‘Special number,’ he smiled as he filled her glass with water. ‘Now, I suggest you try the linguine. They melt aged Parmesan over it, then grate truffles on the top. Literally the best starter I have ever had. I don’t like to have it too often, though, in case it spoils it, so I keep this place for special occasions.’
‘Right, yes,’ said Abby nervously. From the moment she had arrived, she had tried to be as professional as possible, shaking hands rather than kissing him on the cheek, steering all conversation back to the exhibition. A little voice in her head was telling her to relax. That it was about time she had some fun with someone interesting and clever.
But the fanciness of the restaurant and the price tag of the wine was making this feel suspiciously like a date, something Abby hadn’t been on for a long time with anyone other than Nick, and the whole thing was making her feel as jumpy as a box of frogs.
They ordered, and Abby told herself that it was only lunch. One she hoped to God Elliot was picking up the bill for, otherwise she was going to have to sell all her worldly goods at the next local car boot sale in order to pay for it.
‘Well, I’m flavour of the week with my editor,’ said Elliot, handing his menu back to the waiter. ‘I think he’s even ordered a copy of The Last Goodbye for his wife, although I hope there’s no hidden meaning in the gesture. It’s been rumoured for months that he’s having an affair with someone in ad sales.’
He smiled again, his orthodontically perfect teeth reminding Abby that not all men were created equal.
‘So what’s the next big exhibition I can look forward to?’ he said, meeting her gaze and not letting go. ‘You’re a brilliant curator. I get invited to a lot of these things, and Great British Explorers was the best I’ve seen in ages.’
‘I wish everyone agreed with you,’ sighed Abby, grateful for his words.
Elliot frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
She was desperate to offload her problems, and Elliot Hall seemed like the sort of capable, can-do person who would know what to do about them.
She told him about the scene in Stephen’s office and about how Christine Vey seemed to think the RCI could manage quite well without her.
She expected him to be sympathetic, but his expression was bullish.
‘Well, let her,’ he said, as their starters were placed before them. ‘You’re overqualified for that job, Abby. You’re experienced, commercial, you’re hot.’
She wasn’t sure in what context he had used that last word, but it still gave her a little thrill.
‘The RCI exhibition was a high-profile hit,’ he continued. ‘Now’s the time for you to go out and find yourself another job, take the next step up. You might have to sit tight for a few months until the right opportunity comes along, but this is a blessing in disguise, I’m telling you.’
Abby looked at him. She knew that other people were looking at him too, women especially. Elliot had that star wattage that made people stare, and she felt uncomfortable just sitting in his glow.
‘It doesn’t work like that. Not for me. I separated from my husband recently. I have bills to pay, overheads, so I hate the insecurity of not being in w
ork.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Abby shrugged.
‘I don’t have the luxury of taking a few months out to consider my future, though I might not have any choice. The kinds of jobs I’m looking for, that I’m qualified for, are few and far between, and when people get in, they tend to stay there for life.’
‘I’m sure my father knows a few dealers, gallerists . . .’
She appreciated the gesture, although she wasn’t sure she was the type to get recruited by the fancy-pants galleries around Hoxton or Mayfair, no matter who had recommended her. She didn’t have the right accent, the clipped RP vowels, and although she had often been complimented on her prettiness, she knew her looks were of the quiet, unremarkable sort. That her tidy brown hair and small hazel eyes were a far cry from the oddly beautiful girls with their choppy haircuts and Helmut Lang trouser suits or the blonde Sloaney show ponies who worked in the city’s top galleries.
‘Thanks for the offer,’ she smiled. ‘Truth is, I’ve really enjoyed working at the archives. Okay, it’s like living in a cave sometimes, but I like digging out dusty old photos, bringing them into the light and finding the stories behind them.’
‘Then why don’t you come and work for me?’ said Elliot bluntly.
‘Sorry?’ She felt her face flush with embarrassment and looked into her drink.
‘Me. I could do with a researcher,’ he repeated.
‘Your researcher?’ she laughed incredulously.
He flashed her a half-smile and she felt a little more confident.
‘Actually, I think you’d be perfect. You’re obviously good at finding interesting stuff. You’d just bring it to me and I can work on an angle, then you can help me fine-tune the details as the story unfolds.’