‘I’ll be honest with you, if your man isn’t willing to pound the pavement and do all the tedious publicity stuff, he won’t get anywhere. I need a person to connect with.’
Jenna leant forwards, keen to sell her idea to Tabitha despite her misgivings.
‘Yes, but can’t we make anonymity work for us? You know – a touch of mystery, of enigma. I mean, look at Banksy.’
Tabitha paused. ‘Well, we can’t, can we? That’s the whole point.’
‘Quite. But do you get what I’m driving at?’
‘There’s only one Banksy,’ said Tabitha firmly.
‘Oh yes, but while the art is different, the publicity goal is the same. I think a mystery artist would interest the press and the public more than a few articles about his background and inspirations. And his work speaks for itself, surely.’
Tabitha shuffled through the pictures again.
‘Well,’ she said at length. ‘I must admit, you’ve intrigued me. I want to find out more about this person and see more of his work – it is a male, I take it, from what you’ve said?’
Jenna nodded. ‘I’ll tell you that much.’
‘And if you’re involved, we have an angle,’ she continued. ‘Because everybody’s heard of you. If you act as his patron, for the purposes of our PR, that gives us a huge leg up from the start. Although it might also work against us – a lot of the art establishment is utterly dismissive of anything connected with popular culture. Modern popular culture, that is – they’re mostly delighted to reference older versions of it. It might prevent his being taken seriously.’
‘But we want to be popular, don’t we?’
‘I suppose we do. It’s a risk. Everything’s a risk in this game. We take a lot of chances.’
‘So, will you take a chance on this?’
Jenna fought a strong urge to snatch Jason’s pictures from Tabitha’s hand. This could really happen, and it suddenly felt very dangerous indeed. His paintings couldn’t now be unseen – nothing could be rewound. She almost wanted Tabitha to shake her head, to put them down, to say it was not for her.
‘All right,’ said Tabitha. ‘For you, and because I really do think this work is rather wonderful, I’ll get on board with you. I’ll see about fitting in a private view – it might not be for some months, though, if you want to use the gallery. I’m fully booked until November.’
‘November?’ Jenna tried to compose her disappointed expression into one of mild understanding.
‘I know it’s a long time away.’ Tabitha shrugged. ‘We’re doing well. What can I say?’
‘I’m happy for you, but …’
‘You’re welcome to use the gallery’s name if you want to hire a private venue.’
‘Thank you. Perhaps I’ll do that. Let me go away and think about it.’
‘Yes, but—’
Tabitha put a hand on Jenna’s arm, preventing her from reaching for the portfolio.
‘Won’t you tell me a little more about this man? I suppose he’s some friend of yours?’
Jenna bit her lip. ‘Really, I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to him. I’m sure the day will come when he’ll be happy to come into the public view, but it might be a while yet.’
‘Goodness. I suppose he does know you’re here?’
An unpleasant sensation of being hit in the solar plexus silenced Jenna before she could speak again.
‘He … he doesn’t like attention,’ she stammered, fidgeting with her coffee cup.
‘A recluse, perhaps?’
‘Yes, that’s it. He’s a recluse. Never leaves the house.’