44 Charles Street by Danielle Steel Page B

kept a good selection of her artists’ work in stock. The client she was wooing wanted to buy a large painting, he said he had a fondness for emerging artists, but didn’t seem sure of what he liked. And whatever direction Francesca steered him, it didn’t feel right to him. He said he was divorced, and his wife had always selected all their art. He wanted to make a statement of his own now, but had no idea what it should be. He was a fifty-year-old dentist from New Jersey, and Francesca was utterly fed up with him by noon. He seemed to be incapable of making up his mind. He finally promised that he would think about it, and call her the following week if he made a decision. He said he liked everything she had showed him, but he was nervous about buying the wrong thing. It was always frustrating dealing with clients like him.
    She handed him photographs and information on all the artists he was interested in, and he looked even more confused, and then he looked up at her.
    “You wouldn’t like to talk about it over dinner, would you?” he asked, looking far more interested in her than in her art. But nothing about him appealed to her, she didn’t like him, and she wasn’t in the mood.
    “I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smiling at him, “I don’t go out with clients.” It was the perfect excuse.
    “I haven’t bought anything from you yet. I’m not a client,” he said cleverly. And she’d have much preferred to sell him something than go out with him. She was beginning to wonder if he had looked at the art as a ruse. And if so, he had wasted her time, and his own.
    “I’m sorry, I can’t.” She shook her head.
    “You have a boyfriend?” he asked, and she hesitated, and decided that a lie was better than the truth. Particularly if it got her out of an awkward spot with him.
    “Yes, I do,” she said with a look of innocence.
    “That’s too bad,” he said, looking disappointed, and finally made it out the door, much to her relief. She sank down into the chair behind her desk, exhausted by the day halfway through it. Breakfast with her mother, and two hours with an indecisive client who asked her out to dinner was more than she wanted to deal with on any day of the week.
    She called Marya to see if she had survived her mother’s grilling, and Marya assured her that she was fine.
    “I had a very nice time with your mother. She’s certainly nothing like you.” Marya chuckled. She liked Thalia’s style, despite the fact that she was obviously spoiled, and somewhat eccentric.
    “That’s the nicest thing you could have said,” Francesca commented, smiling. “All my life I’ve been terrified I’d wind up like her.”
    “Not a chance,” Marya reassured her. “Have a nice day. I’ll see you tonight.” And as Francesca hung up and went to work at her desk, she had the comforting sensation that she had a new friend in Marya.

Chapter 7
    T he following week Francesca was insanely busy. She went to three artists’ studios, reorganized the racks where she stocked the paintings, returned old work that hadn’t sold to several artists, in order to make room for new pieces. And she made a list of the group shows that she wanted to do for the next year. It was always a challenge trying to figure out which artists to show together so that their work would enhance one another and not conflict. And in the midst of everything else she was doing, four of her artists dropped by that week just to hang out and visit. She always tried to be welcoming, as she was with her clients, but she was pressed for time and had a lot to do. And in the midst of all the activity in the gallery that week, she made several sales. Much to her amazement, the dentist of the weekend before called her and bought three paintings. New clients appeared, referred by other clients, two art consultants called her with big jobs, and a well-known interior designer stopped by and liked what she saw. Francesca was pleased. She got home