Hearts and Diamonds (12 page)

‘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.

Alfonso looked vaguely intimidated, which Jenna found both interesting and unusual.

He coughed. ‘Yes, well, let’s see what we’ve got to work with, first. Stand up, will you, Jason? I want to get the measure of you.’

Jason rose and stood with his chin out and shoulders back, as if modelling for a sculpture of a victorious general. His tight T-shirt and jeans showed off his tall, well-made figure to perfect advantage and Jenna thought she could almost see Alfonso’s mouth watering.

‘You could wear anything,’ murmured Alfonso, darting around to take him in from all angles. ‘In fact, you could model. If you’re ever short of a pound or two and worried about starving in your garret, give me a call. I can fix you up with a photographer or two.’

‘I’m not poncing around on no catwalk,’ said Jason, thrusting his chin out still further.

‘Well, the offer’s there if you want it. What are you? Six foot? Six one?’

‘Six and a bit.’

‘Great shoulders, good legs, a dancer’s build, almost. Do you dance?’

‘Bit of head-banging at the disco on a Friday night.’

‘That’s a no, I take it?’

‘I’m not Billy Elliot, no.’

‘And what’s your personal style? I mean, I love what you’ve got on now. Clean, simple. Very young Marlon Brando, James Dean. It could almost work just as is. If you had a big budget to spend on clothes, what would you buy yourself?’

Jason shrugged. ‘Back home, I just wore trackies. Hoodies. I never cared that much what I wore. I suppose I might get myself a decent leather jacket, but I dunno. More likely to spend the money on good paints, cost a fucking fortune, they do.’

‘Right. I’m getting a Wild Ones vibe off you, Jason, if you don’t mind my saying.’

Jason looked rather flattered.

‘Sound,’ he said. ‘So what does that mean? What kind of dress-up doll do I get to be?’

Alfonso smiled widely, daring to put a hand on Jason’s shoulder and manipulate him gently into a less aggressive pose.

‘I think you have such a wealth of natural attractiveness and charisma that we can afford to keep it simple.’ Ostensibly, he spoke to Jason, but Jenna knew that he was really addressing her. ‘You’ve got a great body, a really strong face. You’re sexy and you know it. There’s no need to overegg that.’

‘I agree,’ said Jenna eagerly. ‘And he looks like an artist already. Those eyes – such soul.’

Jason snorted. ‘Yeah, baby. You know I’ve got soul.’

Alfonso stepped back, appraising his client as if fixing him in final memory.

Then he went over to the racks.

‘I think I know what I’m aiming for,’ he said, rummaging among the coat-hangers. ‘But let me try a few things. Just for fun, and to perfect my focus.’

He came out with a checked shirt, a pair of very tight, bright green skinny jeans, a fringed scarf and a pair of Converse high-tops.

‘Get bent,’ said Jason, eyeing the jeans. ‘They look like agony.’

‘This is the current artistic look, Jason. Try it for size. You might like it.’

Alfonso directed him behind one of his screens and Jenna waited, grinning at the various exclamations of discomfort and disgust that filtered out from it.

When he came out, with legs like pea green poles, she laughed with delight.

‘I look a right tool,’ he grumbled, as Alfonso rushed forwards with a pair of spectacles and a beanie hat.

‘There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight.’

‘No, but put them on. They’ve got plain glass in them. Honestly, people wear them to look cool these days. My God. You just need to cultivate that bit of beard you’ve got, and you’re totally Hoxton Square.’

‘I’m not sure he’s meant to be,’ cautioned Jenna, and Jason demonstrated wholehearted agreement by pulling off the beanie hat.

‘I wouldn’t be seen dead in this,’ he said with finality.

‘OK. I think you’re right,’ said Alfonso. ‘It’s so not you. But it was fun to try. Can I experiment with a different look?’

He returned to the clothes rails.

Jason stepped out next in a voluminous white shirt tucked into tight burgundy velvet trousers with riding boots and a black cravat. A big slouchy velvet hat perched on his head at an awkward angle, as if afraid of slipping off.

‘This looks like the bloke on the paint-by-numbers kit I had as a kid,’ said Jason. ‘Art Master of Chelsea.’

‘It is a bit stereotypical-artist,’ Jenna agreed. ‘Though I like the boots. And the shirt. And the trousers. Turn around for a minute, will you?’

‘What, so you can check out my arse?’

Jenna smirked. That had been her exact reasoning. Alfonso didn’t look exactly averse to the idea either.

But Jason had hidden himself behind the screen again.

‘I’m not coming out until you give me something decent to wear,’ he threatened.

‘OK, seriously now,’ said Alfonso, returning to his racks. ‘I think we need a few different outfits that can be mixed and matched – blended into each other. This is just an idea – I can’t give you these clothes, but I can tell you where to get them. First of all, a really good formal suit but with a twist. Something to express your essential subversion, but in a non-threatening way.’

He brought out a slim-fitting, single-breasted jacket with narrow lapels and a pair of matching trousers – not skinny jeans by any means, but certainly tight enough to define the legs.

‘Get hold of those. You can put the trousers on for now – you can wear all kinds of things with that jacket. You can wear jeans with it for a TV interview, the suit trousers and a white shirt for a gallery opening, a patterned shirt for a date, a plain T-shirt for something more informal . . . so many different ways to style it.’

‘OK,’ said Jason, warily grateful. ‘It’s not too bad. Simple.’

‘Yes, I thought simple would work. You don’t need dressing up, really. People will be looking at your face, and taking in your body. The clothes are just icing on a rather scrummy cake.’

Jenna shook her head, smiling. Did Alfonso have a crush?

‘Here,’ he said, passing things to Jason behind the screen. ‘This shirt – never mind if you don’t love the pattern, it’s just to give you an idea. Put a handkerchief in your top pocket and do up your jacket button if you want to look dandyish. And, of course, you can say so many things with your hair . . .’

‘Like, “cut me”?’ suggested Jason.

‘People expect long hair on an artist, don’t they?’ said Alfonso indulgently. ‘Oh. Shoes.’

He scuttled off again, returning with a handful of shiny leather and casual dark canvas.

When Jason stepped out a third time, Jenna rose to her feet and said, ‘Oh, well, NOW . . .’ before running out of breath.

He looked effortlessly elegant and yet also a little bit dangerous. His silhouette was lean and sharp with the jacket done up, but also raffish and sexy with the white shirt beneath undone to reveal a glimpse of chest.

‘Oh God, you are
hot
.’ Alfonso clapped his hands. ‘Seriously. You look like you mean business.’

‘But not in a corporate way,’ Jenna hastened to reassure him. ‘No tie, no tight collars. In an art-world way. You do look really . . .’ She winked, and he brightened, losing the self-conscious glower that had hung about his face.

‘Fuckable?’ he said hopefully.

Alfonso clapped again.

‘Believe it,’ he purred.

‘So that’s settled then,’ said Jenna. ‘We go to town, buy a suit like this one and some accessories, a few shirts, some jeans, some shoes, some bits and pieces and there we have one beautifully-styled Jason Watson, ready to knock ’em dead.’

‘Absolutely. I’ll list the stockists I’ve used for you. I’ll email them to your phone, shall I?’

‘Please.’

They spent the next couple of hours in various gentlemen’s outfitters, putting together the new Jason look, though Jenna could not resist buying a couple of traditional stiff-collared and cuffed shirts together with a silk tie and cufflinks too.

‘I just want to know what you’d look like properly suited and booted,’ she said over a snatched lunch in a suitably private little basement Moroccan restaurant in Knightsbridge. ‘Just . . . out of curiosity.’

She blushed down at her tagine.

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. He had understood her implication.

‘Curiosity, eh?’ He took a bite of his flatbread and chewed thoughtfully. ‘You want to dress me up as a boss, yeah?’ He swallowed. ‘Perhaps we ought to get a big desk as well, then? You know. To bend you over.’

‘A big desk might be an idea,’ she said, lowering her eyelids in coquettish acquiescence.

He shook his head. ‘I’ve cost you enough already today.’

‘Don’t start that again,’ she pleaded quietly. ‘You’ll pay me back. You’re already paying me back, by being here. By agreeing to do all this.’

‘Well, don’t forget, we’ve got a little bit of role-reversal to sort out later. We’ve shopped for my new look. Next up, we’re going out to shop for yours.’

‘Not next,’ Jenna cautioned. ‘Next, we’re meeting Tabitha to thrash out the details for the show.’

‘Thrash out? Don’t put ideas in my head, girl.’ He winked and her fork felt a bit wobbly in her hand.

‘Honestly, we need to get on,’ she said. ‘Are you done with that lamb? I said we’d meet her at two, and it’s nearly ten to now.’

‘Fine, but it’s a postponement, not a cancellation. Tabitha first, shopping trip after that.’

‘I promise. I’m going to ask for the bill now, OK?’

They had to dash to Mayfair, but Tabitha was still at lunch herself when they turned up, ten minutes after two, with bright eyes and shining faces.

‘Sorry, she won’t be long,’ said Shona, rising from her desk in the empty gallery. ‘I’ll get coffee, shall I?’

‘A glass of water would be great, actually,’ said Jenna, feeling the sour London air on her breath. ‘It’s gasping out there.’

Tabitha came rushing in as soon as Shona disappeared into the back room.

‘So sorry, darlings, lunch with my accountant, always seems to drag on. Do come upstairs. You must be the famous Jason.’

She stopped mid-whirl to look him up and down as if he were a canvas she’d been asked to value.

‘That’s me,’ he said. His new clothes seemed to have given him a burst of confidence because he didn’t slouch or roll his eyes but returned Tabitha’s gaze with a cool dark searchlight of his own.

‘Well,’ was all she said, leading the way upstairs.

Ensconced in her office with a jug of iced water and an electric fan whirring on the desk, Tabitha opened the meeting.

‘You are a surprise,’ she said to Jason.