done exhibitions in Bledburn before,’ he said. ‘Down the garages by the flats mainly. With spray paints. Dead classy, it were.’
‘But you mean we should show his work at Harville Hall,’ Jenna said. ‘Would the London art world be interested? Shouldn’t we keep things here in London?’
‘I don’t see why. Imagine how fascinated people would be to visit the home of the Starmaker herself. I think it would double our clientele at a stroke. At least.’
‘Oh, Tabitha, I think it’s a brilliant idea but I’m not sure . . .’
Jenna’s gaze sought Jason’s again.
‘We like our privacy,’ she said, as if pleading with him to back her up.
‘It’s just for one night,’ he said unhelpfully.
‘But the place is a wreck. We’re in the throes of renovation and, so far, only the kitchen and half a bedroom are anywhere close to presentable.’
‘How romantic,’ said Tabitha, bulldozing through Jenna’s objections. ‘A half-ruined mansion. Absolutely perfect for an art installation.’
‘And there’s my frieze in the attic,’ Jason piped up. ‘That can’t be shown anywhere else anyway.’
‘A frieze in the attic!’ Tabitha’s eyes lit up over the rim of her tumbler. ‘How wonderful. You must let me come up and see it for myself.’
‘Of course, you’re welcome to visit,’ said Jenna, feeling more flappable than she would like. ‘And then you’ll see the state of the place. Honestly, Tab, apart from the kitchen, it needs rewiring, for a start.’
‘Candlelight,’ said Tabitha dramatically.
‘And damp,’ said Jenna. ‘Not good for the canvases, I’d imagine.’
‘Oh. No.’ Tabitha’s onslaught was temporarily halted. ‘That’s not good. But you’re getting it sorted out, I should imagine?’
‘Well, yes. Got people coming in next week. All the same . . .’
‘Well, there you go then. Honestly, the décor doesn’t matter a bit. The shabbier the better, in fact. It’s the pictures we want people to be looking at. The pictures . . . and you.’