Page 92 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
Chapter Twenty-Five
A Good Woman is sophisticated and cultured. Make sure you are well versed in the topics of fine art, classical music and great literature. A good chap will appreciate a partner who won’t merely listen to his thoughts on the world, but who will understand them too.
Matilda Beam’s Good Housewife Guide, 1957
I am so out of my depth. The exhibition is full of posh artsy people sipping the requisite vintage champagne and talking about the Van Gogh paintings. They’re using words like ‘vigorous’ and ‘rhythmic’ and ‘urgent’ to describe them. The paintings are incredible, I’ll admit, but these people act like they’re about to have mega multiple orgasms over them. I think the pink-cheeked woman standing over bySunflowersjust did. I’m not quite in that place yet.
As we make our way from painting to painting, I try hard to do as Grandma instructed and ask Leo about himself on a more substantial level. But each time I do, we’re interrupted by somebody he knows: clients from Woolf Frost, many, many women – some who seem to love him and some who very definitely hate him, all of them ridiculously beautiful − and even a reporter from theTelegraph, there to cover the event and extra keen to get a picture of me and Leo looking thrilled to be here.
‘Nooo!’ I yelp as the photographer points his big camera towards my head.
If my picture is in a national newspaper then someone will recognize me for sure. They might spill the beans and then the project would be in jeopardy. I can’t risk it. Not now.
But my plea comes too late, because the photographer has already papped us. Dammit. Grandma’s careful disguise has been enough to fool Leo Frost, but what about people back home? The people who know me in real life. They’ll be able to see through the hair and contacts and clothes and pointy boobs in a second.
Leo raises his eyebrows. ‘You don’t like having your picture taken for the press?’
I fiddle with the collar of my dress. ‘Um, no. I’m, er … I don’t.’
He narrows his eyes and half smiles in an approving way. ‘How refreshing.’
Whipping another two flutes of champagne off a passing waiter, he hands one to me. I sip meekly, pretending to be part of the champagne conspiracy. On the other side of the room, a white-haired man wearing bright red trousers spots Leo, waves enthusiastically and starts to make his way through the mob towards us. Before Leo notices this guy and I have to stand next to him looking pretty while he has another boring conversation about golf and centre-spreads and his turd of a dad, I dart right in front of Leo, peeking up at him from beneath my eyelashes.
‘It’s hot and crowded in here, don’t you think? Would you mind if we went somewhere a little … quieter for a while?’ I bite my lip. ‘I’d be ever so grateful.’
Leo eyes me with concern. ‘Of course. Are you all right? It should be pretty empty upstairs. C’mon.’
He grabs my hand and we dodge back through the crowd, out of the Van Gogh room and towards the lifts. Once the doors have closed, Leo asks:
‘A good idea to get away from the hubbub. Any particular painter you’d like to see? They’ve got a wonderful collection here.’
My mind goes blank.
I can’t think ofanypainters. Not a single bloody one!
I know them, but now that he’s asked me I can’t remember any of their names? Except for Van Gogh, who we just saw.
I tense up and tap my fingers against my chin. ‘Hmmmm, let me seeee … ’
And then, right as I’m about to make a total chump of myself, I get a miracle of a brainwave. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.Weren’t they named after magnificent painters?
‘Donatello!’ I almost yell in relief.
Turtle power.
‘Oh, I don’t think they have any Donatello in right now,’ says Leo.
I scrunch up my face. ‘What a shame. Well … um, Leonardo then.’
Leo grins, immediately pressing the button for the Sainsbury Wing on level 2. ‘Da Vinci, my namesake. Good choice. The National Gallery hold a fantastic assortment of Renaissance art.’
‘Super.’ I breathe. ‘Super. Renaissance art is myfavouritekind of art.’
Leo’s eyes widen in pleasure. ‘Mine too!’
When the lift doors open, we’re intercepted by a bespectacled, besuited man with a long, studious face. I think this is the art world’s version of a bouncer.
‘Hi, Terence,’ Leo says, heartily shaking the man’s hand. ‘Only me. Thought we’d get a breather from downstairs.’
