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She laughed. “Not yet.” He was still closer to failing than succeeding, but the gap was narrowing.
“Guess we’ll see him tonight then?”
Mace, Dillon, Jay, Mel, Em, Bryan, Kath, even Tom; her old life and her new life would converge tonight. She wondered for a second what Malcolm would make of it. He’d become the most popular non-executive board member in the city, but no other financial institution had been game to take him on. He sat on the board of manufacturing and industrial companies and no doubt plotted to become chairman on any one, or all, of them.
She eyed Alfie. She knew he was fishing. He’d made no secret of being attracted to her. “Yes, Mace will be there tonight, and no he won’t have to buy a painting, he gets originals at home.”
Alfie laughed. “Hope he knows what a good thing he has with you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just carry the paintings, Alfie.”
“I’m serious. He’s intense. And you’re...” he gave her a top to toe overview, it came out of him like a dare. “Desperately gorgeous.”
“And you’re a sexist scumbag. Pick up that canvas in the corner.”
He laughed again. “But you love me.”
She grunted. Alfie was fun to banter with. “I guess you’re all right, if you stay out of the light.”
“Hah! I’m mortally offended. But I’m picking up the painting.”
It took three trips back and forth between the loft and the gallery and then a couple of hours to design and hang the exhibit. Margaret and Ingrid helped with that. Then there was time to go home via the dry-cleaners to pick up Mace’s suit, shower and change. The showing started at 6.30pm, but she needed to be there at six, she’d walk down with Mace and they’d eat at one of the locals afterwards.
She showered, washed, dried and styled her hair in big glossy, girly curls and fussed over her makeup and outfit. She hadn’t dressed up in ages. It kept her from focusing on how nervous she was. If it didn’t matter, if it was only fun, if she now had an on-ramp to a life like the one she’d lost, why was she feeling sick to the stomach about this? She’d run tougher staff meetings. This was just a cocktail party, it wasn’t like her career as an artist depended on it.
Except she inexplicably wished it did.
She kept half an eye on the time, knowing Mace would undoubtedly rock in late and want the bathroom. At 5.30pm she started getting anxious. At 5.45pm, she had five minutes to decide to leave without him or be late. She could call him, but say what, the obvious? No, he’d figure it out and meet her there.
All the way between the loft and the gallery she kept expecting to hear his feet, hear her name called, feel his hand at the back of her neck or on her waist. And she’d forgive him because it didn’t matter that he was late, it only that he was there.
The gallery looked different when she arrived. The windows were spotless, the spotlights were on; there were waiters with drink trays. Margaret was wearing a pants suit that wasn’t ripped or stained, as well as lipstick and shoes. Jacinta saw it as an outsider might and it almost stopped her walking inside. She’d fretted over the collection, half the time elated with it, the other half tyrannised, and always a heartbeat away from taking her knife to it all for the satisfaction of ruining it, and the proof she was an imposter.
She’d hung the new oil version of the charcoal sketch she’d done of Mace in the window. She’d been careful to keep it covered in the studio so she could surprise him. She wanted to be standing beside him when he saw it for the first time.
She’d taken that first impression, blended it with how he was to her now and recast it with greater depth and skill. It was a very sexy piece she’d called One Night and it wasn’t for sale. It was a private love letter flashed at the world for a brief moment, and that moment had lost its magic because he wasn’t standing beside her, and she wouldn’t have time to watch for his arrival.
She saw Jay’s though. He looked so handsome in his navy suit. He bought yellow roses and he smelled expensive. He kissed her cheek then whistled when he saw the painting. “Does he know?”
She shook her head. “I hope he likes it.”
“Good Lord, it’s outrageous. I’m assuming he actually looks like that undressed.”
“He does.”
“Lucky girl.”
She had been. Still could be, but their relationship needed work, and she needed Mace to be here to see how much she wanted him. That’s what the painting was about, a reminder of how they’d lost and found each other, a prompt so they could do it again.
“Where did you come from?” She was desperate to ask Jay if he’d come from the incubator offices and if he knew how far behind him Mace was. She was equally desperate not to show him she cared so much, because Jay could be mean, and if he thought Mace was giving her trouble it might spill over to their business dealings.
“Been with the lawyers all day. Gruesome, no fun at all. I’m hoping the champagne is good.”
It was cheap and he’d notice. She laughed. He gave a theatrical groan. She lost him soon after as she stepped into the hostess role, greeting friends and family, laughing with students in her own class and others run by the school. Em was pregnant and had swollen ankles. Mel brought the new boyfriend. Alfie looked incredibly dapper. First time she’d seen him out of torn jeans. He wore a suit with his long hair and looked like he should be sitting front row of a fashion parade. They all cooed over him and Agnes took pictures and put them online. She could’ve rung Mace, but she didn’t want to check her phone because she didn’t want to hear his excuses. It was one night and he’d known for months how special it was to her. She couldn’t help feeling let down, betrayed.
That feeling intensified when Dillon arrived noticeably harried. He made his way to her side. “You look edible.” He hugged her off her feet. “Where is he?”
“Not with you obviously.”
