You Think You Know Me

by Clare Chase

  Suddenly, it seemed like a no-brainer.

  Seb sounded genuinely pleased and a little relieved when I rang him.

  ‘We’ve just got so much on,’ he said. ‘Is there any chance you could come in tomorrow?’

  ‘I suppose …’

  ‘Great. Look, one of the first things is to get you bedded in properly.’ He paused for a moment. ‘We’re a fairly tight-knit bunch so it’s best if I introduce you to the main people you’ll be working with straight away. Then they can see how likeable you are.’ I felt my nerves jangle again. ‘I’ll arrange a group lunch. But, if you come in at eleven, I can show you round first. Does that sound okay?’

  It sounded awful.

  ‘Great. I’ll look forward to it.’ I’d already slipped back into employee mode, and lied with ease.

  ‘By the way,’ he went on, ‘I Googled your friend Darrick.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ I said. ‘So did I, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Oh, well then, you know as much as me, which is pretty well nothing. I’m going to have a dig around though, Anna. I’ll let you know what I find.’

  It was five hours later when Darrick finally rang.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s so late,’ he said. ‘I only just got back.’ He sounded tired and immediately his tone conjured up the image of him the night we’d first met: that sleep-deprived, faintly rough look that suited him so well. ‘I thought I could ring and tell you a bedtime story.’

  ‘Will it be about a mystery man who keeps appearing and disappearing again?’

  There was a pause. ‘Is that the type of story you like?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I think I could cope with one that had slightly fewer twists and turns.’

  ‘I’ve got a nasty feeling I can’t do that sort,’ he said and I realised he meant me to take him seriously. ‘What have you been up to all weekend, anyway?’

  In the ordinary way it should have been me asking him the questions. Like what he really did for a living, and why he didn’t show up on the internet. But the job for Seb and his likely reaction filled my mind again now. I wanted to tell him, and get it over with. Nothing seemed like the right way, so I plunged in, feeling I could provide twists and turns too. ‘Oh just the usual,’ I said. ‘Several rows with Alicia, and a £60K job offer.’

  ‘Fairly eventful then,’ he said quietly. ‘And the job offer?’

  ‘Seb. He contacted me out of the blue. I know you thought he might put more work my way, but I wasn’t expecting it to be in-house. He wants a communications director.’

  ‘Swanky.’

  ‘Not really me.’ Here was my chance to play it down. ‘I get to try it for four months before I sign up to a permanent contract, so that makes me feel less claustrophobic. And the salary means I’ll be able to build up a bit of a buffer to support me whilst I look for more freelance work.’

  ‘If you decide not to stay on.’ His lightness of tone didn’t disguise what he thought.

  ‘Yes, if.’

  ‘I thought you wanted your independence.’

  ‘I have to be practical.’ I cursed myself as soon as I’d said it. Darrick wouldn’t respect me for taking the easy option.

  ‘You don’t feel odd about going to work for someone who’s effectively been cold shouldering you for years?’

  ‘Not if he pays me enough, no,’ I said, hoping to get a laugh out of him, but it fell flat.

  ‘I was going to ask you to have lunch with me tomorrow.’

  Suddenly I was angry. ‘What, and now you’re not as a punishment? Just because I’ve taken a highly paid and responsible job that’s going to get me lots of new contacts?’

  He sighed, but didn’t raise his voice. ‘I just wonder why you’ve agreed to it. It doesn’t seem to fit with what you wanted at all. I thought you were braver than that.’

  ‘I feel quite brave taking the job actually.’ He didn’t know how brave.

  ‘The offer of lunch is still open, if you want to come.’

  I was fuming. Probably it was because I knew he was right about the job, coupled with the fact that he’d been anything but honest with me. What gave him the right to wade in with opinions on how I should run my life?

  ‘I can’t make it,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a working lunch.’

  ‘Right.’

  But a moment later I realised my approach wouldn’t get me the answers I wanted. ‘How about meeting up in the evening instead?’ I said. ‘That will give you the chance to explain why your name doesn’t show up in a Google search.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go away again. If you don’t trust me you’ll just have to put up with it.’

  And he hung up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I hadn’t seen Sally since the party, and was wondering if she’d fulfilled her plan to ensnare one of the rich young men she’d thought she’d find there. When she came in to breakfast on Monday I was convinced she’d been successful. There was a spring in her step and the corners of her smile almost reached her ears.

  ‘What was he called?’

  ‘Hey! What do you mean? Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Oh all right then. Jeremy Drinkwater. He didn’t though. He drank lots of champagne, and so did I. We spent all day yesterday in bed, except for one brief romantic walk in Regent’s Park.’

  ‘You must be very hungry then,’ I said. I was feeling a bit sour.

  ‘He ordered food in.’ She looked me up and down. ‘So you decided to take the job then.’

  I was wearing director-of-communications clothes; even I had to admit it. ‘Yes, but I’m still not sure I’m doing the right thing, and I’m dreading today.’

  ‘Never mind. Eat your rolls and you’ll feel better.’

  I’d given myself three, for extra strength, with a dessertspoonful of marmalade in each.

  ‘You do know you could give Paddington Bear a run for his money, don’t you?’ Sally said. ‘I can’t quite work out how you can consume food at the rate you do and remain so tiny.’

  ‘Nervous energy,’ I said. ‘And I’m bursting with it today, hence the extended rations.’

  ‘Well, you can always leave the job if you hate it, remember. Anyway.’ She reached into her pocket. ‘I hope you’ll still have some free time left over.’ She handed me a scrap of paper which had a couple of names and phone numbers written on it, as well as a red wine stain on one corner.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘A couple of people who’d like to commission your bags,’ she said airily, pouring herself more coffee. ‘I told them the cost was two fifty. I thought that would be better really.’

  When I’d finished spluttering over my orange juice and checking that Sally wasn’t just winding me up, I went back upstairs to get my work bag ready. I really was going to have to put in a lot of hours, just as Terry had said, and hope that one of the horses I was backing turned out to be a winner.

  But my workload worries were swiftly replaced by musings about Darrick. He had absolutely no right to make me feel guilty about the way I earned my living; I didn’t even have the luxury of passing judgement on his job, given that I still didn’t quite know what it was. I picked up my things and headed towards the door.

  But though I stamped down the stairs, feeling angry, I still wanted to talk to him again, and what’s more, I hated the idea that he might be thinking otherwise.

  I started the tour of my new workplace on the fourth floor of the gallery, where most of the staff were based. The offices all had glass panel walls and venetian blinds, just like Seb’s did. I could see Radley’s shadow behind hers, and even that hint of her presence made me slightly uneasy. I had an office to share with someone called Sinem, who had been helping Radley with press releases and the like, and an intern called Elsie. Neither of them were in evidence, but Seb said they’d both be at the lunch. I couldn’t help noticing that he rolled his eyes when he mentioned Elsie’s name. I decided not to ask.

  Down
on the third floor, a handful of visitors were wandering around the Shakespeare exhibition.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I asked Seb.

  ‘Really well. They’ve been selling like hotcakes.’

  ‘What kind of people buy them?’ I tried to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

  ‘A really wide range actually,’ Seb said, walking slowly along the length of the room. ‘So far we’ve had a rock star, a businessman from Dubai and an American record producer, amongst others.’

  ‘Any interest from Lawrence Conran?’ I asked.

  He gave me a look. ‘Given that he didn’t even bother turning up to the private view and sent an imposter in his place …’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no then. Is he persona non grata?’

  Seb shook his head. ‘He’s never going to be that. He’s far too valuable to us. In fact, he did mention he might pop in, in a day or two, and I shall be very polite to him, as always.’

  ‘But he can’t be all that interested in the Shakespeare stuff, if he’s left it this late?’

  Seb shook his head, causing his blond fringe to flick over his eyes. ‘Doesn’t rate it,’ he said. ‘But he’ll take a look at what’s downstairs. I’m expecting a couple of new portraits by Bailey Forrester. He’ll be the first to see those.’

  On the second floor I knew Seb had a wide range of artists exhibiting. They tended to be people who would sell for less than the celebrities with individual exhibitions on floor three, and so represented bigger potential winnings for those investing to sell again.

  ‘Is Lawrence good at picking out stuff that will go up in value?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s a genius at it. In fact I think it’s self-fulfilling now, because of his reputation. The moment he starts buying someone, everyone else thinks he must be onto something and before you know it they’re all jumping on the bandwagon. Within a couple of months he’s created enough of a market to sell the paintings back to the people who only got interested because of the stir he originally caused.’

  ‘Did you ever think of going into business that way?’

  He shook his head. ‘I prefer it like this, just taking commission on the paintings that get sold here. In some ways it feels more certain. But I still have the same challenge of picking out the up and coming stars.’

  We walked down another set of stairs.

  ‘After a year or two,’ he went on, looking at me over his shoulder, ‘the hope is that the people I’ve backed produce the sort of work that changes hands for a fortune at auction. So long as that keeps on happening, I still have the trust of my buyers.’

  ‘Is that always what it’s about then?’ I said. ‘For the buyers, I mean? They’re mostly looking to sell on after a bit?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Seb said, ‘not necessarily. But if the paintings rocket in value it reassures them they haven’t been taken for fools.’ He gave me a look. ‘Now that really is what it’s about half the time: the ego boost a buyer gets when they know they made the right decision, and everyone else can see they did too.’

  We worked our way down through the rest of the exhibition halls to the ground floor, where there were prints and books for sale for mere mortals like me who didn’t want to bankrupt themselves.

  ‘Time for lunch,’ said Seb. ‘I told the others we’d meet them there.’

  The venue was a half-timbered pub called The Flag. We went up stairs that creaked and complained in protest, to an attic room with a sloping floor and a fire burning. The air smelled of wood smoke and rich beef casserole. Our table was just next to the hearth.

  We were the first ones there, but the peace wasn’t destined to last. I looked up and saw Radley come in, a posh-looking carrier bag on her arm: sky-blue paper with ribbon handles.

  ‘Out on the spend?’ Seb asked.

  ‘Birthday present,’ she said, drawing out a chair and sitting down in one quick movement. Her mouth was set and she didn’t say anything else.

  Seb took our drinks order and went off to the bar immediately; I had the feeling he was after an excuse to leave us alone.

  ‘Look, Anna,’ Radley said, right on cue, ‘I was out of order when you came in last. I should never have had a go at you like that – it just came as a bit of a shock to see you together with our imposter, that’s all.’

  ‘I should have called you or Seb about him, Radley,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid because he didn’t seem to be a threat, it just didn’t cross my mind.’

  ‘It’s unfortunate that we have to be so careful.’ I could tell she still hadn’t forgiven me. ‘Our reputation’s the thing that makes our whole operation work,’ she went on. ‘If there was ever a problem we could lose everything.’

  I nodded. ‘I can see that now.’ I reckoned I’d better let her get it out of her system.

  Seb returned with the drinks, followed by a woman with grey hair, clipped into an unforgiving cut, carrying a lime juice.

  ‘This is Monica Smith,’ Seb said with a half smile. ‘She heads up our accounts team, so be nice to her. She’ll be the one passing on the good or bad news about how much money you can spend on your publications.’

  I was ready to match Seb’s jovial tone, but as she looked me up and down, one eyebrow raised, I could see it would have been a mistake. She was wearing a wrap-around cardigan of the sort dancers put on to keep warm when they’re not exercising, and she had ballet pumps on her feet too. Both sat rather oddly with her nylon, crease-in trousers. She looked as though she might have adopted one style thirty years earlier and only added the other more recently.

  ‘I understand from Mr Rice that we can expect a lot from you,’ she said. And woe betide you if you fail to deliver, she might just as well have added.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see a small smirk on Radley’s face.

  Before I had to cope with Monica’s appraising look any longer, two women I assumed must be Sinem and Elsie joined us.

  Sinem had long, dark hair and sparkly, mischievous eyes. She was a similar height to me, meaning I wouldn’t get a crick in my neck when we spoke, which was a bonus.

  ‘It’s a great surprise to meet you, Anna,’ she said. ‘Seb only told me you were coming – or,’ she looked at Seb with a grin, ‘might be coming – last Thursday.’

  I gave Seb a look.

  ‘But it’s good news,’ she went on. ‘We certainly need the extra help. When Seb told us some of his grand ideas for the coming months, I was feeling slightly faint until I heard we’d be getting an extra body on board.’

  Elsie, however, looked less impressed. She was picking at a loose bit of table mat and looking at me as though I’d got a slug on my nose.

  What struck me most about the lunch was the manner in which Radley behaved. The others, at least, carried on in much the same way as promised by their initial behaviour. Elsie was sullen and quiet, Sinem the exact opposite and Monica just watchful.

  But with Radley it was as though she was gradually thawing. Seb kept bringing her into the conversation and each time she contributed she seemed a little friendlier. At first it was as though she was just going through the motions (‘Well that’s something Anna would know about, with her newspaper experience,’ said in a stiffly polite tone) but gradually it began to feel more natural (‘I’d want to discuss that with Anna later. What do you say, Anna? Maybe we could do that tomorrow over a coffee?’).

  When she made this last suggestion, I caught Seb give her an approving look, and a small private smile, which I was quite sure I wasn’t meant to have noticed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I spent the afternoon looking at databases and profiles of Seb’s past buyers. At one point Elsie left the room, which was a relief. I didn’t feel as though I could ask any questions in front of her; her silence was oppressive.

  ‘Is there something wrong, as far as Elsie’s concerned?’ I asked Sinem.

  She snorted and ran her hand through her hair, her bangles jangling down towards her elbow. ‘That’s a constant state of affairs,’ she s
aid. ‘In particular, she resents you coming because she thinks you’ll be getting a director’s salary in return for writing a few press releases.’ She sat back in her chair. ‘In her opinion, Seb should have offered her a permanent post instead.’

  ‘Would that have worked? In your opinion?’

  Sinem let out a bark of a laugh. ‘Are you kidding? I’d go insane if she stayed. No,’ she said, looking at me, ‘in my opinion Seb should have promoted me and got a new assistant in.’

  I looked at her for just one moment with my mouth open before she said: ‘Oh I’m only kidding! This is my first job actually, so I’m not quite ready for director level posts yet. But if you get a chance to put in a good word for me with Seb I’d be grateful. I don’t think the “assistant” title is quite commensurate with what I do.’

  I stopped hyperventilating and said, ‘And what’s the deal with Monica? She seemed very reserved at lunch.’

  Sinem shrugged. ‘Partly just the way she is, I think. I sometimes feel there’s a bit of a generational thing going on between her and Seb. She’s the only member of staff who calls him Mr Rice.’ She laughed. ‘And I’m not quite sure she approves of all of his methods.’

  I wondered what these might be, but I didn’t want to interrupt her flow. I had a feeling there might be more to come.

  ‘But the other thing is, I think she feels a huge sense of ownership over the gallery.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I reckon it’s because she used to work for Sir Anthony Peake.’

  ‘The chair of the board, who owns this building?’

  Sinem nodded. ‘Apparently, when Seb and Mel first rented this place they had no one to do the admin side of things for them, so Sir Anthony “lent” them Monica.

  ‘She’s been here ever since. I think she sees herself as his representative on earth.’ She giggled. ‘She’s got it quite clear in her own mind that she ought to be in charge of the gallery’s direction, who’s hired and fired and so on. The word on the street is that there’s another complication with Monica too. It’s before my time here, but I understand she was very fond of Seb’s ex, Mel. Of Seb, not so much. I guess that colours her view of gallery matters.’