Page 8 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

The dark-haired girl, Cerys, shook her head and grinned. ‘Just humour her. We do. Rosie’s told us all about you, so it’s nice to meet you properly. I’m glad you could make it.’

‘All good things!’ piped up Rosie. ‘I told them all good things!’

‘Thanks.’ I couldn’t help smiling. Cerys and Edie both seemed very friendly, and Rosie was always friendly.

‘Flora’s here somewhere, as well,’ said Cerys looking around. ‘You’ll like her. She’s my brother’s partner. She plans far higher-class parties than this for a living, but we do like to celebrate with cake in Padcock.’

‘I’d noticed. The cake looks pretty good.’

‘It’ll taste good as well. I promise.’ That was Edie looking serious. ‘Anyway — Damien, the ratbag. Tell me more.’ She blinked, waiting, it seemed, for me to expand on something Rosie had already started.

‘Oh,’ was all I could say. I looked at Rosie, helpless. I was partially shocked that she’d already told Edie and Cerys about Damien, and partially relieved that I hadn’t started that conversation. I mean, how awkward would it have been to go: ‘Hi, yes, my friend Damien stole a march on me with a stupid exhibition and by the way, hello, I’m Matilda and I like cake.’

It would never work.

‘Sooooo . . .’ I looked from one expectant face to the other and cleared my throat. ‘Actually. I’m not sure it’s even anything that you’d be interested in. It’s just pettiness, that’s all.’

‘Tell them. Tell them!’ muttered Rosie. The alcohol had obviously kicked in. My friend was seriously a lightweight.

Edie shook her head vehemently, and her earrings wobbled madly, as did Bean. ‘Tell us. I’m definitely interested. I work a lot with the London galleries, and so does Nin. I’ve heard of that new one and I don’t like the sound of it at all. Ninian said he’d never offer them anything of his. He said they could kiss his bottom before he let them have his work. And that’s pretty strong, coming from Nin.’

‘Very strong!’ added Cerys. ‘Yet, I can imagine it.’

Edie agreed. ‘They need to see that it doesn’t matter what a person is — if they’re a good artist, they’re a good artist. Simple. Julio — he owns a gallery in Mayfair, and he’s a sweetheart but he’s cheap on his opening night drinks — very very cheap — takes anyone if he thinks they’ve got promise. That’s one thing I can say about him. Of course, the work he likes can be randomly weird, but he doesn’t care if the artists are emerging or established or anything! His drinks may be cheap but he did let me exhibit with my grandfather, which was very sweet, so Julio will literally always be on my nice list despite his cheapness drinks-wise. You should pop in and visit his gallery. That’s the sort of place people should want to be exhibited in — not that other awful sounding place.’ She paused for a moment and looked at me, tapping her fingertips on her chin as Bean, in her other arm, leaned precariously over to grab something. She hoicked him back upright, almost without thinking, and his baby-fingers grasped around fresh air while he looked startled.

‘Yes. Matilda, you need to visit Julio’s. And perhaps, if you like it, and you think your work would suit it, I could have a word with him and see if we could get you a corner? And then that awful Masochism place—’

‘—Machismo place.’

‘—Machismo place will have to think again.’ She compressed her lips and drew her brows together so her pretty face looked furious.

‘That’s very kind,’ I said, nervously — because hello, this was Edith Hill! — ‘but it’s fine. I will have a look at Julio’s, because I do like a nice art gallery — but I wouldn’t want you to pull any strings. If I did get an exhibition, I’d want to do it on my own merits.’ I hoped I hadn’t spoken out of turn. A gallery in Mayfair sounded particularly scary and hobnobby and judgemental and all the rest . . .

‘No problem,’ said Edie. ‘But!’ She raised her hand and wagged a finger. Bean did the same, but looked a little confused. ‘If you did change your mind, I’d be happy to step in. It’ll get one over on those blokey fools as they’ll realize what they’re missing. Publicity could include the fact that you went around a few galleries — including that Masochism—’

‘—Machismo.’

‘—Machismo one, and then by rights they should squirm because everyone will hear in a roundabout way how anti-women they are.’

‘But I honestly don’t think they’ll care,’ I tried again.

Edie grinned. ‘Maybe they won’t. But at least you’ll have an exhibition at Julio’s.’

I did think, briefly, and then Damien can put that in his pipe and smoke it but I was, in equal parts, horrified at the potential nepotism . . . yet devilishly tempted to do it. Imagine Damien’s face if I got into Julio’s gallery! In Mayfair! I could just imagine it . . .

Damien, aged twenty-six: ‘Oh I’ve got an exhibition as an emerging male artist in Machismo Gallery.’

Matilda, aged twenty-six: ‘Oh I’ve got one at Julio’s in Mayfair. Ha ha! And I don’t sound like I’ve crawled out of a rock. Ha ha ha!’

‘It’s tempting — it’s really tempting,’ I conceded. ‘But it’s wrong.’ Damn my sense of fairness! ‘I’ll go to the gallery though, if you recommend it. That’ll be enough.’

‘All right.’ Edie smiled. ‘Just let me know if you want me to have a word with anyone, because the offer still stands, but I do understand what you’re saying. Actually, Cerys, can you pass that napkin — thank you — oh, and Cerys, have you got a — pen — yes. Thanks again. This, Matilda, is the address of Julio’s gallery. And this is my mobile number. So pop in and have a look, and get in touch with me and let me know what you think of it. Whatever you decide to do.’

‘Thank you.’ I took the napkin. I felt my eyes widen as I saw the address. It was a very prestigious address indeed. Way above anywhere I’d ever considered approaching. ‘I’ll have a look next week.’

‘Please do.’ Edie smiled.

‘I’ll come with you, Tilds,’ added Rosie, beaming as usual. Her cheeks looked a little pinker and therefore she was a bit more beam-y than usual. I think that also related to the fact she was clutching a half-empty glass of something fizzy at a precarious angle.