The Square by Rosie Millard

Author:Rosie Millard [Millard, Rosie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Legend Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen Belle

“And she was just so rude to him,” says Tracey to Larry. They are lying in bed, awake.

“Well, that’s normal,” says Larry, yawning. “Come and give me a hug.”

“No, I mean really rude. Almost walked out on him. Couldn’t care less, couldn’t give a damn that this was a STAR. A star of daytime television, sitting in our lounge.” She pauses. “Sorry, sitting room.”

“He won’t mind. I’m sure he’s been exposed to worse things in his life. Television is a nasty old world, I imagine,” says Larry, who knows nothing about the world of television but is willing to hazard a guess that it’s chock-a-block with utter arseholes.

“I think it’s all this work she’s doing over the road, you know, with that weirdo Philip Burrell. It has made her extremely, well, she speaks in riddles.”

It was true. Since her exposure to Philip, Gilda and their world of the high aesthetic and joke mugs, Belle had regarded her home with increasing volumes of distaste.

“Have you heard of George Rasper?” she announced one evening over supper. “The photographer?”

Tracey, busy turning out the contents of jacket potatoes and adding grated cheese to them, only half-heard the question.

“What?”

“George Rasper, the very famous photographer? Don’t you know his work?”

“No, darling, why?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Five minutes later, Belle tries again.

“Have you ever, ever heard of Jonty Coward?”

“No, darling. Why? Who is he?”

“Another photographer. God, nobody knows anything in this house.”

Tracey turns from the potato, catches Grace’s eye, shrugs.

“Are these friends of Philip Burrell’s?”

“Well, not exactly Mum. I mean, Jonty Coward was alive during the First World War, so I doubt it.”

“Well, I said I didn’t know who he was,” says Tracey patiently. “How is it going with Jas? How are the models progressing?”

“Don’t talk to me about it. You don’t know anything.”

Actually, Belle was rather proud of her work. She was now on her third marathon piece. They had completed Berlin, which had been gently put into the back of a van and driven off to Philip’s London gallery where according to Jas, it had gone down very well. They had also finished Loch Ness, which had been a private commission from an Edinburgh-based millionaire. Now they were onto Tokyo.

Belle didn’t talk much, if at all, to Philip Burrell, but from overhearing brief conversations he had with Jas, it seemed as if Philip was planning to launch all of the marathons at once at a big opening show in his gallery. His dealer, Magnus, had been over to check on the work, and he seemed happy. Magnus was another weirdo, thought Belle. Cold fish in a suit.

The only time she had actually spoken more than standard greetings to Philip was one morning when they were finishing the Loch Ness model. He was still in his robe, and came unexpectedly into the studio while Jas was down in the kitchen having a cigarette and chatting to Gilda. Belle had been struggling with a Scottish hillock and had remained upstairs to see if she could get it right.

“So where do you live then?” asked Philip, after standing watching her for a few minutes.

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