‘Hello.’
It didn’t cost anything to be polite, even if you were dead inside.
‘Having a good time?’ he asked, nodding towards the crowds outside our gallery. ‘Busy night.’
‘Yes,’ I replied, staring at my apparently shitty photo. ‘It’s busy.’
‘You’re British,’ he said, seemingly delighted but thankfully failing to put two and two together. ‘Do you live in the US or are you just visiting us?’
‘Just visiting,’ I confirmed, trying to smile but only succeeding in looking something like a constipated otter. ‘I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.’
He was almost as tall as Charlie but with none of his charm. His slicked-back blond hair and flat blue eyes didn’t exactly scream creative genius but the cut of his suit and expensive tie did suggest endless pots of money. It was the strangest thing, the richer people were, the more alike they looked. Apparently that was true of Americans as well as English people.
‘I like this one,’ I said, pointing at my own photo, masochist that I am.
‘Really?’ He looked mildly surprised, turning back to my photo with new eyes, prepared to reconsider his opinion if it would get me to drop my knickers. ‘I suppose there is an energy there. A naïve charm.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ I asked, trying to see what he saw. ‘What don’t you like about it?’
‘It doesn’t tell me anything,’ he replied, gesturing to James and Sadie with his wine glass. Now that he turned to face me, he was oddly familiar. But then I always struggled to differentiate men who earned over two hundred grand a year. You’d think with that much money, they would invest in some individualism and yet they seemed so determined to look identical.
‘I don’t know anything about these people. I don’t know anything about the artist. There’s no truth here, nothing is being revealed,’ he said. ‘I’ve forgotten it as soon as I look at the next image. It’s candy, no substance.’
With a reluctant nod, I scratched at the corner of my eye. I didn’t even disagree with him. I should never have entered the photo. Why hadn’t I chosen one of the other pictures? Something with more guts to it?
‘It’s fine for what it is. I guess the gallery chose it because they thought the subjects might attend,’ he laughed and finished off his wine in one quick swallow. ‘But it could be so much more. Would you like a drink?’
‘Tess, it’s been forever!’
Her perfume hit me before her hug and it was hard to say which was more nauseating. A cloud of heavy, woody notes, wrapped around a bright blonde blow-out, choked any reply out of my throat.
‘What are you doing in New York?’
‘What are you doing in New York?’ I asked, all the colour draining from my face.
‘Silly!’ Vanessa Kittler, my former flatmate and winner of my least-favourite-person-in-the-world award for the sixth year running, tightened her grip around my shoulders, her sharp-pointed fingernails digging into my flesh. ‘I always come to New York for New Year, you know that.’
I knew she visited New York all the time and I knew she always went somewhere for New Year but since Vanessa was a compulsive liar and had generally considered conversation an optional extra during the six years we had lived together, this was news to me.
‘Tess, I see you’ve met David.’ Vanessa waved her crystal-studded clutch bag at the tall judge. ‘David Sanders, this is my very good friend, Tess Brookes. I’m so glad you’ve already met. Tess, David owns a gallery in Chelsea and he’s bought lots of my pictures.’
‘Tess?’ David blanched and pulled at his collar as though his tie was trying to strangle him. Now I knew why I recognized him. He was one of Vanessa’s conquests. ‘Tess Brookes?’
‘See? He’s a fan already,’ Vanessa said. ‘My dearest old friend, famous!’
David loosened his tie and looked around for an escape route while I flirted with the idea of smashing Vanessa’s head through the wall. Perhaps that would improve the message of my picture.
‘I have to get another drink,’ he said, holding up his empty glass as evidence. ‘I’ll leave you two to catch up. Great to meet you, Tess.’
Vanessa took her arm from around my neck and gave me a full, beaming smile.
‘That was fun,’ she said, tossing her long, long hair over one shoulder. ‘Wasn’t that fun?’
‘Not really,’ I replied, looking over her shoulder for someone I recognized. Didn’t Kekipi say he was coming back? ‘Bye, Vanessa.’
‘Constructive feedback is part of the industry, Tess,’ she said in a disappointed voice. ‘I mean, it is for bad photographers anyway. You’re probably going to have to get used to that if you’re determined to stick it out.’
‘Probably,’ I agreed. I’d missed her backhanded compliments. Oh wait, no I hadn’t. ‘Good point.’
‘He’s right, of course, it’s a terrible photo.’ She wrinkled her surgically enhanced nose at my picture and shrugged. ‘And I’d heard such great things about you. Of course, you’re not to know. You’re brand new at this, you can’t expect to walk into the industry and compete with professionals like me.’
Like her? Vanessa was a photographer in the sense that she owned a camera, occasionally took pictures for her friends’ websites, and didn’t have a proper job. Her dad had been paying her share of the mortgage for the entire time we lived together, my share too, sometimes, but only when Vanessa lied and said I couldn’t make my rent so she could pocket the extra cash.
‘Honestly I’m surprised you’re still playing at the photographer thing,’ she went on. ‘I assumed you’d have given up by now. You might be shit but you’re not stupid, so I don’t know why you’re still wasting your time. I know I make this look easy but it isn’t.’
This probably wasn’t the time or place to mention I’d caught her passing half a dozen of my early photos off as her own for the first five years of her alleged career. Oh wait, yes it was.
‘Maybe you could lend me some of your fantastic photos and I’ll tell everyone I took them,’ I suggested. She didn’t even flinch. ‘Actually, now I come to think of it, your photos are all shite, so don’t bother.’
‘Not according to David Sanders,’ she pointed out. ‘He’s bought more than a dozen from me.’
‘And did the blow job come with the photos or was that a separate transaction?’ I asked. She blinked and I knew I was right.
‘Sorry,’ I apologized, brushing my hair out of my face. ‘That’s not fair. You are totally entitled to blow whoever you want, whenever you want. But you really do need to stop being such a complete arsehole, Vanessa. Who you have sex with has absolutely zero bearing on you being a massive c—’
‘Vanessa!’ Amy came bounding across the room like a tiny black-haired terrier and I happily noted that Vanessa looked nervous. It was safe to say the two of them were not friends. ‘What are you doing here? I thought it was only going to be photographers and their friends tonight.’
She set her jaw and squared off her shoulders, shaking her hair down her back. ‘Your point being?’
‘You’re not a photographer and you’ve got no friends,’ Amy replied.
‘I’m not the one who just had her photograph ripped to pieces by two of the biggest art collectors I know,’ Vanessa spat. ‘At least my work isn’t naïve and pointless.’
‘You don’t have any work,’ Amy laughed, clapping a hand on my back. ‘You’re so funny. When did she get funny?’
‘Whatever,’ she said with a sniff. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry everyone hates your photo, Tess. I’d die if someone said those terrible things to me.’
‘What did they say?’ Amy asked. ‘I’m happy to oblige. Or I could just knock you on your arse again.’
‘You lay so much as a finger on me and I’ll have you arrested,’ Vanessa snapped, stepping back. The two of them never had got along. ‘You’re both pathetic.’
‘We learned everything we know from you,’ Amy replied, rolling up her silk sleeves
. ‘Do I need to make a scene or are you going to leave?’
‘I was leaving anyway,’ Vanessa sniped. ‘Is it me or did both of you get really fat?’
‘Have a lovely evening,’ Amy shouted as she scarpered across the room, several well-groomed heads turning our way as she went. ‘Why do girls always call each other fat when they haven’t got a real argument? Are you all right?’
I nodded, looking sadly at my photo. Vanessa could insult my work and call me fat all the livelong day and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. The fact was, the judges were right. Compared to the other images in the room, my work wasn’t the most impressive. Out of the context of the magazine, it didn’t make sense. It was bright and shiny and obvious but it wasn’t brilliant.
‘I think I want to go,’ I said softly.
‘Al just got here,’ she said, holding out a glass of white wine but I shook my head. ‘He really wants to see your picture.’
‘There were two judges in here before and they hated it,’ I whispered. ‘They tore me apart.’
‘Shit, Tess, I’m sorry,’ she said, sucking the air in through her teeth. ‘That was only two people though, wasn’t it? Someone must like it or they wouldn’t have accepted it.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, wiping a stray, angry tear from the corner of my eye. ‘It doesn’t matter. When all this gets back to Veronica, she’ll definitely fire me. They send everyone who shows a critique. It’s supposed to be helpful.’
‘Fuck. Don’t worry about it, I’ll intercept all her mail, every single bit,’ Amy said. I looked across the gallery to see Vanessa laying a red-taloned hand on David Sanders’ chest and laughing at something that he evidently didn’t find very funny. ‘I can’t believe Vanessa turned up. Actually, I can. She’ll show up in our nursing home. She’d follow you onto the Titanic.’
‘Let’s go.’ I turned my back on James and Sadie’s smiling faces. ‘I don’t want to completely ruin our night.’
‘Well, there’s one other thing I want to show you,’ Amy said, a nervous smile on her face. ‘I’m slightly worried you’re going to break my kneecaps now, but still, you’re going to find out one way or another so I might as well be the one to show you.’
‘What have you done?’ I asked as she led me away from Vanessa and into the portrait gallery. I saw Kekipi, Jenny and Angela, all grouped around a photo with their backs to us, and in the middle of their gang was Al.
‘Hello,’ I sniffed, trying to muster some enthusiasm. It was so good of him to come; I couldn’t just slope off without saying hello. Sloping could wait five minutes. Sloping would come. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Tess, when did you take this?’ he asked, turning around to reveal another photo I recognized.
Right there on the wall of the portrait gallery was the black-and-white picture I’d taken of Al on the roof of his house. Printed out and blown up, he looked raw and vulnerable and old, his knuckles knotted together in sadness and anger and a million other emotions all at once. The complete opposite of the bright, colourful photo of James and Sadie.
‘Oh God,’ I whispered, my heart in my throat. ‘How did this get here?’
‘I entered it,’ Amy said. ‘I thought it was your best picture and I was right. Everyone loves it, Tess.’
‘It’s incredible,’ Jenny agreed. ‘So powerful.’
‘Really intense,’ Angela said. ‘As soon as I saw it, it was like, bam!’
‘Why didn’t you show me?’ Al asked, his eyes still fixed on his own face. He looked shaken and I felt awful.
‘I didn’t think about it when I took it,’ I said slowly. ‘I never intended anyone else to see it. I’m sorry; it was such a personal moment, I should never have taken the picture.’
‘But Tess, it’s so great!’ Amy placed her hand on the small of my back. ‘Al doesn’t mind, do you Al?’
‘A little warning might have been nice …’ He looked around as a small crowd began to gather. ‘Oh dear. I wasn’t really anticipating this.’
‘I know you hate attention,’ I said, rubbing my forehead. ‘That’s why I would never have entered it.’
‘Can we all stop coming up with excuses why it shouldn’t be here and marvel at the fact that it is?’ Amy said. ‘Tess, you have two photos in this exhibition. Two. That’s bloody amazing.’
‘One I wish I hadn’t entered and one that shouldn’t have been here in the first place,’ I told her as Al held a hand up to his face, fending off the mobile phone paparazzi. ‘I’m sorry, Al.’
‘I think this is my cue to leave,’ he said, turning to me with a smile. ‘It’s a beautiful photo, Tess. I was right, you are very talented.’
He walked quickly out of the gallery, ignoring all the camera flashes and whispers of ‘Bertie Bennett’ as he went. Kekipi drew his eyebrows together and sighed, handing Amy his drink.
‘I’d better go after him,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not angry, just surprised.’
‘Why is everyone overreacting?’ Amy asked. ‘It’s a great photo! And everyone is saying so.’
‘It really is good,’ Angela said, while I watched Kekipi dash to the door after Al.
‘I’m sorry,’ Amy said, hanging her head and looking up at me with her ridiculously big blue eyes. ‘I was trying to help.’
‘I know,’ I said, looking back at the photo and trying to see what everyone else saw. But all I could see was heartbreak. Heartbreak I knew Al was reliving right now. ‘I know. I just wish you’d warned me. How did you do it?’
‘I emailed it to myself while you were in the shower and had the gallery frame it while they were framing yours,’ she confessed. ‘One of our assistants had it biked down here. I couldn’t let you not enter it, Tess. It’s just so you.’
Was it? How come Amy knew exactly who I was when I wasn’t even sure?
‘I say we move on,’ Jenny announced. ‘The Standard is right around the corner. Le Bain anyone?’
‘I’m quite tired,’ I said, faking a yawn. ‘I might raincheck.’
‘Me too,’ Amy said, quickly adding her own overblown faux yawn to the mix. ‘I’m tired.’
‘Well, we’d better see you before you leave,’ Angela said, cutting Jenny’s protestations off with a hug. ‘And don’t stress about it, really. This is iconic. This photo is going to make you.’
‘Thank you.’ I hugged her back and thanked my lucky stars that our paths had crossed. ‘But we’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Kekipi said he invited you to the wedding. Are you coming?’
‘Can’t,’ she said with a smile. ‘Work. But I’m sure it’ll be fabulous and I’m sure you’ll be back in New York soon.’
‘I hope so,’ I took one more look at the photo of Al, filled with an unsettling mix of guilt and pride. ‘I really do.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘Wiki, wiki.’ Kekipi clapped his hands at the top of the palazzo steps as Amy and I emerged blinking from our Milanese taxi. ‘You’re late. What happened?’
‘We were delayed,’ I said, yawning. I still got excited whenever I flew and I had yet to master the skill of sleeping on a plane. Amy had knocked back two glasses of red wine and gone out like a light, of course. ‘We’re here now.’
Kekipi, Al and Domenico had flown out the day before while Amy and I packed, napped and generally indulged in everything New York City. I was still scared I might never get to return and I was still scared that I might never be able to speak to Nick again.
‘Thank goodness.’ Kekipi linked his arms through ours, me on one side, Amy on the other. ‘I was worried you weren’t coming.’
‘I thought about it,’ I admitted. ‘Has Al said anything about the photo?’
‘Only that it was fantastic,’ he replied. ‘And I believe he has enquired with the gallery regarding its purchase.’
‘Oh my God!’ I looked over at Amy who seemed confused. ‘He wants to buy it so no one else can see it.’
‘Is she always this cynical?’ he asked Amy. She nod
ded. ‘He wants to buy it because it’s marvellous. Now be quiet and come inside, you have bridesmaiding to do.’
The palazzo was beautiful. It didn’t matter how many times I came through those gates, it still took my breath away every time. The house was impossibly beautiful, with its big gleaming windows and perfect symmetry. The fountain sparkled in the centre of the courtyard, decorated with the same strings of tiny lights I’d seen all over New York. I couldn’t wait to see it all lit up at night. It really was my favourite place in all the world.
‘Are you nervous?’ Amy asked, pushing her giant sunglasses up onto the top of her head. Milan was grey and cloudy but thankfully, not nearly as cold as New York. ‘Twenty-four hours from now you’ll be getting married.’
‘Not at all,’ Kekipi replied, nodding. ‘There’s so much to do.’
‘Such as?’ I asked.
‘Most importantly, my bachelor party,’ he said, leading us up the marble steps and into the foyer. There were flowers everywhere, vases and vases full of winter white roses in full bloom and, in the middle of it all, one of the biggest Christmas trees I had ever seen. Now I knew where Amy had found her inspiration for the presentation. Al’s Milan home was a Christmas dreamland.
‘Of course.’ I grimaced slightly and steeled my liver. ‘Aren’t we cutting it a bit fine, going out the night before the ceremony?’
‘Shut up, Tess,’ Amy ordered. ‘It’s all done, I’ve had it planned for weeks. Just be back down here at six o’clock.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said with a salute, receiving a slap around the back of the head for my trouble.
‘And you, Ms Brookes, are expected in Al’s office right about now,’ Kekipi said, squeezing my arm. ‘Then I need you to look at the photographers we’ve hired and make sure they aren’t terrible.’
‘I still wish you’d let me take the photos,’ I scolded, suddenly nervous. ‘You don’t need to pay for a photographer.’
‘Yes, we do,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be far too busy getting drunk and dancing and kissing boys to worry about taking pictures. Don’t argue with me.’
Apart from the vow I’d made to myself to never kiss another boy as long as I lived, it hardly sounded like a bad plan.