think of initiating a coup though, Grace? Storming his desk, taking over the company? You could run it better than he could with your eyes closed.’ Gilbert did a camp pause. ‘Actually, I think that is how Alistair runs it most of the time – eyes closed, fingers in ears, brain up his—’
‘Don’t be daft, Gilbert.’
‘Or looking for something else, something with a bit more power? Yes,’ he lowered his voice, ‘you could set up a rival company. I’d come and work for you like a shot. Bet quite a few of the other art guides in London would too. I can see it now.’ Gilbert swept his hand through the air in an exaggerated arc. ‘Guided by Grace. Got a certain ring to it, don’t you think?’
‘No, I don’t. I’m perfectly happy pootling around here. Suits me, Gilbert. I like the routine.’
She didn’t know if that sounded a bit defensive, but thesoothing strains of Mozart emitting from Gilbert’s phone distracted him. His face suggested he was anything but soothed.
‘Ah, what fresh hell is this?’ he said in a weary tone before answering it. For a long time he said nothing, and when he did it was obvious he was really having to fight to get even one or two words out.
‘No … I did tell you he would be coming … Yes, we discussed it … to read the meter. He should have had an identification thing round his neck … well, that’s all right then … no, what? Wait … so he hasn’t read the meter? Well, yes, it could have been forged … but … No, I’m not cross … just … look … I’ll be back soon. Yes, I’ll remember.’
‘Another day in Paradise,’ he said, coming off the phone, and Grace tried to head off what threatened to be a return visit from the black cloud of Vi by wondering aloud what was so urgent that Alistair had to leave as quickly as he had. It was almost furtive. And why did they have to stay until he got back?
‘Perhaps he’s gone to see a man about a Doge,’ Gilbert said laughing hysterically and then apologised immediately. ‘Too long spent in the Venice rooms this afternoon.’
They batted a number of increasingly daft ideas about before deciding that it was probably something mundane– perhaps he was picking up proofs of the new leaflet from the printers and wanted them to stay back to check them over?
Which was when they heard the door downstairs slam.
‘Brace yourself,’ Gilbert said, and they sat and waited for Alistair to climb the stairs. They heard the door to the reception area open and Alistair say, ‘Just through here.’
‘He’s got someone with him,’ Grace whispered.
Gilbert laughed. ‘Bit heavy-footed for a fancy woman.’
The door was flung wide.
‘Ah, here you are.’ Alistair seemed very jovial. ‘I’ve got someone I’d like to introduce. Someone who’s going to bring a bit of new blood to the team. Here he is: Tate Jefferson.’
Before she saw him, Grace knew it was going to be the guy with blond hair. And here he was: striped trousers, evening dress jacket, rubber wristbands, biker boots.
‘There you go, Gracie,’ he said, giving her a double thumbs-up, ‘told you we might bump into each other again.’
CHAPTER 5
‘It’s Grace, not Gracie,’ she said, but Tate Jefferson gave no indication of having heard her. She was going to repeat it, but decided she could not summon up enough politeness to make it sound anything less than aggressive. She smiled serenely instead, as if she were pleased to see him again, but her heart was somewhere at the back of her throat and her mind already laying out the framework for a coping strategy, some way of minimising the presence of this disturbing, memory-stirring, testosterone-exuding man grinning away at her.
She continued to smile serenely as Alistair made a speech about how it was a new era, how he’d had to think hard about ways to widen the company’s appeal and how Tate (boyish slap on the blond guy’s back) would attract a completely different group of
‘Don’t be daft, Gilbert.’
‘Or looking for something else, something with a bit more power? Yes,’ he lowered his voice, ‘you could set up a rival company. I’d come and work for you like a shot. Bet quite a few of the other art guides in London would too. I can see it now.’ Gilbert swept his hand through the air in an exaggerated arc. ‘Guided by Grace. Got a certain ring to it, don’t you think?’
‘No, I don’t. I’m perfectly happy pootling around here. Suits me, Gilbert. I like the routine.’
She didn’t know if that sounded a bit defensive, but thesoothing strains of Mozart emitting from Gilbert’s phone distracted him. His face suggested he was anything but soothed.
‘Ah, what fresh hell is this?’ he said in a weary tone before answering it. For a long time he said nothing, and when he did it was obvious he was really having to fight to get even one or two words out.
‘No … I did tell you he would be coming … Yes, we discussed it … to read the meter. He should have had an identification thing round his neck … well, that’s all right then … no, what? Wait … so he hasn’t read the meter? Well, yes, it could have been forged … but … No, I’m not cross … just … look … I’ll be back soon. Yes, I’ll remember.’
‘Another day in Paradise,’ he said, coming off the phone, and Grace tried to head off what threatened to be a return visit from the black cloud of Vi by wondering aloud what was so urgent that Alistair had to leave as quickly as he had. It was almost furtive. And why did they have to stay until he got back?
‘Perhaps he’s gone to see a man about a Doge,’ Gilbert said laughing hysterically and then apologised immediately. ‘Too long spent in the Venice rooms this afternoon.’
They batted a number of increasingly daft ideas about before deciding that it was probably something mundane– perhaps he was picking up proofs of the new leaflet from the printers and wanted them to stay back to check them over?
Which was when they heard the door downstairs slam.
‘Brace yourself,’ Gilbert said, and they sat and waited for Alistair to climb the stairs. They heard the door to the reception area open and Alistair say, ‘Just through here.’
‘He’s got someone with him,’ Grace whispered.
Gilbert laughed. ‘Bit heavy-footed for a fancy woman.’
The door was flung wide.
‘Ah, here you are.’ Alistair seemed very jovial. ‘I’ve got someone I’d like to introduce. Someone who’s going to bring a bit of new blood to the team. Here he is: Tate Jefferson.’
Before she saw him, Grace knew it was going to be the guy with blond hair. And here he was: striped trousers, evening dress jacket, rubber wristbands, biker boots.
‘There you go, Gracie,’ he said, giving her a double thumbs-up, ‘told you we might bump into each other again.’
CHAPTER 5
‘It’s Grace, not Gracie,’ she said, but Tate Jefferson gave no indication of having heard her. She was going to repeat it, but decided she could not summon up enough politeness to make it sound anything less than aggressive. She smiled serenely instead, as if she were pleased to see him again, but her heart was somewhere at the back of her throat and her mind already laying out the framework for a coping strategy, some way of minimising the presence of this disturbing, memory-stirring, testosterone-exuding man grinning away at her.
She continued to smile serenely as Alistair made a speech about how it was a new era, how he’d had to think hard about ways to widen the company’s appeal and how Tate (boyish slap on the blond guy’s back) would attract a completely different group of
Similar Books
