‘Oh, those bitches are hell on wheels to work with,’ he exclaimed, then he lowered his voice, putting a finger to his lips, although his eyes still twinkled. ‘But you didn’t hear that from me. Come into my lair, darling. Oh God.’ He stopped dead, staring at Jason. ‘I’m so sorry. I was so bowled over by the goddess Jenna that I didn’t even . . . Do excuse me. Alfonso Vannetti.’
He offered Jason a hand to shake. Jason took it and shook it awkwardly, muttering, ‘Jason Watson.’
The three retired behind a pair of giant screens plastered all over with photographs of Alfonso’s celebrity clients on various red carpets and podiums. In his large corner space, he had racks upon racks of clothes samples and little else beyond a desk on which a slim silver notebook computer lay shut, and a very large, very plush, very marabou-trimmed sofa.
‘Take a seat on my sofa of the stars,’ he offered, pulling out a mobile and speed-dialling. ‘Freya, Alfonso. Champagne, please, and three glasses.’
Jenna could feel Jason’s discomfort radiating out from him in waves. He was sitting stiffly, looking at the clothing rails with some dismay.
‘She won’t be a moment,’ said Alfonso, perching himself on the corner of his desk. ‘She’s not my secretary as such – we all chip in here for a general receptionist, so Freya does this kind of thing for all of us. She’s marvellous but we could do with three of her, to be honest. So.’ He bent forward, scanning Jason with a professional eye. ‘I take it this is my raw material?’
Jenna laughed nervously and held up a hand.
‘Alfonso, you are awful. This is the most talented artist you’re ever likely to meet, on the cusp of getting his first gallery show.’
There was a slight pause.
‘Am I right,’ said Alfonso slowly, ‘in thinking that this is the same Jason that was all over the news recently, linked with you and your house?’
‘I was fitted up,’ snarled Jason. ‘That’s all done with now.’
‘Oh, yes, I wasn’t implying anything! I just recognised you, that’s all.’
Freya appeared with a smoking bottle and three glasses. The diversion was welcomed by all.
‘Well,’ said Alfonso, raising his own flute. ‘Here’s to a fruitful business partnership. To you, Jenna, and to Jason.’
‘To us,’ said Jenna.
Jason said nothing but knocked back the champagne in one, then gagged as the bubbles fizzed in his throat.
‘Horrible stuff,’ he muttered, once he had spluttered himself back to equilibrium.
‘Now,’ said Alfonso, ‘we can get down to work. Talk to me, Jenna.’
‘Well, as I’ve said, Jason is an artist. He’s a serious artist, so I want his style to reflect that, but I also want him to appeal to more popular tastes as well. The trick – the one you’ve mastered so thoroughly – is to give him a look that’s distinctive and yet not open to ridicule. I so admired your work with Dial M on that music video you did with him. Toned him down, and yet made him even more watchable than ever.’
‘OK. An artist. So, Jason, Jenna emailed me photos of some of your work. It’s got a feel that’s a bit modern, a bit street and yet also quite classical, even formal at times. I was really hard-pressed to categorise it. What would you call it?’
Jason shrugged. ‘Art,’ he said.
Jenna bit her tongue. Why did Jason have to be so awkward all the time? She realised, with a rush that touched her heart, that he was shy, even unconfident. She had seen this in some of her other protégés, raised to stardom from obscurity. They would start out so tongue-tied that they came across as rude. She usually sent them to an exclusive ‘finishing’ college for a course in etiquette and social poise. She’d have to get in touch with Georgina at the Margery Mountjoy Institute. In the meantime, it was up to her to give him a few pointers herself.
‘Art,’ repeated Alfonso, completely deadpan, giving him another chance.
Jason seemed a little shamed by Alfonso’s good tempered tolerance, and he tried harder this time.
‘Yeah, I mean, all those things you said. I’ve tried to learn whatever I can pick up from the old dead guys – Van Gogh and Rembrandt and all them – but I want to be me as well. I want to be what I am, and what I am is a deadbeat from a dead-end town. It’s important that people know that. I want people to see and recognise where I’m from and how it’s made me. And how it’s making this country.’
‘So . . . your work has a strong political slant? I was picking some of that up.’
‘All art does,’ said Jason. ‘If it’s going to mean anything.’
‘That’s a strong statement,’ said Alfonso, raising his eyebrows.
Jason’s passion brought Jenna up short, almost breathless. Whatever his shortcomings were, he was no pushover. He believed in what he did and he’d live or die by his beliefs.
‘If you say so,’ said Jason, keeping eye contact with the stylist.