Art and Soul by Claire Huston

Author:Claire Huston [Huston, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, Romantic Novel, contemporary romance, Humour, Women's Fiction, contemporary fiction
ISBN: 9781911505655
Publisher: Goldcrest Books International Ltd
Published: 2020-04-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

At nine thirty, Lloyd Blake was decanted from his Rolls Royce into the Old Station House porch. He waved his driver off, skipped over the threshold and kissed Becky on both cheeks.

‘Delightful to see you again, my dear. And such a treat to see inside a local landmark.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not qualified to give you a tour.’

‘Nonsense. Look at this spectacular fireplace. And the carving on the bannister rail and spindles is wonderful,’ he said, striding into the living room.

Becky scurried to halt his progress. ‘The caterers have taken over the kitchen.’ She pointed towards the extension. ‘So it would be best for us go out that way.’

She led him to the study and then out into the garden. Lloyd had recognised the Lucinda’s catering logo and, on their way to the marquee, he quizzed her regarding all the companies she had persuaded to supply Phoebe’s party.

‘When did you start planning this particular soirée?’

‘About four weeks ago. Luckily I know a few people who were willing to help me out at the last minute. It’s only fifty guests and some finger food after all.’

‘Don’t sell yourself short. Your contacts are among the best and booked up months in advance. They either owe you more than you’re letting on or your powers of persuasion are remarkable.’

Becky winked at him. ‘I’d like to claim remarkable skills, but the truth is I know where the bodies are buried.’

‘Excellent. Keep it that way and you’ll go far.’

In the marquee entrance they paused to watch the guests. The teenagers sprang around the dance floor, darting between a kaleidoscope of lights. Their movements were energetic, bordering on acrobatic, but not one let their smartphone slip from their hand.

Despite all the bouncing about, the air in the tent was still and stifling. The sudden contrast to the crisp autumnal night outside was enough to make anyone half Lloyd’s age dizzy, so Becky wasn’t surprised when he gasped and raised a hand to his chest.

‘Shall we go somewhere quieter?’ shouted Becky over the din passing for music.

He nodded and followed her into the studio where, after a brief restorative visit to the bar, they entered the restricted area at the back of the building and climbed to the platform. The DJ’s box was downstairs, but the speakers were inside the marquee, allowing Becky and Lloyd to talk rather than shout.

Though not a party guest, Lloyd had invested time in making sure he cut an impressive figure. A liberal application of wax made his white quiff gleam in the dim light and in contrast to his pitch-black suit.

Cupping a balloon glass in his right hand, he rested his elbows on the safety rail and peered down into the space below. ‘It’s impressive,’ he said. ‘But I imagine it’s better in the daytime. The skylights are ideal. Having bricked up the east- and west-facing windows the light must be fairly constant throughout the day. Monet had a studio which was lit similarly, although he had paintings in his.’

‘We thought it best to remove them.

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