I try not to laugh, but her face is moving like rubber.
“Polly said it brought tears to her eyes, and I’m not sure she meant it as a compliment. Poor Lavender,” she adds with a sigh. “But don’t tell her I said that.”
“Show no weakness, right?”
She nods. “This business is just so tough, you know?”
I make a noise of understanding.
“I don’t know how she does it. First, she has to find an artist she thinks will be commercially viable, then she has to pick pieces and reject others without stepping on tender toes. Artists can be very temperamental. As in half temper and half mental.”
“I’m sure.”
“She paints walls on rotation and largely decides how to display the pieces. Prices them. Sells them. She does the hiring and firing, the day-to-day bookkeeping, manages the inventory, and arranges packing up the stuff when it sells—and when it doesn’t. She arranges couriers and insurance, and takes care of the website and advertising. She’ll even wash the bathroom! And for what? For nights like tonight when the tire kickers turn up in force to drink the wine and fill up on nibblies before they bugger off to the pub.”
“You love your sister very much.”
“Of course I do,” she says, turning to me sharply and eyeing me as though I’d asked a stupid question. “We all love each other.It’s just the sheer number of us makes things seem odd. There’s seven times the love. Also, seven times the trouble. Seven times the opinions, and seven times the shit throwing.” She turns back to the artwork, consternation still knitting her brows.
“Think you can ring this one up for me without letting Lavender know?”
“Aw, that’s so sweet! But you know it’s not just her pocket you’re lining because fifty percent—”
I wave away whatever she’s about to say next. “I’m not doing her a favor. I can see this in the reception of a new hotel.”
“What about the metal piece? Fancy buying that?”
“I’m not sure vaginas are the vibe we’re going for in our hotels.”
“You don’t own any of those Japanese love hotels then, I suppose.”
I laugh.
“You could tell people it’s a shark’s jaw,” she suggests pleasantly.
“Good try, but no.”
“Fine. Fine. Don’t help a poor student’s commission.” Her eyes widen as I produce my credit card from my wallet.
“Ohh,fancy.” Taking it from my hand, she pretends to be flushed, fanning her face with it. “Whit has one of these, but his belongs to the bank. The bank he owns.”
“But I hear he doesn’t have his own private jet.”
“I’ll remember you do next time I book a holiday.” She jauntily turns on the ball of her foot and bounces off.
“Hey, Primrose?”
She swings back with an inquisitive quirk to her head.
“You don’t happen to know the name of Lavender’s last boyfriend?”
Her expression reflects surprise. Then suspicion. “Why?”
“It was just something Lavender said. It made me wonder who he is.” I doubt she would appreciate my sharing the story.
“I don’t know.” Her expression bland, she taps my credit card against her thigh.
I decide I’m not sure I believe her.
