curiosity (as
often was the case with Julia) overrode common sense.
“Why do you
ask about my perfume?”
“It suits
you,” was all he said in reply.
At that moment
they slid to a halt in front of the gallery and Douglas threw open
the door before Julia could form a thought. She was still reeling
at the strange conversation. Julia thought he had just called her
extraordinary, though she still didn’t know if that was good or bad
but she had the feeling it was good.
Then she could
think about it no more. The flashbulbs started popping and the
shouts were frenzied while he alighted and she saw his hand offered
through the door to help her. She put her own in his and exited the
car to the blinding lights. She instantly became discombobulated
and dropped his hand as the shouts became louder, more frenzied.
She heard his name repeated again and again while the blinding
flashes came with such swiftness there seemed no pause between.
She felt her
hand taken again in a firm grasp as she was pulled forward, Douglas
guiding her, or more to the point, dragging her towards the
door.
They made it
through the door and crush outside was nothing to the crush inside.
It was wall-to-wall people.
Someone rushed
forward to Douglas the minute they entered the gallery.
“Lord Ashton!
You’re here!” It was a young, eager, overly-made-up woman who
turned curious eyes to Julia, looked her from head-to-toe, made a
judgement and, Julia thought, dismissed her. “Can I get you some
drinks?”
“Champagne,”
Douglas commanded shortly and then completely ignored her.
He’d dropped
Julia’s hand upon entering but now he slid his fingers, starting at
the side of her waist, to the small of her back and guided her
forward, stopping her by wrapping his arm fully about her waist and
pressing his fingers gently and firmly against her side as they
arrived at the first wall filled with art.
She barely had
a moment to get her breath or process the pleasant warmth of his
hand at her waist and his body at her side when she heard a
call.
“Douglas!” a
man shouted, far louder than needed even in the din of the crowded
gallery. Douglas dropped his arm but kept himself positioned close
to Julia’s side. The older man was paunchy with a shock of bright
white hair and very red cheeks. “You’ve done it again. It’s the
next Picasso. I’ve already bought two. How do you find them?” he
asked, apropos of nothing.
He too looked
over Julia and didn’t bother to hide his curious interest before he
again turned his eyes to Douglas.
Douglas didn’t
answer as the man babbled on, “Masterpieces, all, the like I’ve
never seen before.”
As Julia
finally realised what the older man was referring to, she turned
her attention to the artwork on the walls.
Each piece was
suspended between two sheets of plexiglass with no other adornment.
They were drawn on bits of wrinkled scratch paper and each one, she
saw, looked like a doodle done in pencil while the artist was
taking a telephone call.
Julia couldn’t
claim to be an art aficionado but even she could doodle better than
this. And without the theme of blood, guts and violence that ran
throughout the works she could take in from her vantage point.
“These are
hideous!” Charlotte shrieked gaily as she and Oliver joined them,
the white-haired man obviously taking the hint of utter silence
from Douglas and moving off. “What on earth made you become patron
to this person? Dear God.”
Julia was
surprised. She didn’t know Douglas was the opening’s patron and she
peered more closely at the disturbing doodles. She also looked at
the prices discreetly affixed on the walls to the side of each
piece and gasped in shock, each piece cost a small fortune.
The girl
arrived with their champagne, Douglas handed Julia a glass and his
to Charlotte. “Two more,” he told the girl without a thank you and,
apparently not expecting one, she immediately melted into the crowd
to do his bidding.
“I’ve
often was the case with Julia) overrode common sense.
“Why do you
ask about my perfume?”
“It suits
you,” was all he said in reply.
At that moment
they slid to a halt in front of the gallery and Douglas threw open
the door before Julia could form a thought. She was still reeling
at the strange conversation. Julia thought he had just called her
extraordinary, though she still didn’t know if that was good or bad
but she had the feeling it was good.
Then she could
think about it no more. The flashbulbs started popping and the
shouts were frenzied while he alighted and she saw his hand offered
through the door to help her. She put her own in his and exited the
car to the blinding lights. She instantly became discombobulated
and dropped his hand as the shouts became louder, more frenzied.
She heard his name repeated again and again while the blinding
flashes came with such swiftness there seemed no pause between.
She felt her
hand taken again in a firm grasp as she was pulled forward, Douglas
guiding her, or more to the point, dragging her towards the
door.
They made it
through the door and crush outside was nothing to the crush inside.
It was wall-to-wall people.
Someone rushed
forward to Douglas the minute they entered the gallery.
“Lord Ashton!
You’re here!” It was a young, eager, overly-made-up woman who
turned curious eyes to Julia, looked her from head-to-toe, made a
judgement and, Julia thought, dismissed her. “Can I get you some
drinks?”
“Champagne,”
Douglas commanded shortly and then completely ignored her.
He’d dropped
Julia’s hand upon entering but now he slid his fingers, starting at
the side of her waist, to the small of her back and guided her
forward, stopping her by wrapping his arm fully about her waist and
pressing his fingers gently and firmly against her side as they
arrived at the first wall filled with art.
She barely had
a moment to get her breath or process the pleasant warmth of his
hand at her waist and his body at her side when she heard a
call.
“Douglas!” a
man shouted, far louder than needed even in the din of the crowded
gallery. Douglas dropped his arm but kept himself positioned close
to Julia’s side. The older man was paunchy with a shock of bright
white hair and very red cheeks. “You’ve done it again. It’s the
next Picasso. I’ve already bought two. How do you find them?” he
asked, apropos of nothing.
He too looked
over Julia and didn’t bother to hide his curious interest before he
again turned his eyes to Douglas.
Douglas didn’t
answer as the man babbled on, “Masterpieces, all, the like I’ve
never seen before.”
As Julia
finally realised what the older man was referring to, she turned
her attention to the artwork on the walls.
Each piece was
suspended between two sheets of plexiglass with no other adornment.
They were drawn on bits of wrinkled scratch paper and each one, she
saw, looked like a doodle done in pencil while the artist was
taking a telephone call.
Julia couldn’t
claim to be an art aficionado but even she could doodle better than
this. And without the theme of blood, guts and violence that ran
throughout the works she could take in from her vantage point.
“These are
hideous!” Charlotte shrieked gaily as she and Oliver joined them,
the white-haired man obviously taking the hint of utter silence
from Douglas and moving off. “What on earth made you become patron
to this person? Dear God.”
Julia was
surprised. She didn’t know Douglas was the opening’s patron and she
peered more closely at the disturbing doodles. She also looked at
the prices discreetly affixed on the walls to the side of each
piece and gasped in shock, each piece cost a small fortune.
The girl
arrived with their champagne, Douglas handed Julia a glass and his
to Charlotte. “Two more,” he told the girl without a thank you and,
apparently not expecting one, she immediately melted into the crowd
to do his bidding.
“I’ve
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