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“She’s past that phase, Mama; she’s now entering her abstract period.”
“I’m afraid they just look like blobs to me.”
“That’s because you’re not looking at it with an open mind. She no longer wants to be Constable or Turner.”
“Then who does she want to be?”
“Jessica Clifton.”
“Even if you’re right, Seb,” said Harry, taking a closer look at Blob One, “all artists, even Picasso, admitted to outside influences. So, who’s Jessica influenced by?”
“Peter Blake, Francis Bacon, and she admires an American called Rothko.”
“I haven’t heard of any of them,” admitted Emma.
“And they probably haven’t heard of Edith Evans, Joan Sutherland or Evelyn Waugh, whom you both admire so much.”
“Harold Guinzburg’s got a Rothko in his office,” said Harry. “He told me it cost him ten thousand dollars, which I reminded him was more than my last advance.”
“You mustn’t think like that,” said Sebastian. “A work of art is worth what someone will pay for it. If it’s true for your book, why shouldn’t it be equally true for a painting?”
“A banker’s attitude,” said Emma. “I won’t remind you what Oscar Wilde said on the subject of price and value, for fear you might accuse me of being old-fashioned.”
“You’re not old-fashioned, Mama,” said Sebastian, placing an arm around her. Emma smiled. “You’re positively prehistoric.”
“I admit to forty,” Emma protested, looking up at her son, who couldn’t stop laughing. “But is this really the best Jessica can do?” she asked, turning her attention back to the painting.
“It’s her graduation work, which will determine if she’s offered a postgraduate place at the Royal Academy Schools this September. And it might even make her a bob or two.”
“These paintings are for sale?” said Harry.
“Oh, yes. The graduation exhibition is the first opportunity for a lot of young artists to display their work to the public.”
“I wonder who buys this sort of thing?” said Harry, looking around the room, whose walls were covered with oil paintings, watercolors and drawings.
“Doting parents, I expect,” said Emma. “So we’ll all have to buy one of Jessica’s, you included, Seb.”
“You don’t have to convince me, Mama. I’ll be back here at seven when the show opens, with my checkbook ready. I’ve already chosen the one I want—Blob One.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“You just don’t get it, Mama.”
“So where is the next Picasso?” asked Emma, ignoring her son as she looked around the room.
“Probably with her boyfriend.”
“I didn’t know Jessica had a boyfriend,” said Harry.
“I think she’s hoping to introduce you to him tonight.”
“And what does this boyfriend do?”
“He’s also an artist.”
“Is he younger or older than Jessica?” asked Emma.
“Same age. He’s in her class, but frankly, he’s not in her class.”
