"She mentioned you as well," Andre said. "Several times. This is my partner, Blake Harlan," Andre said.
"Very nice to meet you, Blake," Jasper said.
"It's a pleasure meeting you as well," Blake said realizing that niceties were about all he could contribute to any conversation that was likely to ensue.
"So, what do you think of Lev's work?" Jasper asked, glancing primarily in Andre's direction. Blake stepped back slightly to let the two of them talk.
Andre considered the question carefully. He didn't offer empty praise — it wasn't in his nature, and he suspected Jasper would see through it immediately.
"The technique is very impressive," Andre said. "The scale is brave. But the middle section —" he gestured toward the center of the canvas, where the colors darkened, "— he's fighting there. Trying to control it. The best parts are where he lets the water do what it wants."
Jasper was quiet for a moment, then laughed — a short, surprised sound. "That's exactly what Phoebe said. Almost word for word." He looked at Andre with renewed interest. "She'll be furious she missed this. She's in the back, dealing with a collector who can't decide between two pieces."
As if summoned, a woman appeared from the back of the gallery. She was small — barely five foot three — with dark hair cut in a sharp bob and an expression of amused exasperation.
"The man wants a discount because he's buying two," she said to Jasper, not yet noticing Andre. "I told him we don't do discounts. He said Mercer & Finch gives discounts. I said if he wants Mercer & Finch, he knows where Grosvenor Hill is."
Jasper grinned. "Phoebe, this is Andre Moreau and Blake — forgive me, I can't recall your last name," Jasper said.
"Harlan," Blake said quietly not wanting to draw attention away from Andre.
Phoebe turned, and her expression shifted — the exasperation replaced by something bright. She extended her hand first to Andre and then to Blake.
"Finally," she said looking at Andre. "Clara's been dangling you in front of us for months. I was starting to think you were fictional."
"Not fictional," Andre said, smiling. "Just busy."
"Busy is fine. We like busy. We saw the Whitfield show. Jasper stood in front of the bedroom piece for twenty minutes studying every stroke. Whenever you're ready, we'd love to talk. No pressure. No timeline. Just a conversation about what you're working on and whether we might be the right home for it someday."
Andre felt a burst of energy in his chest. There was no agenda here, no hard sell. Just two people who looked at art with the same hunger he felt when he painted it.
"I'm in the middle of a large commission at the moment," Andre said. "It's consuming everything."
"Of course," Phoebe said. "That's how it should be. We're not going anywhere."
Blake had disappeared and reappeared with two glasses of wine in hand. He passed one to Andre.
The four of them settled into an easy conversation that didn't require effort or navigation. Jasper asked Blake about the Asian swing coming up. Phoebe asked Andre more about the Paris commission. They talked about the gallery, about how they'd started it, wanting to create something small and personal.
"We wanted to know the artists," Phoebe said, swirling her wine. "Not just represent them. Actually know them. Have dinner with them. Argue about their work. Care about what happens to them."
"That's rare," Andre said.
"It shouldn't be," Jasper said simply.
They stayed for another hour. Andre found himself relaxing in a way he hadn't expected. These were people who understood the work. Who talked about painting the way he thought about it — as something alive, something that mattered beyond commerce and reputation.
When they finally left, stepping out into the cool October evening, Blake slipped his hand into Andre's as they walked toward the Tube.
"I liked them," Blake said.
"So did I."
"Phoebe is a little ball of energy."
Andre smiled. "She reminds me of Clara."
They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement.
