The Summer House of Happiness
Page 24
Evie shook her head and returned to the lengthy list on her iPad, grateful for her detailed preparation for the evening’s event. To her, obsessive organization was the salvation of the workaholic and had served to save her skin on frequent occasions when time was her enemy and reluctant delegation a necessity. She ran her fingertip down the remaining items.
‘Antoine, have you checked the champagne has been chilled to the correct temperature? You know how particular James is about that.’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Does anyone know why James hasn’t arrived yet? He promised he’d be here at six-thirty. He’s ten minutes late already, which is really unusual for him.’
‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here.’
‘Did you display those extra copies of the inventory, Pip?’ asked Evie as she shot forward to nudge a recalcitrant canvas a little to the left.
‘Yes,’ replied Pippa automatically, rolling her eyes at Pierre when she thought Evie wasn’t looking, a smirk playing at her lips as she applied an extra layer of apricot lip gloss to her perfectly outlined cupid’s bow. ‘Relax, Evie, or you’ll have a coronary. Everything is perfect. You’ve done an awesome job. How do I look?’
‘Gorgeous, as always.’
Evie watched Pippa check her mascara in the solid gold compact her parents had presented her with when she had acquiesced to their persuasion to spend six months at the gallery belonging to her father’s best friend and fellow barrister, James Bradbury, instead of chasing around the capital’s night clubs and bars in pursuit of unsuitable men and the most exotic cocktails. Sadly, their plan had backfired as Pippa continued to reel in a string of very ineligible bachelors who called into the gallery on a regular basis to add a piece of artwork to their already bulging collections and took a fancy to the living work of art poised behind the reception desk.
And who could blame them? Pippa Newton-Smith was a classic beauty, with a smooth porcelain complexion, wide brown eyes enhanced by copious coatings of mascara, and a mane of glossy mahogany hair that rippled freely to her shoulders. But it was not these physical attributes that drew her admiring audience. She had been bestowed with a sweet, caring personality and her unquestioning friendship had provided an invaluable balm to Evie’s ragged nerves, which enabled her to sustain the manic schedule required to run the gallery successfully in the increasingly difficult economic climate.
‘Look, Evie, there’s only twenty minutes to go until we open the doors. Why don’t you go and swap your ballet flats for those stilettos you’ve been drooling over all week?’
‘Okay. But, Pip, whatever you do, do not open the door to anyone, no matter what excuse they come up with. Jaxx’s management were very specific about the guest list. Promise?’
‘Yes, Miss.’ Pippa saluted, before pushing her gently towards the circular steel staircase that led to the private quarters on the first floor that James Bradbury had allowed them to use that evening.
Evie glanced at her watch again and a spasm of panic shot from her chest into her throat. This was the biggest night of her career so far. Okay, so it was someone else’s exhibition, not hers, but she had organized every aspect, right down to the museum-themed loo roll in the bathroom. It was good practice for when she did … eventually … one day … probably in the far distant future … have her own opening night.
She slotted her toes into a pair of towering heels but the expected whoosh of confidence didn’t materialize. She had curated over two dozen VIP exhibitions since she had landed her job at James Bradbury Art, but none had been as high profile as this one. What if it was a disaster? What if a bevy of Fire of Fury fans forced their way inside and the resulting turmoil was caught on camera and splashed all over the internet? What if no one bought the artwork? Whilst she had accepted a long time ago that the appreciation of art was extremely subjective, apart from the new canvas, the paintings were lacklustre at best. Would their specially selected guests feel the same way?
She squashed her insecurity demons into their well-used box and turned the key. She was determined not to allow anything, even Dylan’s absence, to spoil this evening. She attached the pearl earrings her parents had presented her with as a congratulatory gift when she had graduated with a first class honours degree in Art History, and allowed a sigh of relief to escape her lips. Thank God she’d had the foresight to visit Henrik that afternoon to have her hair pinned and teased into an elegant chignon – at least she looked like she was ready to do battle.
An insistent hammering floated up the stairs.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it!’ called Pippa in her sweet sing-song voice.
‘No! Wait! Don’t!’
But it was too late. She heard the tinkle of the chime as the front door was wrenched open.
A blade of anxiety sliced through Evie’s chest and her heart drummed out a painful concerto against her ribcage. She wouldn’t put it past Pippa to have succumbed to the charms of an early arrival. Or worse – had she inadvertently fallen victim to the persuasive prattle of an overzealous paparazzi keen to snatch a first unauthorized image of Jaxx Benson’s foray into the world of fine art?
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