The Silver Chain. Primula Bond

still digesting what he said about being unable to stop thinking about me.

      ‘What’s in it for you?’

      ‘Well, firstly it has all the promise of a very lucrative, no, rewarding partnership. I’ll have priceless modern art on my walls. It’s essential to keep one’s finger on the pulse, especially with fledgling talent. Maybe I’ll even buy some for my private collection at home. And if we work towards a sell-out between now and Christmas, from there on in you’ll be able to charge whatever you like for your work.’

      ‘That really is a leap of faith. It all sounds too good to be true, Mr Levi.’

      ‘Gustav.’

      ‘So what’s the catch?’

      He taps his fingers against his lips. So suave. So scary. His eyes sparking with a kind of mischief now.

      ‘I don’t see it as a catch. I see it as something beneficial for both of us. Like I said, a quid pro quo. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Because I have seen something daring and brave in you, Serena. I’ve seen … well, I think we get on. Yes?’

      The way he’s staring at me now. Even behind his desk. Behind his hands. He’s doing something to me. I cross my legs, aware of how bare they feel under this dress. Also aware, with an inward gasp, of a softening dampness.

      ‘What’s daring and brave got to do with your showcasing my work?’

      ‘Because of how I want this to go. How I propose you repay me.’

      This is where Polly would be jumping up and down saying I’m right, I’m right, watch him, he’s after something.

      Yes, yes! I hope he is! I want him to be after something, however reckless that sounds. Because I am after something too.

      But what I actually say is, ‘Money. We haven’t talked about money.’

      No, not wet, I’m imagining things. I shift about on the chair. Just warm from the white leather that’s sticking to me. I lace my fingers in front of my knee, let it swing. The leg looks quite elegant in the opaque stockings, just like the stockings worn by these filles de joie in the Parisian pictures on the walls.

      ‘I’m trying to find the best way to say this.’ He folds his arms, looks genuinely awkward for a moment, and with the awkwardness comes an instant lifting of the years, as if dropping the facade of hard businessman is a relief. ‘I have in mind something mutual, something which pleases both of us, benefits you, makes me happy, and involves no hard cash whatsoever.’

      ‘I’m not understanding.’ I fold my arms, too. ‘You want me to give my photos away?’

      He shakes his head, presses his hands together like a priest.

      ‘I’m assuming you’re living on private means at the moment, Serena? If that’s not too intrusive a question?’

      I nod as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for a girl of twenty to have no visible means of support. ‘I’ve recently inherited a substantial sum of money. And I’ll get more when I sell the house.’

      He stares at me a moment. I’m aware how cold that sounds. But I’m not an actress. I can’t affect sorrow or grief, or even gratitude, where there is none.

      ‘You’re alone in the world?’

      ‘I have my cousin, Polly – she’s the one who had the party last night, but she’s working as a stylist in New York at the moment. I told you I’m living in her flat. But Gustav, my money won’t last forever, not once I’ve bought property and so on. What do they say about paying monkeys with peanuts? I intend to earn a living. If we’re going to do this, if I’m ever going to be taken seriously, I need to do it properly. I need to sell these pictures!’

      ‘And you will, my – Serena. You will. Money will exchange hands in the usual way between the gallery and any buyers, commissioners or collectors. And the gallery will then split the sales fifty–fifty with the artist – you – which in itself is unusual. I usually sting my clients for at least eighty–twenty.’

      I laugh, but he’s looking at me so seriously, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

      ‘So why give me the preferential treatment?’

      ‘Because I like you, Serena. I don’t think you realise what a find you are.’ He holds up his hand and starts ticking off points on his fingers. ‘Basics. You’re beautiful to look at, invigorating to be with, and what makes it even better is that you don’t know it. I have a painting in my house by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and you’re in it. No-one’s ever told you you’re gorgeous, have they?’

      I shake my head. He had me at beautiful.

      ‘Not even the boyfriend you’ve left behind you. Because there’s always a boyfriend left behind. First love. But too callow, I’m guessing. Too young, once you’d seen a bit of the world. Too set in his ways and his horizons so much narrower than yours?’

      Tears are fighting flattery here. How does he suss all that?

      ‘You’re young, and fresh, and undemanding. And like me you’re pretty much alone in the world, which gives you that hungry edge. Oh, there’s room for refinement. We’ll do a little work on you, me and my assistant. Continue what your cousin has started. Wardrobe, hair, make-up. Don’t frown at me. I love the waif-and-stray look. But this is a competitive business. You need to present a flawless face to your public, yes?’ He spreads out his hands, presenting his findings. ‘What do you think?’

      ‘Of your resume? More complimentary than my own profile.’

      He taps the portfolio with his long fingers. ‘You want professional exposure and although I’ve never stopped working my personal life has taken a dive. I’ve been hibernating like a monk for too long.’

      ‘I’ve never met anyone who looks less like a monk!’

      He grimaces. ‘I need re-tuning. The personal angle I’m after is pure pleasure. If pleasure can ever be wholly pure.’

      I sit bolt upright in my chair, my knuckles white on my knees. He’s still a stranger, however mesmeric his eyes. Remember that. ‘And this personal pleasure will come from me?’

      ‘I want to be able to call you my own, Serena. For a measurable period. Enough to restore my faith in womankind. Sound odd to you? Well, I’ve been licking my wounds for too long. I took one look at you stalking those poor little witches yesterday, and I thought, that’s the girl to wake me up. I want that one.’

      ‘You thought I was a bloke when you first saw me!’

      ‘Only for a moment, till I got closer.’ His narrowed eyes gleam at the reminder. ‘And for once I was delighted to be proved wrong!’

      I nod distractedly. ‘A measurable period, you said? You mean this doesn’t have to go on forever?’

      He shakes his head and looks out of the window. I follow his gaze over the rooftops.

      ‘This is a deal. Not a life sentence. I’m suggesting until the very last photograph is sold. Between now and Christmas. I have been dragged down some very crooked, dark paths in the past. I need your company to shine a light. Just by being by my side, especially when the day’s graft is at an end. I want to wine and dine you. I want to see you blossom. It won’t be particularly chaste. I may as well warn you of that now. But I’m going to enjoy your gratitude.’

      ‘Doesn’t that work two ways?’

      He laughs. ‘Of course. I will be grateful too. Believe me.’

      ‘Still makes me sound like more of an escort.’

      He looks back at me and nods slowly. I watch his mouth for signs of a smile. ‘I realise how that sounds. And yes. It’s come out all wrong, but that is kind of what I mean.’

      ‘With the sex thrown in?’