Instances of the Number 3 by Salley Vickers

Author:Salley Vickers
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

31

Frances, who was fussy about her make-up, was almost late for the meeting at the gallery because she couldn’t find her eyeliner. A quarrel had broken out between Roy and the young sculptor, Ed Bittle, and she needed to have her best face on to deal with Roy, who put you down if you were not presentable.

Searching in her dressing-table drawer, she found it, among the lipsticks, and was puzzled. Generally she was careful to keep the eye make-up separately, in the bathroom cabinet.

Zahin had been staying with her for three weeks now and the initial strain had worn off a little—but not enough to suggest she would ever want him permanently about the house. Yet Peter had liked the boy, enough to confide in him about her. She couldn’t quite envisage it—but the boy’s words were the proof!

Frances hadn’t liked to probe exactly what Peter had said. She felt embarrassed to raise the topic, and Zahin had that manner—it wasn’t aloof, not aloof enough in some ways, but it shared the deterrent effect of aloofness.

The argument between Roy and Ed Bittle was over the commission Roy charged for the sale of the sculptures. The gallery was a showcase for new talent, and Roy, conscious that many purchases made for investment purposes were based on his noted eye for talent, exacted a high percentage from his new exhibitors for the privilege. Often they didn’t read the small print of the contract—and that was when Frances would find herself becoming involved.

Entering the gallery, Frances could hear raised voices coming from the room behind.

‘You should have fucking well told me…’

‘I’m afraid it states quite clearly…’

‘It’s a fucking disgrace, that’s what it fucking is!’

‘Roy,’ said Frances, ‘I’m so sorry to be late. Lady Kathleen rang. She needs to talk to you about her Matthew Smith.’ Lady Kathleen, a multimillionairess, held an unimpeachable position in Roy’s affections.

‘Will you excuse me…?’ Roy left the room with an exaggerated deference to manners.

‘He can drown in the frigging Antarctic for all I frigging care,’ said Bittle, looking angry and sheepish at once.

‘Tell you what, let’s go over the road to Marie Rose’s and have a bagel and some coffee,’ said Frances diplomatically. ‘I need some breakfast.’

Outside she took the sculptor’s leather-clad arm and steered him across the road. Marie Rose was the name of the tall Malayan woman who owned the eponymous bar conveniently situated just across from the gallery. Apparently she was redecorating—Frances and Ed had to step over several pots of paint.

‘He wants to take seventy per cent of everything I sell,’ Ed said gloomily when coffee and bagels had been ordered. ‘That’s not just what you lot sell—it’s all the stuff I sell from me own workshop. It’s not right.’

‘It’s his policy, I’m afraid,’ Frances said. She was used to this. Roy charmed and flattered, so it was a double shock to discover it was only part of a plan to systematically fleece you. ‘He’ll drop you unless you guarantee to sell through him alone.

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