He shoots me a sour look. “Oh, dear. Sadly, we should break up the conversation now. It’s time to discuss business.”
“Is it?” Moira asks blankly.
“It definitely is. Off you go, Xavier.”
I smile sweetly at him. “Of course. I’ll just be over there.” I wave a hand in a random direction and then lean close to him. “While you talk about me some more,” I say, low.
Reuben rolls his eyes and pulls a laughing Moira into an office, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Thwarted, I start to wander around. I love galleries. I could spend hours in them, moving from one picture to the next. In past years, gallery visits have been the only time I’ve felt any sense of peace. As I make my way through a room of lovely paintings, I feel a flash of jealousy towards the artists, wondering what my life would have been like if I’d carried on with art rather than modelling. I’d had a place at college to study it, but I’d passed it up in favour of fucking Reuben over and making some money.
Do I regret it? I have to admit I don’t. I’m not cut out for study, although having time to draw to my heart’s content would be lovely. As a teenager drawing relaxed me, but in recent years I’ve relied on drugs to stop the constant buzz in my brain.
Sighing, I continue to wander. I come to a room devoted solely to Reuben. The difference between his work and other artists is like night to day. He’s absolutely brilliant and completely original, and it shows in every photograph.
“Like them?”
I jump and turn to find Moira watching me. She’s alone.
“Reuben gone for a lie down in a dark room?” I enquire.
She laughs. “He’s getting you coffee and some cake.”
I groan. “I’m sure your cake is super, but Dior won’t be very happy when I don’t fit in their swimming costumes.”
She eyes me. “You seem very thin to me.”
“That’s because you’re normal. The fashion world is not.” I shrug. “I’ll just have to stop eating for a week. It might be worth it for a slice of cake if it tastes as good as it smells.”
“It does.”
I look around. “So, he exhibits here?”
She nods. “We met in the pub in Tobermory and got talking. We became friends.”
“I can see that.”
She looks surprised. “Can you?”
I nod, starting to walk again. “Yes, you’ll share interests with him. He’s an artist first and foremost, and he hates any fuss. You don’t seem like you’d fuss.”
“He told me about you.”
“Yes, I rather gathered that.” She laughs. “I guess a lot of it wasn’t complimentary. Reuben and I haven’t always been the best of friends.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know about that. I knew you’d be a wonderful young man.”
“Really?” She nods. “I bet you’re having second thoughts now.”
She chuckles, and I smile at her. “Anyway,” she says, “he exhibits here because he’s a friend and he knows it brings trade to my gallery.”
“He’d do anything for friends. He’s excessively loyal.”
“Is it possible for loyalty to ever be excessive?”
“Yes, it is,” I say soberly. “Definitely.” I look around. “So, everything is for sale? How much is Reuben Langley going for now?” She names a figure, and I choke on my own spit. “Shit. I had no idea that being irritating, bossy, and very energetic paid that much. I should have got a few pictures out of him the last time I saw him.”
Her eyes twinkle. “There’s only one picture in here that he won’t sell.”
