‘I beg your pardon?’ She looked at me intently. I could have sworn I saw a sneer flit across her face. Of course she wanted to know more. This was their trade. ‘What are you insinuating?’
I looked into Hannah’s wide eyes, willing me to go on. Maybe I should stop? From her smile it looked like I’d already made my point, that in their race to the top I considered her the winner. And judging from her reaction to our exhibition, perhaps she didn’t need warming up to give us a shit-hot review. But then, she was here now, didn’t she deserve to know the truth? And what had Lady Devon ever done for me? Apart from belittle me, hold me back, make me lie for her and then make me redundant. From the corner of my eye, I could see Sam moving closer and smiled: one killer review coming our way. ‘I have it on good authority’ – aka I worked for her for years – ‘that she steals all of her best ideas from you.’
Hannah smiled, showing a perfect set of white teeth. If this wasn’t going to get us five stars, I wasn’t sure what would.
‘She wouldn’t.’ Hannah leaned in closer, a sadistic look in her eyes, her smile spreading wider.
‘Oh, she would,’ I said. I could feel Sam’s presence. I turned to acknowledge him and then moved my attention back to Hannah, who was packing away her iPhone into one of this season’s Miu Miu clutches.
‘Thank you for the interview, Jessica. It’s a fantastic story,’ she said, looking around the exhibition space. ‘And thanks for the heads-up,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t think Devon had it in her.’
‘Trust me,’ I continued, drawing strength from years of staying silent. ‘There’s nothing that bitch wouldn’t do.’
‘Hey, Pansy.’ Sam looked at my outfit from top to designer bottom and smiled. He looked effortlessly gorgeous in a dark grey suit and white open-collared shirt, showing just a hint of hair on the strong chest I used to sleep against. ‘This is so great!’ he said, casting his eyes around the bustling exhibition. It was beautiful, and I had played a part in pulling it together. And I felt beautiful too. The surfing sessions with Joshua were clearly starting to do the trick, tightening my arms and relaxing my mind. Maybe Sam was right; maybe Sydney was good for me, too. I was getting excited for what my future could hold here.
‘I didn’t think you were going to make it.’ I smiled; I’d had every reason to believe he wouldn’t.
‘Jess, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ He placed a hand on my upper arm and squeezed, saying the words I had always longed to hear. ‘I’m really proud of you.’ I almost felt like he wanted to kiss me. Why wouldn’t he kiss me? ‘Jamie sends her love as well.’ Oh yeah, that was why. But he was here now, and we were finally alone, with the whole evening in front of us. ‘She tried to get me to stay to do wedmin for another hour, but I told her I really needed a break.’ He looked serious for a moment before covering the look with a laugh. A break from wedmin or a break from Jamie? ‘It all just gets a bit too much sometimes, you know? So, going to show me around?’
Repeating the tour again, taking a bit more time than I had with Call me Giorgio and Hannah Ego Sommers, I walked Sam through the themes and highlights of the exhibition. In the slightly quieter ‘morning’ room, one or two people milled around holding glasses of champagne and taking in the art.
‘So, tell me about this one.’ Sam mirrored the posture of those more well-versed in gallery etiquette around him. Nameless by Anonymous was a smaller supporting piece. It was hard to top Leo Todd for mystery, but this unknown local artist had gone and done it. Compared to the vast canvases nearby, it lacked some of the same impact. And yet, it caught my eye every time, almost like a memory I couldn’t quite recall. Where had I seen this artist’s work before? I’d asked Tim again and again if we had been given a name for the plaque, but it was always a no. Knowing him, he’d probably gone and lost it. That, or Carlo had stolen it to spite him. About half a metre wide, the canvas was painted in oils that faded from light blue to dark blue with increasingly intense brushstrokes and texture, a little like Tuesday’s Slumber, but softer, kinder, like inviting you into warm water or a restful dream. I turned to look at Sam, tall and handsome as he tried to make sense of what stood before him. Art was outside his area of expertise. He never did used to get it.
‘No.’ I turned to look at him, as he took a step back, surprised. ‘You tell me about it. What do you see? What does it make you feel?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sam said sheepishly; such a perfectionist, never wanting to get things wrong.
‘There’s no right or wrong answer, Sam.’ I laughed kindly and turned back to the canvas. ‘Ever heard of the phrase “it’s an art, not a science”?’
‘Well, I see blue,’ Sam began. Good start; at least he was trying. ‘Like the sea.’ Honestly, he sounded like a child. ‘And it gets deeper, and darker and then there’s… like… more going on under the surface than we see… and it’s messy and real and… I like it.’ Sam finished his analysis and looked at me as if to ask if he had got it right.
‘Cool,’ I said, noncommittal, lust and champagne pulsing around my body. I had waited years for Sam to give art a chance; he never did like dealing with things – or people – he didn’t understand. I allowed myself to look into the picture again, not wanting to ruin the moment. I studied the use of colour; it was a blend of blues, so deep, so unique, I knew I’d seen it before. It was the colour of the painting I had printed off an image of and pinned up to my desk at work. The last idea I had bothered to suggest to Devon. Now she was miles away, and I felt miles away from that bored and hopeless girl. Without speaking, I tried not to stumble as we went on to the next piece, right outside the door to Room B. It was time to enter the crowds again. Sam followed. Looking up at the yellows and creams of the large canvas that hung before us, I felt Sam close behind me and could almost feel his breath on my exposed shoulder.
‘Jess?’ Sam asked, gazing up at the piece. I turned around to look at him. ‘This is really great.’
‘The piece?’ I asked, looking up at Leo’s work, my pride for her now outweighing any envy.
‘Not just the piece.’ He shook his head and looked down at his shoes. ‘The piece, the exhibition, the art, you.’ He looked me in the eye and smiled. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough when we were together, but I loved that you were artistic, that you were into all this stuff. I loved that you saw the world differently from the way I do.’
He was telling me things I wanted to hear, and yet one word rang out, drowning out all of the rest. Loved. Past tense. Loved. Sam broke off as he saw my face fall.
‘What’s wrong?’ He put a hand on my arm, his skin melting into my own.
I’d drunk too much. I shouldn’t say it. But he was here, and Jamie was not. And he’d said he wouldn’t miss it for the world. I looked into his eyes, his face inching towards me with every bated breath occupying the space between us.
‘Loved. As in the past,’ I said quietly, trying desperately to stifle memories of all the times he had told me in the present tense; before love turned to loved.