The Elizabeth Papers by Jenetta James Read Free Book Online Page A

work?”
    “I have a studio in Fulham, just off Lots Road. The address is on my card. Do you want it?”
    “Yes, I do want it.” He stared at her in that way that he had stared down at women many times before. He realised with a start that she didn’t welcome it. The skin on her beautiful face grew taut, she looked sideways, and her mouth pursed.
    “Sure. I’ll just get you one.”
    When she handed him the card, she did so at arm’s length, and she barely even smiled. The Dresden blue of her eyes looked away, but he wasn’t deterred. Charlie was not accustomed to giving up, and he wasn’t about to do so this time. His experiences had not taught him to doubt his abilities, and he continued.
    “Thanks. I am around in Fulham sometimes, and I’d like to look in if that’s okay—see what you’re working on. I could pop in one afternoon next week if you’re free. Maybe we could get dinner after. I could treat you. What is the point in being in the art world if I can’t feed a struggling artist from time to time? How about it?”
    “Erm…that is very flattering…Charlie…” He winced to think that she had to search around for his name. “But maybe not. I have only just met you, well…and I manage to feed myself most days.”
    “I didn’t mean—”
    “I’m sure not. Thank you for coming, and I hope you enjoy the exhibition.”
    She smiled and was absorbed into the crowd of interested parties. The fabric of her dress shimmied against the curve of her form as she moved away from him. He felt sweat breaking out under his shirt, muttered the most coherent goodbye he could muster at the door, and was gone.
    His feet pounded the street on the way back to the Tube station. He could literally have kicked himself. He had completely screwed that up. He had spun her a ridiculous story, one that he would have trouble sustaining if he ever had to see her again. He had annoyed her. He had found out nothing at all about her apart from the fact that she had a studio in Fulham. He felt her card in his trouser pocket and imagined it like a razor blade slicing his fingers. He should have gone around the room studying the prices and working out from the stickers how many she had sold. He should have sniffed around to see if there were any other Darcy relations there. He had done none of it. Worse, he had been brushed off by her. She didn’t hesitate. She just said “no.” His body was shaking with the aftershock of it.
    What was he coming to? This, he decided, was a one off. A girl who took offence at being asked out to dinner was not a girl for him to trouble himself with. So what if she was beautiful. Ethereal. Interesting. He told himself these were characteristics to be found in many places. Evie Pemberton was a chippy one, and she probably didn’t even know anything that would be useful anyway. It was obvious that she had money—the fact that she was making a living as an artist with exhibitions in Central London and a studio in Fulham told him that. She probably didn’t even need her share of the Darcy Trust. It was stupid and pointless to have spent so much time talking to her. As for asking her out, he was just bored, and that is why he did it. First thing in the morning, he would get on Cressida Carter’s case, big time. Crazy Cressida could have the full glittering force of his efforts, no-holds-barred, all guns blazing. There was no reason for him to even see Evie Pemberton again. He passed this thought around in his mind for longer than was necessary.
    ***
    Sometime later, Auntie Betty nudged a distracted Evie who stood behind the desk in the gallery. The party was almost over, and the guests that remained were still there because they were too drunk to go, not because they were serious customers. There had been a few sales, not that many. Evie watched the students having a good time, and she couldn’t begrudge them.
    “Who was that chap who stormed off earlier, lovey?”
    Evie did not think anyone had