‘Very well,’ said Jacques rolling his eyes. ‘But you might prefer to stay in the back,’ he added, looking pointedly at Tom’s jeans and old parka. ‘Hélène Brose is coming in at 4 p.m. She’s a very important art consultant and I’m sure she would prefer to see the space without any encumbrances.’

Stella suppressed a smile.

‘Let’s go and get a cup of tea somewhere,’ she whispered.

‘There’s a coffee machine in the office,’ said Tom. ‘Jacques. We’re going upstairs for ten minutes.’

‘If you must.’

Upstairs was just like any other office. There was a large, glass desk strewn with catalogues and photographs, a pot of pens and a big Rolodex. There were a few photographs on the wall of Julia at various art fairs, smiling with bigwigs from the art world whom Stella vaguely recognized. On the window sill was the largest photograph of all. It was a framed picture of Julia, Tom and Cassandra taken with Winterfold in the background. Stella walked over and touched the frame, looking at the younger Tom and smiling.

‘Was it hard being brought up by just your mum?’

‘No, she did a great job,’ said Tom, as he busied himself making the coffee. ‘Look at the way she went running off to see Cassandra. She dotes on us. We couldn’t have asked for more, honestly.’

Stella picked up a Hollyhock Gallery brochure and leafed through it.

‘She’s had some good shows recently.’

‘Want a private view?’ said Tom, nodding towards a door behind her. ‘That’s where she keeps pieces from previous exhibitions that haven’t sold or ar

e waiting to go to their new owners.’ ‘Are we allowed?’

‘Not really,’ said Tom, opening the desk drawer and taking out a key. ‘But seeing as it’s you …’

Behind the door was a cramped storage room crammed with oil paintings, lithographs and sketches, some swathed in bubble wrap, some propped against the walls or on shelves.

‘It’s usually grouped into exhibitions,’ said Tom, moving a large canvas out of the way to get to the back of the room.

‘Here we go: a Terry Frost signed lithograph.’ He pointed to the pencil mark in the corner next to the signature. ‘“A/P” – that means that this one is the artist’s proof of that particular lithograph; it’s one of the ones he kept for himself or to give to friends. I’d say it’s a good investment.’

‘I’m too poor to be investing in art,’ smiled Stella. ‘I’m not Tom Ford yet, you know. Gosh, there must be hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of stuff in this room,’ she added excitedly.

‘Not really. That Frost lithograph is about as expensive as it gets. She mostly deals with stuff under a thousand pounds. I think me and Cass and then Ruby got in the way of making Hollyhock a more important gallery than it is now. She always put us first.’ He fell silent for a moment, and Stella knew he was thinking about how his mother had bailed him out yet again at a cost to her own ambitions. Then Tom suddenly looked up, laughed and pointed to a low door at the back of the room which was set into the slope of the roof.

‘Still, I bet my mum wouldn’t let me play in here any more.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When I was little and Mum had to bring me into the office with her, I used to play in here and hide in that little cubby-hole. I’d call it my space shuttle.’

‘Ahh, sweet,’ said Stella, stroking his arm affectionately.

Tom crouched down and lifted up a loose flap of carpet. Underneath was a key. Tom grinned at Stella and unlocked the little door.

‘Fancy playing doctors and nurses in the space shuttle?’ he asked. Stella giggled as Tom bent over and popped his head inside. ‘Hmm … might be a little dusty for that …’

He was straightening up again when something caught his eye: a large painting leaning against the wall.

‘Hang on,’ he said and then reached into the space and pulled it out.

‘Hey, do you recognize this?’ he asked, beckoning Stella over. ‘I think this is by the same guy as that stuff at your dad’s house.’

‘You mean Ben Palmer?’ said Stella nodding. ‘Yes, I’m sure it’s by him – the colours and shapes, the little boat, that red sky are all right. No, it couldn’t be anyone else, I’ve been looking at those paintings in Trencarrow for years now. The style is identical.’

‘What on earth is it doing in here?’ he said, holding it aloft by its frame.

‘Hang on, there’s something on the back,’ said Stella.

Tags: Tasmina Perry Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net