Her head whips to mine. ‘The National?’
I smile on the inside. ‘The National Gallery,’ I confirm, for no other reason than relishing in making her hear it again. ‘They have the companion portrait of Philips Lucasz. They’re keen to have the two pieces back together.’
Urgency springs into her eyes. ‘Price?’ she demands.
I join my hands in front of me, remaining calm and collected. ‘Thirty-five.’ I reel off my price confidently, keeping a perfectly straight face, even when her eyes slightly widen. She wants this painting, and not even the National will stop her.
‘Thirty,’ she counters, slipping some glasses on and leaning towards the painting, her eyes travelling across the oils slowly.
‘Thirty-five, Lady Finsbury,’ I affirm, glancing at Alexa. She’s silent, watching me in action. I expect she knows fuck all about art, which begs the question why she’s here. Becker. Becker is why she’s here, and she can’t hide her disappointment that he’s not. My lips tip into a satisfied smile.
‘Thirty-two,’ the countess counters.
‘The price is thirty-five, Lady Finsbury.’
‘Fine,’ she barks, striding towards me. ‘I want to see the paperwork. In person.’ She looks me up and down, and I take it all. I know what’s coming next. ‘And I want Becker to show me it.’
Of course she does. ‘I’m sure that won’t be a problem.’ I’m being sickly sweet and it’s killing me, but I’ve done my job. More than my job.
‘Very well.’ She arranges her fur stole over her shoulders and wanders out, and I catch Mrs Potts through the glass looking busy, but she still manages to chuck me a reassuring smile. I smile right back, satisfied and proud for maintaining my professionalism, despite dealing with two very tricky customers.
But my smile soon falls away when my skin becomes irritated again, and I turn and find Alexa giving me evils. ‘My aunt wants to deal with Becker in future, not his skivvy.’ She saunters past me, slipping her oversized sunglasses on, and my body turns slowly to follow, my lip curling in contempt.
‘I’ll put forward your request when I see him in bed tonight.’
She stops, turning to face me.
‘Pillow talk,’ I go on, seeing her stiffening before my eyes when I give a casual flash of my ring. I take the few steps that bring me close to her, then lean up on my tiptoes so I can speak into her ear, forcing myself to tolerate our closeness. ‘He loves it when I talk dirty to him.’ I carry on past her. ‘Mrs Potts will show you out.’
‘Certainly will, dear,’ she confirms, looking at me like a proud grandmother. It’s all I can do not to skip my way to the kitchen. I need a cup of tea and some time to reflect. Thirty-five million! I can’t wait to share the news with Becker.
I’ll tell him that I’ve trashed his Audi later.Chapter 27Winston is circling around his dog bowl like a nutter when I walk into the kitchen, and Mr H is trying to calm him down so he can get some food into it. ‘Sit,’ the old man shouts, shooing the burly beast away. ‘For the love of Apollo, will you sit down.’
Woof!
Winston’s nose is twitching crazily, his tail spinning like a propeller. ‘All right, all right.’ Mr H gives up trying to force an excitable Winston into obedience and empties a healthy helping of dog biscuits into his bowl. He dives in, the sounds of grunts and gulps drowning out Mr H’s mumbled moans as he struggles back to vertical, using the worktop and his walking stick for help. ‘Greedy guts.’
Winston, oblivious to the disapproval of his table manners, hoovers up the contents of his bowl in a few gluttonous gobbles, before proceeding to cough all over the place.
‘See, indigestion.’
I laugh, attracting old Mr H’s attention, as I wander over to the fridge. ‘Sold for a cool thirty-five million,’ I say casually, pulling the door open. I spot an apple and help myself, smiling as I sink my teeth in and turn to face Becker’s granddad. He’s grinning like I’ve never seen him grin before.
‘Quite a handful, the countess, isn’t she?’ He hobbles over to the kitchen table and takes a seat.
A bark of sardonic laughter erupts from my mouth, forcing me to slap my hand over it to stop some apple shooting out. I nod in agreement as I chew and swallow. ‘If by that you mean rude, disrespectful, and plain awful, then I’m inclined to agree.’
‘And you had the pleasure of her niece, too.’ He rests his walking stick against the side of the table, looking at me over his glasses, his chin nearly meeting the collar of his shirt. ‘Bet that made your day.’
My face twists in disdain as I make my way over to him, taking a seat opposite. Winston is at my feet immediately, sitting and searching for some attention. I reach down and give his ear a scratch. ‘She wants Becker. She hates me.’