‘OK. I think you’re right,’ said Alfonso. ‘It’s so not you. But it was fun to try. Can I experiment with a different look?’
He returned to the clothes rails.
Jason stepped out next in a voluminous white shirt tucked into tight burgundy velvet trousers with riding boots and a black cravat. A big slouchy velvet hat perched on his head at an awkward angle, as if afraid of slipping off.
‘This looks like the bloke on the paint-by-numbers kit I had as a kid,’ said Jason. ‘Art Master of Chelsea.’
‘It is a bit stereotypical-artist,’ Jenna agreed. ‘Though I like the boots. And the shirt. And the trousers. Turn around for a minute, will you?’
‘What, so you can check out my arse?’
Jenna smirked. That had been her exact reasoning. Alfonso didn’t look exactly averse to the idea either.
But Jason had hidden himself behind the screen again.
‘I’m not coming out until you give me something decent to wear,’ he threatened.
‘OK, seriously now,’ said Alfonso, returning to his racks. ‘I think we need a few different outfits that can be mixed and matched – blended into each other. This is just an idea – I can’t give you these clothes, but I can tell you where to get them. First of all, a really good formal suit but with a twist. Something to express your essential subversion, but in a non-threatening way.’
He brought out a slim-fitting, single-breasted jacket with narrow lapels and a pair of matching trousers – not skinny jeans by any means, but certainly tight enough to define the legs.
‘Get hold of those. You can put the trousers on for now – you can wear all kinds of things with that jacket. You can wear jeans with it for a TV interview, the suit trousers and a white shirt for a gallery opening, a patterned shirt for a date, a plain T-shirt for something more informal . . . so many different ways to style it.’
‘OK,’ said Jason, warily grateful. ‘It’s not too bad. Simple.’
‘Yes, I thought simple would work. You don’t need dressing up, really. People will be looking at your face, and taking in your body. The clothes are just icing on a rather scrummy cake.’
Jenna shook her head, smiling. Did Alfonso have a crush?
‘Here,’ he said, passing things to Jason behind the screen. ‘This shirt – never mind if you don’t love the pattern, it’s just to give you an idea. Put a handkerchief in your top pocket and do up your jacket button if you want to look dandyish. And, of course, you can say so many things with your hair . . .’
‘Like, “cut me”?’ suggested Jason.
‘People expect long hair on an artist, don’t they?’ said Alfonso indulgently. ‘Oh. Shoes.’
He scuttled off again, returning with a handful of shiny leather and casual dark canvas.
When Jason stepped out a third time, Jenna rose to her feet and said, ‘Oh, well, NOW . . .’ before running out of breath.
He looked effortlessly elegant and yet also a little bit dangerous. His silhouette was lean and sharp with the jacket done up, but also raffish and sexy with the white shirt beneath undone to reveal a glimpse of chest.
‘Oh God, you are hot.’ Alfonso clapped his hands. ‘Seriously. You look like you mean business.’
‘But not in a corporate way,’ Jenna hastened to reassure him. ‘No tie, no tight collars. In an art-world way. You do look really . . .’ She winked, and he brightened, losing the self-conscious glower that had hung about his face.
‘Fuckable?’ he said hopefully.
Alfonso clapped again.
‘Believe it,’ he purred.
‘So that’s settled then,’ said Jenna. ‘We go to town, buy a suit like this one and some accessories, a few shirts, some jeans, some shoes, some bits and pieces and there we have one beautifully-styled Jason Watson, ready to knock ’em dead.’
‘Absolutely. I’ll list the stockists I’ve used for you. I’ll email them to your phone, shall I?’
‘Please.’
They spent the next couple of hours in various gentlemen’s outfitters, putting together the new Jason look, though Jenna could not resist buying a couple of traditional stiff-collared and cuffed shirts together with a silk tie and cufflinks too.
‘I just want to know what you’d look like properly suited and booted,’ she said over a snatched lunch in a suitably private little basement Moroccan restaurant in Knightsbridge. ‘Just . . . out of curiosity.’
She blushed down at her tagine.
Jason’s eyebrows shot up. He had understood her implication.
‘Curiosity, eh?’ He took a bite of his flatbread and chewed thoughtfully. ‘You want to dress me up as a boss, yeah?’ He swallowed. ‘Perhaps we ought to get a big desk as well, then? You know. To bend you over.’
‘A big desk might be an idea,’ she said, lowering her eyelids in coquettish acquiescence.
He shook his head. ‘I’ve cost you enough already today.’
‘Don’t start that again,’ she pleaded quietly. ‘You’ll pay me back. You’re already paying me back, by being here. By agreeing to do all this.’
‘Well, don’t forget, we’ve got a little bit of role-reversal to sort out later. We’ve shopped for my new look. Next up, we’re going out to shop for yours.’
‘Not next,’ Jenna cautioned. ‘Next, we’re meeting Tabitha to thrash out the details for the show.’
‘Thrash out? Don’t put ideas in my head, girl.’ He winked and her fork felt a bit wobbly in her hand.
‘Honestly, we need to get on,’ she said. ‘Are you done with that lamb? I said we’d meet her at two, and it’s nearly ten to now.’
‘Fine, but it’s a postponement, not a cancellation. Tabitha first, shopping trip after that.’
‘I promise. I’m going to ask for the bill now, OK?’
They had to dash to Mayfair, but Tabitha was still at lunch herself when they turned up, ten minutes after two, with bright eyes and shining faces.
‘Sorry, she won’t be long,’ said Shona, rising from her desk in the empty gallery. ‘I’ll get coffee, shall I?’
‘A glass of water would be great, actually,’ said Jenna, feeling the sour London air on her breath. ‘It’s gasping out there.’
Tabitha came rushing in as soon as Shona disappeared into the back room.
‘So sorry, darlings, lunch with my accountant, always seems to drag on. Do come upstairs. You must be the famous Jason.’
She stopped mid-whirl to look him up and down as if he were a canvas she’d been asked to value.
‘That’s me,’ he said. His new clothes seemed to have given him a burst of confidence because he didn’t slouch or roll his eyes but returned Tabitha’s gaze with a cool dark searchlight of his own.
‘Well,’ was all she said, leading the way upstairs.
Ensconced in her office with a jug of iced water and an electric fan whirring on the desk, Tabitha opened the meeting.
‘You are a surprise,’ she said to Jason.
‘I thought you would have seen me in the papers. I made them all,’ he said, with a hint of pride.
‘This isn’t the man I saw in the papers. I must admit, I was bracing myself for a tough sell. But . . .’
Jenna turned to Jason. ‘You see what I mean? A little styling really does work wonders.’ She spoke to Tabitha. ‘We’ve been to see Alfonso.’
‘Ah. Your miracle man. Of course.’
‘Excuse me,’ Jason cut in. ‘I did all the paintings before I got the suit.’
‘Of course you did,’ soothed Tabitha. ‘And it’s those we’re here to talk about, not your lovely clothes. They really are lovely, though. Customers will be clamouring to meet you, Mr Watson.’
‘Do you think so? So we’re going to do a show then?’
‘Oh, I think so.’
‘When we last spoke, you mentioned that you were booked up here until the autumn,’ Jenna reminded her.
‘Oh, yes, I’m booked up here. But who says we have to do the show here?’
Jenn
a sat forward.
‘You have another venue in mind?’
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, darling, but you have a glorious great mansion house in the country, don’t you? Why not have an exhibition there?’
‘In Bledburn?’
She looked wildly at Jason, who laughed.
‘I’ve done exhibitions in Bledburn before,’ he said. ‘Down the garages by the flats mainly. With spray paints. Dead classy, it were.’
‘But you mean we should show his work at Harville Hall,’ Jenna said. ‘Would the London art world be interested? Shouldn’t we keep things here in London?’
‘I don’t see why. Imagine how fascinated people would be to visit the home of the Starmaker herself. I think it would double our clientele at a stroke. At least.’
‘Oh, Tabitha, I think it’s a brilliant idea but I’m not sure . . .’
Jenna’s gaze sought Jason’s again.
‘We like our privacy,’ she said, as if pleading with him to back her up.
‘It’s just for one night,’ he said unhelpfully.
‘But the place is a wreck. We’re in the throes of renovation and, so far, only the kitchen and half a bedroom are anywhere close to presentable.’
‘How romantic,’ said Tabitha, bulldozing through Jenna’s objections. ‘A half-ruined mansion. Absolutely perfect for an art installation.’
‘And there’s my frieze in the attic,’ Jason piped up. ‘That can’t be shown anywhere else anyway.’
‘A frieze in the attic!’ Tabitha’s eyes lit up over the rim of her tumbler. ‘How wonderful. You must let me come up and see it for myself.’
‘Of course, you’re welcome to visit,’ said Jenna, feeling more flappable than she would like. ‘And then you’ll see the state of the place. Honestly, Tab, apart from the kitchen, it needs rewiring, for a start.’
‘Candlelight,’ said Tabitha dramatically.
‘And damp,’ said Jenna. ‘Not good for the canvases, I’d imagine.’
‘Oh. No.’ Tabitha’s onslaught was temporarily halted. ‘That’s not good. But you’re getting it sorted out, I should imagine?’
‘Well, yes. Got people coming in next week. All the same . . .’
‘Well, there you go then. Honestly, the décor doesn’t matter a bit. The shabbier the better, in fact. It’s the pictures we want people to be looking at. The pictures . . . and you.’
‘I’m not for sale,’ said Jenna with a laugh.
‘No, but you’re my major selling point. An evening with Jenna Diamond.’
‘Myatt.’
‘Jenna Myatt Diamond. In her gracious new home.’
Jason huffed. ‘With a pissy little art show on the side?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Watson,’ said Tabitha, sounding quite earnest. ‘You are what will bring them back. But Jenna is what will bring them in. I’m afraid we all need to use what resources we have in a crowded marketplace. And Jenna is an absolutely prime resource.’
‘Everyone’s for sale,’ snarked Jason.
‘Yes, Mr Watson,’ said Tabitha primly. ‘Indirectly, perhaps, but there it is.’
‘Call me Jason, for God’s sake. The only people who ever called me Mr Watson were sarcastic teachers at school.’
Tabitha smiled at him, warmly this time.
‘You’re an extraordinary artist,’ she told him.
‘Thanks.’
‘I’m very excited at the prospect of exhibiting you. I think this will be an event, perhaps an historic event. I want to make sure it’s everything it can possibly be. For your sake, Jason, and for Jenna’s. And, yes, for mine.’
‘I really think,’ Jenna said after a pause, ‘we’d be better off renting somewhere here in London. Somewhere offbeat and a bit different, sure. But not my home.’
Tabitha sighed. ‘Well, I can’t force you to agree, of course. Whatever you’ll do, there’ll be media interest. But you’ll create a real sensation if you’d only go along with me. I thought we could always rely on you for that, Jenna. You always played the press so well, so intuitively.’
‘On a professional level, I do think you’re right. It’s the very thing I’d suggest, if I were you,’ said Jenna unhappily. ‘But . . . when it’s my life . . . it’s different . . .’
‘Ah,’ said Tabitha. ‘There’s the rub.’
‘What timescale are we looking at?’ Jason spoke up, and it was so unexpected that everyone just stared for a moment.
‘Oh. Well. I don’t know. That could be up to you, of course. Another advantage – you exhibit when you’re ready.’
‘I’m ready now,’ said Jason. ‘But the house isn’t. But I think it’s a good idea. If I’m going to put myself out there, I want to do it in Bledburn first. I want the big shots to see where I’m from, to drive through the estate on the way to the show. I’m up for it. Jen?’
Jenna was so taken aback by this that she found herself nodding like a dog in the back of a car window.
‘You really think so?’ she said.
‘Yeah. Why not?’
‘Well . . . What about our privacy?’
‘We aren’t inviting anyone to move in, are we?’
She pondered.
‘No. Well. Looks like I’m outvoted. Harville Hall it is.’
Tabitha called for champagne and the art show, and Jason’s launch into the art world, was enthusiasticallytoasted, especially by Jason, who seemed to have accepted that he would need to develop a taste for expensive fizz from now on.
‘So, August thirty-first,’ said Jenna, once they were out taking some air on the roof garden of Tabitha’s building. ‘That doesn’t give us long. We need to at least strip all the walls downstairs. Then there’s . . .’
‘Jen. We don’t need to do anything. We don’t want to live in an art gallery. The exhibition is about the art. It’s not about the fucking plastering.’
She turned from the little Japanese-style fountain she’d been admiring.
‘You’re very forceful today, aren’t you?’ she said, smiling. ‘Full of opinions suddenly.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe I’ve started to see that all this might work out,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’m starting to take myself seriously.’
Jenna came to join him at the wall, looking out over Mayfair.
‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘That’s really good. Because you should take yourself seriously. As long as you keep your sense of humour, though, because you’ll go mad without it in this business.’
‘I’m not going to change,’ he said. ‘Just because I’m wearing this poncey suit doesn’t mean I’m going to start talking like Lawrence Harville.’
‘Perish the thought.’
‘What’s that?’
He pointed down to the Shepherd Market area, at the little huddle of exclusive shops and restaurants that clustered around it.
‘Shepherd Market. Some good restaurants, if you fancy eating out later.’
‘No, I mean that shop. That one, all black and gold, next to the one with the little lollipop tree outside the door.’
‘Oh.’ Jenna squinted, then sucked in a breath. ‘My God. A sex shop! In Mayfair!’ She leant over the wall, looking harder. ‘I bet it’s a ferociously expensive one. None of your cheap plastic tat for the locals here.’
Jason nudged her hip with his.
‘Remember what I was saying about dressing you up? Tit for tat,’ he whispered.
‘You don’t mean . . .’
‘Why not? I’m curious. I want a nose round inside. Come on.’
They bade Tabitha farewell and made the short journey to Shepherd Market. The shop was called Le Cinq à Sept, which made Jenna think its clientele was probably very rich men shopping for their mistresses. It gave out an air of the heady and illicit from the very start.
The window wasn’t blacked out, nor was it filled with mannequins in flashy scarlet and black latex, but it was of smoked glass and the display was discreet and tasteful – mainly piles of pretty boxes and well-wrapped parcels with the
odd silver-backed hairbrush or marabou slipper here and there, to give the air of an artfully disarranged boudoir.
‘Is anyone watching us?’ asked Jenna nervously, looking about her, but the area was quiet enough in this post-lunch hour, being off the main tourist drag.
‘Not a soul,’ said Jason. His face was a little flushed from the champagne and his eyes were glittering with excited purpose. ‘Come on. Let’s go in.’
He put a hand on Jenna’s shoulder and escorted her into the shop. A bell jingled in an old-fashioned way that somehow made Jenna feel she was walking into another world, and, in a way, it was.
Quiet classical music played into a room that could have been any fashionable boutique. It was cool after the hot London street, and soothing to the eye after the bleached pavements they had walked to get here.
A linen-suited woman at a counter near the back simply nodded and returned to the catalogue she was browsing.
‘This is nothing like that shop Mia used to work in,’ remarked Jason, looking around him. ‘That were wall-to-wall dildoes.’
‘Jason!’ Jenna flashed a look at the counter. The woman feigned not to have heard.
‘What? I’m in a sex shop. It’s OK to talk about the kind of stuff you’d buy from a sex shop, in a sex shop.’
‘It’s a . . . oh, forget it.’
Jenna had stepped towards one of the rails, fascinated by the sheer, gauzy flim-flammery that floated from the hangers.
‘This is just gorgeous,’ she whispered, fingering the peach and lilac silk underwear set that was first to hand. ‘You’d hardly know you were wearing it though.’
‘I don’t suppose you can try before you buy,’ said Jason regretfully.
The assistant coughed gently then, when Jenna looked over, said, ‘We do have a fitting room, and some samples you can try on in various sizes.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jenna, turning abruptly back to the rail.
‘Not tempted?’ Jason smirked, then coughed himself when he caught sight of a tiny little price tag attached to the bra strap with silk ribbon. ‘Fuck me,’ he whispered loudly. ‘How much?’
‘This is high end designer stuff,’ Jenna whispered back. ‘Look at the brand.’
The label of a well-known fashion house was sewn – exquisitely – into one of the shoulder straps.
Hearts and Diamonds Page 10
