‘It’s going really well, don’t you think?’ cooed Pippa, holding a glass of champagne aloft as she bent forward to whisper in Evie’s ear. ‘I just want to give you a heads-up, though. Avoid that guy in the yellow cravat studying the bronze. He’s just admitted to me that he’s the local bore. I mean, how sad is that!’
‘Who? Do you mean Jules Verbier, the celebrated art critic from Nice?’
‘That’s Jules Verbier?’
Evie burst into laughter, expelling the last vestiges of her anxiety. ‘Oh, Pippa, I do love you! He’s not the local bore as you so eloquently put it! He’s a locavore.’
‘A locavore? What’s that?’
‘Someone who only eats food that has been produced locally.’
‘Ah. Ooops!’
Still giggling, Evie slotted her arm through Pippa’s and together they made their way towards the canapés. She had just popped a tempura roll in her mouth when there was a loud agonized cry from the front door.
The whole room turned in unison to see who was causing the commotion, expecting to witness a ticketless Fires of Fury devotee being forcibly evicted from the gallery into the downpour beyond by the burly doormen.
But it wasn’t a disappointed fan.
There was a sharp, collective intake of breath as the audience realized that despite his vociferous denials, Jaxx Benson had decided to attend his exhibition after all. For a brief moment, shocked silence reigned until it was punctured by a shrill, anger-infused voice.
‘What the hell is that monstrosity doing in my exhibition?’ screamed Jaxx, his handsome, instantly recognizable face devoid of its usual colour, his lips twisted in anger.
Evie followed the line of his index finger to the magnificent canvas that hung centre-stage and was attracting the most accolades. She could have sold it ten times over, despite it being priced at quadruple the cost of the others.
‘It’s a bloody insult! What exactly is going on here? Wasn’t my art good enough for you upper-class, pompous, so-called art aficionados? I’m getting my lawyers onto this. By the time I’ve finished, James Bradbury Art will be history!’
Evie exchanged a look of confusion and horror with Pippa. A slab of concrete took up residence in her chest and squashed the air from her lungs. She took a step towards Jaxx but James beat her to it.
‘Mr Benson, if you would follow me into my office, I will ensure the unfortunate error is rectified immediately.’
‘I demand that whoever is responsible for this slur on my artistic integrity be dealt with in the strongest way. Where is Evie Johnson? She’s the one who is supposedly in charge of my debut. How could she let this catastrophe happen? The buck has to stop with her.’ Jaxx, his bleached blond eyebrows raised in question, swung his gaze around the silent gallery seeking her out.
At Jaxx’s insistence, every communication in the lead-up to the opening night had been dealt with over the telephone or via email, but as the avid audience’s eyes swung in unison towards Evie he was able to march straight over to where she was standing, his finger jabbing at her chest like a missile.
Heat flooded her body and surged upwards to her cheeks until she was aflame with mortification. It was starting to dawn on her what had happened, but she had no idea how or why.
‘How dare you humiliate me like this? Who does that painting belong to? Why have you substituted it for “Muswell Musings”? Wasn’t it good enough for you? Are you an art critic in your spare time? Or has it been painted by one of your friends, maybe? This is totally unacceptable. It’s …’
Fortunately, James succeeded in interrupting his monologue of ardent objection and guided the livid rock star, and his gobsmacked agent, into his office at the rear of the gallery and closed the door.
The all-consuming silence suddenly broke into a cacophony of excited gossip.
Evie wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. For a moment, she remained motionless, her frozen brain cells unable to send the required signal to her legs to follow James into his office and make the appropriate apologies to Jaxx. But what explanation could she give? Why did the centrepiece of the exhibition not belong to Jaxx Benson? Contrary to Jaxx’s accusation she was not incompetent. She had checked the paperwork attached to the painting and James Bradbury had correctly endorsed it.
Her senses began to clear and she took a step towards James’s office, but before she could go any further Pippa reached her side and placed her hand on her forearm.
‘Evie, hang on …’
‘I’ve got to go in and explain …’
‘Explain what though? Do you even know what has just happened?’
‘No, but …’
‘Then what are you going to say in there? Trust me. You’ll be walking into a war zone. Did you see Jaxx Benson’s face? He was furious! Give James a chance to calm him down and find out what’s going on first. It’s just an unfortunate mix-up that could have happened in any busy gallery. That canvas must have been for the Garth Maddox exhibition next month. We both thought it was painted in a completely different style to the others in the Twisted Infinity collection, didn’t we?’
‘But it’s my fault, Pip, not James’s. I’ve got to go and apologize.’
Before Pippa could stop her, she sidestepped the milling crowd – most of whom were contemplating the canvas that had attracted such a reaction in a fresh light – took a deep breath, and pushed open the door into the office.
All eyes swung towards her. Her knees weakened and when she attempted to calm the raging cauldron of emotions whipping through her body, she felt light-headed. Her heart hammered against her ribcage in objection to her suppression of the fight-or-flight instinct and a large pebble-like object had become lodged in her throat. After a few seconds of silence, she managed to find her voice, but it sounded alien to her ears.
‘Mr Benson, please accept my …’
‘I have never been so humiliated in my life. Have you any idea how important this exhibition is to me?’
‘Of course. I …’
‘I thought this was a professionally run art gallery. I thought you understood what I was trying to say with my artwork. Instead, I arrive to find you have had the audacity to replace my best work with one of your own selection. Clearly my work is not good enough for you. If I hadn’t changed my mind and decided to attend my debut at the last minute, would the VIP guests have been ignorant of this switch? I demand an immediate explanation.’
Evie opened her mouth to speak but found she had no words. She had no idea how the substitution of the centrepiece had happened. Meanwhile, Jaxx was scrutinizing her reaction, his face a mask of fury, his eyes bulging from his now less-than-handsome face. A fleck of spittle had lodged at the corner of his mouth. He certainly bore little similarity to the famous rock star image that adorned the cover of the show’s glossy programme.
‘Please rest assured that the circumstances surrounding this unfortunate event will be investigated immediately …’ began James in his best conciliatory advocate’s voice.
‘Tell me this. Who is responsible for this whole fiasco?’ demanded Jaxx his eyes boring into Evie. The scorch of anger was so intense that she was forced to look away. But she knew Jaxx had every right to be outraged at what had happened.
‘As the owner of James Bradbury Art, the ultimate responsibility is mine,’ replied James, refusing to glance in Evie’s direction. ‘Now, if you would let me organize the removal of the …’
‘Hey! That’s my painting! Over there! “Muswell Musings”! Discarded