She smiled. ‘I think you might mean cushy. Butcooshydoes have a certain ring to it. That,’ she went on, helping herself to a sticky chicken wing, ‘must be the only time I’ve ever heard you mispronounce something.’
‘You see, that is why I have to be here, to perfect my English!’
‘Nonsense,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Your English is excellent already. But I’m still curious. Why are you working in a small provincial gallery. Why not London? Or is there a girlfriend here? It’s none of my business, I know, and as your employer I really shouldn’t be asking you that.’
‘I’m fine with it. But no. There’s no girlfriend. There was when I was in London, but that didn’t work out. I came here for a fresh start and it’s somewhere I feel at home. As strange as it sounds, Cambridge reminds me of Oslo. Obviously without the sea,’ he added with a smile. ‘And the snow.’
‘You wait for when we do have a really bitterly cold, bone-numbing winter, you’ll know all about it then.’
‘I look forward to it, it will make me feel even more at home.’
‘You plan to stay then?’
‘If you’ll have me, yes. Or do you want me to leave?’
‘Absolutely not. You’re an invaluable part of Lavelle’s now.’
‘That’s good to know,’ he said with a nod.
‘It’s just that with your qualifications and ability you could do—’
He interrupted her again. ‘So much better for myself,’ he finished for her while wagging the remains of a chicken wing at her. He hadn’t bothered with cutlery, and she wished she’d done the same, instead of messing about with a knife and fork. ‘But would I be happy?’
‘Only you can know the answer to that.’
‘I am happy. Very happy. I like being a part of Lavelle’s and I enjoy learning from you. You’re a good teacher.’
‘And you’re a quick learner, and as you said this afternoon, we work well together.’
‘So you wouldn’t feel it was rude of me to propose an idea I’ve been thinking about for the gallery?’
Dispensing with the knife and fork, she picked up a chicken wing with her fingers. ‘Go on,’ she said, intrigued.
‘I was wondering if you might consider exhibiting a few paintings by Norwegian artists.’
‘Contemporary artists?’
‘Not exclusively. In Scandinavian art there is a very particular way the light shines out from a picture; to me it always seems brighter and fresher. In European art, the light is almost subdued in comparison.’
Her interest piqued, she said, ‘I know what you mean. I was in a gallery in Helsinki some years ago and I was struck in exactly the way you’ve just described by the use of light in the paintings I saw.’
‘Does that mean you might consider my proposal? My business proposal,’ he added quickly.
‘I think it’s certainly something we should look into,’ she said, ‘For now, why don’t you do some research for me and come up with a list of artists whose work might fit in with the Lavelle’s brand?’
‘The brand which is classical rather than what-the-hell-is-that?’ he said. ‘You see, the Boss has taught me well.’
‘Indeed she has,’ said Nina, wiping her hands on a paper napkin, then sipping her wine and thinking that she was glad she’d agreed to have a drink with Jakob. She felt stupid for feeling guilty about accepting his invitation. What an idiot she’d been! She really needed to get a grip on her emotions. Obviously, his only reason for suggesting they do this was so he could put forward his idea for her consideration in a convivial setting. But fair play to him, she strongly approved of anyone with initiative and who was prepared to seize an opportunity.
Perhaps it was because she was now fully relaxed, and on familiar firm ground talking about work, she found herself letting down her guard and telling Jakob about the family wedding she’d been invited to in a few weeks. ‘When I say family, I mean my husband’s family,’ she explained, ‘it’s one of Hugh’s many cousins getting married.’
‘That’s nice,’ Jakob remarked, ‘that they continue to include you in their family occasions.’
‘It is, but at the same time I can’t help but think they only invite me out of pity.’
‘I can’t believe that’s true.’
‘Maybe not, but it’s what I feel when I’m amongst them.’
