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“Why not?”
“Because it will simply remind Richard that he’s penniless and will only make him feel beholden to you. In any case, Jessica is every bit as stubborn as you are. She’d turn the offer down, just as she did your two thousand.”
Seb handed Samantha the check, which only made her laugh even louder, before suggesting, “Perhaps we should allow them to lead their own lives. We might even be surprised how well they get on without us.”
“But I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, my darling, but I’m afraid your daughter trumped you,” she said as the phone began to ring.
“Ah, I have a feeling that will be Richard wanting to know if I’d be willing to raise my offer to four thousand.”
“More likely to be your mother. I told her we were meeting Jessica’s new boyfriend for the first time, so she’s bound to want to know what we think.” She picked up the phone.
“Good evening, Mrs. Clifton. It’s John Ashley.”
“Hello, John. Has the bank burnt down?”
“Not yet, but I do need a word with Seb fairly urgently.”
“The bank’s burnt down,” said Samantha, handing the phone to her husband.
“You wish. John, what can I do for you?”
“Sorry to bother you this late, chairman, but you asked me to alert you if Miss Lombardo presented any more large checks.”
“How much this time?”
“Forty-two thousand.”
“Forty-two thousand pounds?” Seb repeated. “Hold up the payment for now, and if Victor doesn’t turn up tomorrow, I’ll have to speak to our legal team. And, John, go home. As my wife keeps reminding me, it’s outside banking hours, so there’s nothing more you can do about it tonight.”
“A problem, my darling?” asked Samantha, sounding genuinely concerned.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Do you remember that woman we saw dining with Victor at the Caprice?” he said, picking the phone back up and beginning to dial.
“How could I possibly forget?”
“Well, I think she’s taking him to the cleaners.”
“Are you calling Victor?”
“No, Arnold Hardcastle.”
“That bad?”
“That bad.”
* * *
“Hi, Jessie, I’m glad you were able to make it,” he said, giving her a hug.
“There’s no way I would have missed it, Grayson.”
“Congratulations on winning the Founder’s Prize,” he said. “I bet it won’t be long before a West End gallery is showing your work.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” said Jessica as the artist turned away to talk to another student.
“What do you really think?” whispered Richard, as they strolled around the gallery.
