Chapter Sixty
Nina was always anxious before an exhibition at the gallery. There was so much that could go wrong. What if the bitterly cold weather and the threat of snow put people off from coming? What ifnobodycame? What if the drinks and canapés ran out? What if those who did come hated what they saw? What if there was not a single red sold sticker to be seen by the end of the evening? What if the artist drank too much and got horribly drunk and started insulting guests? That had happened on one memorable occasion when her parents still owned the gallery.
Artists were, her father had claimed, some of the most egocentric and fragile people on the planet, and right now as Nina watched Saul Bernice prowling like a caged tiger around the gallery while checking his work before curtain-up on his first ever exhibition, she hoped for all their sakes the evening proved to be a success. From the minute he’d arrived, he’d started complaining. The lighting wasn’t right, the order of the paintings on display wasn’t as he’d stipulated (although they absolutely were, both Nina and Jakob had made doubly sure of that), and he disapproved of the Christmas tree in the window and the fussy decorations they’d put up. The biggest crime they’d committed had been not to provide enough space between the paintings, which earned Nina a lecture about the necessity of there being plenty ofmato better showcase his work. She hadpatiently explained that she knew all about the Japanese concept of negative space, but given the space available in the gallery, compromises had to be made.
It was times like this that she questioned whether it was a good idea to hold exhibitions, there was so much work and angst involved. Give her dead artists any day!
Yet for all that, Saul Bernice’s work – paintings that were always signed asSaul N. Bernice– was most certainly exhibition-worthy and deserved to be seen and enjoyed. He favoured oil mostly and while his landscapes and seascapes, often bleak and imposing, were dramatically eye-catching, it was his still life pictures that had the greatest appeal for Nina. There was an intimacy about the interior scenes, rich in detail but somehow sparsely painted, the brushstrokes seemingly casually applied as though in an idle moment of nothing better to do.
It was a wonder to Nina that his work wasn’t better known, but if all went well tonight, she might be responsible for changing that for him. Not that he gave the slightest indication of wanting to make a name for himself. Quite the reverse. When she’d initially approached him about showing his paintings, he’d furrowed his bushy eyebrows from beneath which he had given her a haughty stare as though it were quite beneath him to share his work. Perhaps it was his very resistance to the idea of an exhibition that compelled her to make it happen and she’d employed all her charm and persuasion to that end.
She’d first come across a painting of his while browsing an online catalogue for an auction house in Bury St Edmunds. The still life had caught her eye, and she’d contacted the auctioneer to enquire about its provenance. Nothing was much known about it, other than the owner had been an elderly man now deceased, and the family was selling off the contents of his home. Whatever it was that Nina had seen in the painting, nobody else had and hers was the only bid on the day of the auction. After having it reframed, it had since hung on the wall in her hallway at HopeHall. Meanwhile, and with patient and determined diligence after spotting another of his paintings for sale in an auction, she had tracked down the artist to his ramshackle studio in Bawdsey with its bleak view out towards the North Sea.
‘The caterers seem to have everything organised in the kitchen,’ Jakob said, appearing at Nina’s side and slipping a hand around her waist. Whenever he did this, it had the spontaneous effect of her body subtly leaning in towards his as though she were magnetically drawn to him. Had they been alone she would have undoubtedly turned her face up to his and kissed him, but with Saul stalking his way round the exhibition space and grunting his displeasure every few steps as he straightened a picture here or tutted at some perceived inadequacy on the part of the gallery, she merely smiled at Jakob and said, ‘I think it’s time for a glass of wine.’
‘I’m on it,’ he said.
Leaving Jakob to do the honours, Nina went over to Saul to ask if he would like a drink. One of her many jobs for the evening was to ensure that he was at ease and knew that he was very much the star around which everyone was there to gather and applaud. Of course, she had to do much the same for those who had been invited as without them the evening would be a mortifying disaster.
Saul’s response to her offer of a glass of wine was a vigorous shake of his wildly shaggy head of hair which from the very first moment she’d met him had made her think of an enormous Newfoundland dog. There was the same kind of hefty bulk to him too, that and a crumpled face and a stooping lumbering demeanour.
‘If not wine, what about a soft drink?’ she tried pleasantly.
‘Coffee,’ he said gruffly, barely glancing at her. ‘If it’s no trouble. Black. No sugar.’
‘No trouble at all,’ she said with a smile. With his crumpled face and stooping demeanour, he really was a crusty old devil!
Her neighbours from St Anne’s Court, Jeremy and Philip, were first to arrive and were quick to get the party started, insisting that Saul show off his paintings to them. To Nina’s amazement, he obliged without protest.
From then on, and in what seemed like no time at all, the gallery was soon thrumming with the eager chatter and laughter of invited guests, many of whom knew each other and were delighted at the chance of a catch-up gossip. And while the caterers did an excellent job of circulating with trays of tasty canapés and topping up glasses, and Nina carried out the job of meeting and greeting, Jakob was busy talking up the paintings, occasionally managing to include Saul in the conversations he was having. Already there were a pleasing number of red stickers placed alongside the pictures.
Every now and then and in a classic case of eyes meeting across a crowded room, Nina and Jakob would look at each other and an exquisitely intimate moment would pass between them during which her heart would lurch and tumble, her breath would catch, and her mind would wander from the person she was talking to.
Jeremy and Philip had been absurdly pleased when they’d learnt that Jakob had not only returned to work at Lavelle’s but that he and Nina were more than mere work colleagues. They’d high-fived each other at the news and behaved as though they were responsible in some way. Then they’d wanted all the details.
‘Don’t leave anything out!’ Philip had begged.
‘Not a delicious word!’ Jeremy had implored.
Naturally, and much to their annoyance, Nina had given them nothing. Jakob had proved to be the soul of discretion too. ‘A gentleman never tells,’ he’d informed the two men when they pressed him. ‘Especially a Norwegian gentleman.’
It was still very early days into their relationship, and they were enjoying what might be considered as the ‘honeymoon’phase, the sweet spot when all was fun and exciting, and sex was … Well, sex was the marvellous gift that kept on giving! But for all that, Nina was constantly on the lookout for something to go wrong, like discovering they really weren’t as compatible as they’d thought they were. Or discovering Jakob had a habit which she could never live with – like cutting his toenails in bed, or a fondness for recreational drug use. Neither of which he did! But so far there were no red flags or deal-breakers, no aspect of his behaviour that annoyed her.
Of course, in turn that meant she was constantly aware of her own habits. Was she too tidy, too exacting and too set in her ways? Was she too organised and too analytical? All these she viewed as strengths to her character, but could they be irritants? More than once, Hugh had urged her to be more impulsive, to take more risks, but she never had. Not until Jakob.
She had raised her concerns with Jakob, and he had laughed.
‘Nina, I’ve worked with you all this time,’ he’d said, ‘I know just how exacting and organised you are, and surely you know that I’m the same. It’s why we’re so compatible.’
He was right, they did seem eminently compatible, in spite of the age difference – something she had to force herself not to dwell on – and they agreed on most things. Although she drew the line at pickled herring for breakfast!
One important thing they had agreed on was that they wouldn’t rush things, so for now, Jakob only stayed a few nights with her at Hope Hall, and occasionally she stayed at his house in Cambridge, which she’d discovered was as immaculately tidy as her own home now that his lodgers had moved out. There was no talk between them of what might happen next, for now they were happy getting to know themselves in the role of a couple and what that meant to them both. Which sounded like they were being boringly practical, but there was nothing boring about her life now with Jakob in it. Every day for Nina was anadventure in exploring new ways to be and it filled her with a lightness of heart and spirit. It really was possible to be happy again, she now knew. Widowhood was not the end.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door of the gallery open and in came Cassie and Ben with Venetia and Ronnie following behind. Weaving her way through the guests, Nina went to greet them.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said, ‘especially on such a chilly night.’ She could feel and smell the sharp icy cold of the evening which they’d brought in with them on their coats.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Cassie, ‘we wouldn’t have missed this for anything. How’s it going? You look like you have quite a mob here.’
