He sidled off into the crowd and Ripley edged Fen back towards the exit. “We can go now.”
“We’ve only just arrived.”
“We’ve seen the pictures, spoken to Josef. There’s no one here I want to talk to apart from you and I don’t want to talk to you here.”
Ripley took the still half-full glass from Fen’s hand and put it down on a table with his, then they collected their coats. Fen was torn between irritation and attraction. Which was unfortunate.
“Hungry?” Ripley asked.
A drink had been offered, not food but Fen nodded.
“I know somewhere. Come on.”
Fen followed him outside, and when Ripley set off down the road, this time he went more slowly so they walked side by side.
“Did you mean any of that?” Ripley asked.
“I said what I saw. Though I had no idea what the brown lump was. Why did you want me to go there with you?”
“I was interested to see if you were honest.”
Fen sucked in his cheeks. “Iwashonest.”
“I did notice you didn’t actually say you liked them.”
Fen winced. “Ah.”
“Did you like them?”
“Not particularly, but I would never have said that. A hundred people might say someone’s work is great but the person who says the opposite is the one who haunts them. Art is such a personal thing. Like books. I’ve read books where the cover and inside pages are full of famous people saying how brilliantly funny it is and yet the book hadn’t made me laugh once, and I think I have a good sense of humour.”
“What sort of books do you think I like?”
“Intimidation techniques for the 21stcentury? How to crush enemies without spilling blood for beginners? Building your own shed without nails?”
Ripley laughed. An actual laugh. It gave Fen hope and he risked a smile.
“Remembered where you think you know me from?” Fen asked.
“No. I’m not sure Ihaveseen you before.”
A black car was idling around the corner and as they approached, the driver got out and opened the rear door.
“Thank you,” Fen said as he climbed in.
“Do you like Italian food?” Ripley dropped down next to him.
“Yes.”
And that was all Ripley said on the journey, though he did stare at Fen. He was odd. Fen didn’t know what to make of him.
They were dropped off at a small restaurant in Soho where Ripley was greeted by name. Their coats were hung up and they were taken straight to a table. Fen knew it was going to be expensive even before he’d looked at the menu. The place was small, the tables were set well apart and waiters were floating around delivering plates of food that looked like mini works of art.
“Do they do pizza with pineapple?” Fen asked, just to see Ripley’s reaction.
“They will if you want it.”
Fen smiled. “No, I’m happy with …” He looked down at the menu. “Melanzane alla parmigiana.” He had no idea what it was, but he knew the last word meant parmesan. Even if it was full of cheese and cream, this was a treat and he allowed himself occasional treats.
