Playing Grace by Hazel Osmond Read Free Book Online

referring to Vi in such terms.’ He stopped to button up his jacket and lifted his chin. ‘No, I’ve put all that behind me, if you’ll pardon the pun. Anyway, enough of that … how’s Mark?’
    ‘Fine. Back for a few days end of next week, then off again for a couple of months.’
    ‘Returning to Brazil?’
    ‘No, one of the stans … Tajikistan, I think. Or it could be Uzbekistan. Hard to keep track.’
    The noise of traffic and the crush of people made it difficult to say any more, but when they finally broke away from the main thoroughfare again, Grace felt that she should try to cheer Gilbert up before they got back to the office.
    ‘I’ve had a trying time today too – a weird shadower, floater, whatever you want to call them. An obnoxious, opinionated American. Looked like a surfer, dressed likesome demented Fred Astaire complete with dinner suit and biker boots. First of all he acted as if I was boring him to death, then he kept butting in. Had to keep him and that couple called the Baldridges apart. And cheek, he also made it clear that he thought I ought to be giving the clients a taste of edgier, more contemporary stuff.’
    ‘God spare us,’ Gilbert said in a dowager voice, ‘from having to enthuse about bits of burned wood and melted plastic and cool ideas expressed in neon. Or video installations of a woman trying to iron a shoe. While it’s still on her foot. People climbing up and down a fire escape with paper bags on their heads.’ He was getting into his stride, already sounding more perked up. ‘Save me too from things floating in jelly. Things made from poo. Old bits of tyre with diamonds pushed into them. Broken dolls’ heads made into coats.’
    ‘Gilbert, you’re dreadful. There’s more to modern art than that.’
    ‘Wouldn’t swap a warehouse full of it for one Titian.’ He suddenly had hold of her arm. ‘And for pity’s sake, don’t mention this to Alistair. He’ll have us trotting out to Hackney to explore crappy galleries run by dreadful women with asymmetrical fringes.’
    ‘Oh, Gilbert, have I ever mentioned how fond I am of you? You just say exactly what you think.’
    ‘Now, now, don’t start on with all that modern huggykissy business. I depend on you never to embarrass me with that kind of thing. You’re far too sensible and down to earth.’ He pulled out his watch. ‘Come on, Alistair will be wearing a groove in the floor waiting for you to return. Fancy a wager on what his first words will be when we open the door?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Spoilsport. I was going to take a hazard on “Grace, you have only twenty-four hours to save my company from a meteor!”’
    ‘Idiot.’
    Even as she laughed, Grace knew that Alistair would have some problem or another waiting for her. It seemed that these days she spent as much time sorting out his mistakes or, as he referred to them, ‘oversights’, as she did explaining the major movements in western art.
    Picture London occupied the second floor of a three-storey building in a street just far enough away from Covent Garden not to be funky or fashionable or even particularly attractive. Here the buildings were of old London brick and only a measure of squinting was needed to cut out the traffic and imagine yourself back in Dickensian times. On the ground floor was Far & Away, a travel agency, and on the top floor a shop that offered watch and camerarepairs. Alistair liked to make a clumsy joke about Time and Travel, into which he then tried to jemmy an art reference. Both Gilbert and Grace had heard this joke repeated so often that the pain was almost wearing off.
    How Alistair could afford premises in this part of London had been a mystery to Grace until she had become friendly with Bernice, whose family owned the travel agent’s. According to her, the building belonged to the dour Frank, the watch and camera mender on the top floor. His daughter had been Alistair’s first wife, a fact that Alistair kept very quiet.