‘I think I can. Would you mind if I had a word with him?’
‘Not at all. And perhaps you could talk to him about the job we have in mind for you.’
‘A job?’
‘You have impressed me. You and your work. And not only what I’ve seen myself: Kevin told me about what you did at Georgie’s wedding. Your skills need to be put to proper use and rewarded appropriately. My nephew is still a young man and it would put my mind at ease if someone like you were working with him.’
‘You want me to spy on him?’
‘Keep an eye on him. Help him. Be the Mephistopheles to his Faustus but make sure the devil doesn’t get near his soul.’ He pushed a finger along a spectacular eyebrow. ‘My nephew has many fine talents, but he tends to approach situations with hammer and tongs when they need scalpel and tweezers. Your advice and assistance would be invaluable to him.’
Becky mulled this over. She still had no real idea of what it was that Lloyd and Virgil did. Then again, a serious job offer from a wealthy man was not something a modern Mephistopheles would ever knock back without careful thought. ‘And would I be wielding this scalpel full-time?’
‘Part-time. We thought that might fit better with your other commitments. But of course a generous monthly retainer would be involved. I believe in the value of a steady income.’
She nodded. This was definitely an interesting offer. ‘Thank you. I’ll talk to Virgil. And about the job too.’
‘Thank you, Becky. Now everything is in your capable hands, I plan to enjoy the rest of the evening.’ He got up, resting one hand on the table and using the other to gesture towards the stage. ‘The band are almost ready; I have been waiting for over thirty years to dance with a particular lady and she is not getting away from me tonight.’
‘Are you sure that’s wise? What about your health?’ She put her hand over his. ‘Whatever you might think, open-heart surgery is not a “trifling procedure”.’
‘My dear lady, I have had over six weeks of excellent rest. I have my doctor’s permission to do the deed. I very much doubt he would object to me dancing.’
‘If you’re sure. But before you go to put your surgeon’s work through its paces, there’s one more thing I need to know.’
‘Yes, my dear?’
She frowned and wrinkled her nose. ‘Kevin?’
Lloyd chuckled. ‘The boy prefers to use his middle name. He feels “Kevin” is insufficiently intimidating. Personally, I’ve never got on with “Virgil”.’ He put a hand on her shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘When he’s trying to impress women he tells them the name he goes by stems from his mother’s devotion to classical literature.’ He snorted. ‘Utter nonsense. That girl was never one to be found in a library. She was always glued to the idiot box. And as I recall she never missed an episode of Thunderbirds.’
Chapter 48
After Lloyd had shuffled out of the saloon, Becky settled into her chair. Chuckling and drumming her fingers on the table, she watched swift hands remove plates and glasses to leave the table empty and Becky in the unusual position of being at a party with nothing to do.
She took the opportunity to appreciate her surroundings properly and finally realised why they hadn’t filled her with awe when she had first come in. The large banqueting hall at the South Compton Country Club was a passable copy of the grand saloon, although the original was more opulent. Its intricate ceiling mouldings dripped in an excess of gilding, the windows were dressed with crimson curtains restrained by gold brocade cuffs and the walls were studded with rococo frames holding instantly forgettable paintings.
She was staring up at the central ceiling decoration, a group of celestial figures who seemed thoroughly bored with reclining in the clouds, when she heard footsteps approaching and detected a familiar spice-laden aftershave.
‘I got you a piece of the cake,’ Virgil said, handing her a plate and then a cup and saucer. ‘And tea too.’
She picked up the cup and took a long sip as Virgil sat down. ‘Thank you. This is the best date I’ve ever been on.’
‘God, I hope that’s not true.’
Several other guests had returned to the room and were filling the air with an escalating buzz. The band tuned up and couples lined the edges of the dance floor, eyeing each other nervously, wondering who would be the first two to tango.
With a flourish, the conductor led the band into their first number: ‘Fly Me to the Moon’. Virgil sagged. ‘Ugh! Could they have selected anything more turgid?’
Becky chewed her cake. She liked the song but, as it wasn’t making Virgil run to the dance floor, she figured this would a good moment for a little chat about Rachel. Trying to work out how to broach the subject, she finished her cake and was washing it down with the last of the tea when Virgil said, ‘You know Rachel doesn’t like cake? Or she doesn’t eat it. I suspect she does like it but her mother told her it was vulgar to eat anything which doesn’t necessitate the use of a full set of cutlery.’
He sighed and Becky noted this wasn’t the usual sound of despair or weariness but one of affectionate longing; he found her quirks endearing. Blimey. It must be love.
It was funny how a name was capable of having such an impact on the way you viewed someone. Thinking of the man next to her as Kevin, he seemed less confident and polished. But also more approachable and sympathetic.
‘Virgil, will you let me give you some advice?’
Now came the look of despair: a man lost at sea without provisions or hope of rescue. ‘Absolutely. In fact, if you could tell me what to do, I think I’d prefer it.’
‘In that case, take Rachel to one side and tell her. Do it tonight. Tell her you’ve been following her since New York. Tell her you bought a bloody gallery to make her happy. That it’s been crushing you to be around her since she broke it off. That you want to be with her.’ She smiled and tapped the back of his hand. ‘And then fire her.’
Her final suggestion was met with a rapid intake of breath. ‘I was with you up to “fire her”.’
Becky brushed crumbs off her fingers and pointed towards the dance floor. Waltzing between the other dancers were Lloyd Blake and Barbara Stone. They were both wearing small smiles of contentment as they glided in perfect harmony, a misstep or a crushed toe an impossibility. ‘I think,’ said Becky, ‘that Mrs Stone is about to join your uncle in retirement. And if the lady is planning to go on a long holiday she can’t leave the family business in just anyone’s hands. And as Rachel had been in her mother’s good books lately I would imagine she already has another job offer coming to her.’
Virgil nodded slowly. She continued. ‘Perhaps, if you’d like to be sure before you fire her, you might know someone with some influence over Mrs Stone who could maybe suggest Rachel be given the job of running the family gallery.’ She let her gaze wander back over to the dance floor, where Lloyd was spinning a giggling Barbara into a twirl.
When she returned her attention to Virgil, he was grinning like a fox who had found the door to a coop of plump, lazy chickens wide open. ‘I think you might be onto something,’ he said. Rubbing his hands together, he stood and glanced towards the door. ‘And I believe I will take your advice. But, right now …’ he paused and extended a hand towards Becky, uncurling his long, smooth fingers, ‘… I think it’s time we danced.’