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I smile, remembering the cute, floppy-haired guy I’d briefly met at Nando’s.
Everything Jill’s told me resonates with my initial impression of a loveable, absent-minded student type. In a strange way, I’m quite looking forward to seeing him again.
We talk a little longer about work then, downing our drinks, we leave Coffee Republic behind and head for the Tube. Forty minutes later, we arrive at Aldgate East station and make our way through the diminishing light toward Whitechapel High Street. James’s show is being held at an art gallery called the Chapel, a small, white building with oval-shaped entrance doors.
As soon as we enter, I’m surprised by how big it is. A myriad of sparse, white walls and high ceilings are designed to show off the artist’s work in the best possible light, and the whole place has a wonderfully-spacious feel. The first room contains images of voluptuous women painted in startlingly-bright acrylics. With their large eyes and toothy smiles, they sort of remind me of X-rated Disney characters, and I instantly warm to James’s style.
The second room is where it all seems to be happening. Thirty or so arty-looking people are huddled in small groups, sipping champagne flutes and chattering excitedly. When Jill and I enter, a few heads turn in our direction, then they resume their conversations as if we’re not worth the effort. I’m not entirely sure I like the atmosphere. It all feels a bit cliquey, and I pray I won’t have to be here for too long.
“Where’s Gavin?” I ask, scanning the room.
“He’s at home with the twins,” Jill sighs. “He wanted to come tonight, but the babysitter pulled out at the last minute so he had to stay behind.”
“Ah. What a shame. It would have been nice to see him again.”
James sidles up to us dressed in the same tweed coat he wore to Nando’s. He is, however, still just as disarmingly handsome.
“Sis, you made it!” he beams, embracing Jill in a bear hug. “So good to see you.”
“How’s everything going?” she whispers. “What’s the feedback been like so far? Have you sold any paintings?”
“Steady on. The exhibition only started twenty minutes ago. Let’s give it some time, huh?”
Jill turns to me. “James, do you remember Carly?”
“Of course, how could I forget?” He shakes my hand warmly. “The last time we met, I seem to remember us ending up in a bit of a tangle.”
“God, don’t remind me,” I laugh. “I cringe every time I think about it.”
“Thanks so much for coming,” he continues. “I really appreciate your support.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. But I have to say, James, I really love your paintings. They’re so beautiful and vibrant. They sort of remind me of an animated film.”
His cheeks flush. “Cheers. Glad you like them. Which one did you like best?”
“So far, I’d say the blue one with the peacocks, but that may change as I haven’t seen them all yet.”
“Well, make sure you give me your final verdict before you go, okay? I need as much feedback as possible.”
“Oh, I will, I will.”
“Any sign of your boyfriend, Carly?” Jill interjects. “I don’t see any tall, dark strangers anywhere.”
“Er, no. Nick doesn’t finish work till seven, so he might not be here for a while.”
At the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’ James’s enthusiasm cools visibly. There’s a moment of silence then he clears his throat. “Hey, can I get either of you ladies a drink? We’ve got Pimm’s, champagne or orange juice.”
Jill gives him a sharp look. “Champagne sounds great, but after you’ve bought us our drinks, please make sure you do plenty of mingling. You need to sell yourself, James. Tonight is all about making connections, so you need to start networking. Let your personality shine. And remember that guy from the newspaper is gonna be here soon and he’ll probably want to take pictures.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” James gives a low bow and flutters his hands regally. “Two champagnes coming up, and then I’ll leave you both to have a girly chat.” Like a man with a purpose, he marches across the room to a table covered with snacks and bottles of alcohol.
Jill turns to me. “So, what job does Nick do?”
“He’s one of the country's leading hypnotherapists,” I declare proudly.
She claps her hands. “Ooh, how exciting. Last Christmas, Gavin bought me a weight loss book by that Paul what’s-his-name.”
“McKenna?”
