I’m all good, and that’s great, thanks! Vx
She was just walking from Brighton train station in the direction of Danny’s gallery, when her mobile rang. She answered, and hearing the posh tones of Jerico Flint brought an instant smile to her lips.
‘Queen Victoria? It’s Jerico Flint. How dare you run away and not tell me? Mr Pigeons is really quite furious. And is that the squawk of seagulls I hear?’
Vic laughed. ‘I totally understand that the consequences for Mr Pigeons would be far too great to bear if I did that.’
‘Yes, yes, indeed.’
She knew he was smiling. He then took an exaggerated breath. ‘Well, I won’t bother you now, as I’m assuming you’re away.’
‘I’m just in Brighton for the day. I understand Mr Pigeons needs another jacket? I’m happy to help you with that. In fact, I’d love to,’ Vic laughed. ‘Dare I ask where he’s off to now?’
‘Sidmouth, actually.’
‘Oh.’ Vic giggled. ‘Not far then.’
‘Mr Pigeons and the Devon Donkey Sanctuary.’ Jerico slipped into a fine Devonian twang. ‘Subtitle:The Perils of Perissodactyla.’
‘Of what?’ Vic shook her head. ‘And not St Lucia this time? I kind of thoughtMr Pigeons and the Perilous Pitonshad a certain ring to it.’
‘Very good, very good. Maybe thatshouldbe the next one. No. I think I need to keep his detective work on our hallowed turf for consistency, for now at least. The Waterloo clock murder went down a storm. Reached five thousand in theDetective Taleschart this time.’
‘That’s great. Hmm, so, I understand him detecting in cities like Glasgow and London, but do any major crimes actually happen in Devon?’
‘Oh, dear girl, Agatha Christie will be turning in her grave at that preposterous comment.’
‘Oh shit, yes. Silly me.’ With her portfolio case gripped tightly to her, Vic shimmied her way through a group of people who were milling around outside the twenty-four-hour café where she had confessed all to her girls. It made her think back to that fateful night with Danny, seven months ago now. How time had flown. And how things had changed since then. And how ironic that what had happened then – the worst thing that had ever happened to her – was now leading her to potentially fulfilling one of her dreams of exhibiting her work in a real-life gallery. Granted it wasn’t her own place, but… one step at a time…
‘Are you there? Sounds awfully noisy.’ Jerico jolted her out of her thoughts.
‘Yes, yes. Just thinking it would probably be easier to meet you in person for the brief, rather than you doing it over the phone, but I’m staying in Windsor with my mum for the rest of this week.’
‘Really? That’s perfect. I’d rather not travel into town either, to be honest.’ The author was back in his posh southern accent now.
‘Oh, I assumed you were London-based.’ Vic stopped on the corner of the road that led down to Danny’s gallery. She tilted her face to the sky and took in the sun’s warming spring rays. Just seeing the ocean spread out in front of her lifted her soul. A relaxed smile crossed her lips.
‘One must never assume, for it makes an ass out of you and me.’ Jerico continued without taking a breath, ‘Anyway, how about this Friday coming? Say, midday? And I know exactly the place to meet you, Queen Victoria.’
‘Go on.’ Vic checked her watch and grimaced. She had five minutes until she’d said she’d be at Danny’s and she hated being late. But she also loved the banter of this crazy man. whom she had found so attractive since their first meeting, and whonow stirred up a maelstrom of feelings within her every time they spoke.
‘At your namesake’s statue, near the castle.’
‘Sounds good to me. I’ve got to run, Jerico. See you at the bottom of Queen Victoria.’
Jerico laughed.
‘And I’ll bring my sketch pad,’ Vic sang.
‘Fabulous. Toodlepip!’ And he was gone.
Vic realised that she was laughing again – something she hadn’t done in a long while.
Danny Miller Arts was a smart and trendy outfit, set back from the seafront in the busy Brighton Lanes. As Vic approached, she noticed that the gallery had a large, curved front window, where one large, dramatic watercolour was currently displayed in pride of place. Abstract statues sat either side, on plinths of differing heights. A piece of interestingly shaped driftwood was displayed below, to frame the look. She had been so drunk the night they had staggered up to the flat above the gallery that it was as if she was seeing it all for the very first time.
Danny greeted her with a kiss and immediately offered a whirlwind tour of the premises. The walls of the gallery were painted a stark white, hung with original framed watercolours, acrylics and prints of varying sizes and prices – some still-life pencil drawings, a variety of coastal views and portraits depicting the Brighton of old and today. He informed her that local artists regularly supplied the gallery, mostly with colourful seascapes. A stylish touch was provided in the body of the shop by smart black easels, each holding a white-framed, limited-edition print. To the rear of the shop was a curved white counter, behind which a hallway led off to a discreet kitchenette, a toilet, a compact storeroom and another back room thathad been converted into an art studio. On top of the counter was a small display stand of hand-painted greetings cards.
‘Victoria Sharpe, I am literally blown away.’ Danny Miller stood back and admired her paintings, which he had set up on easels in his back studio.
