moustache as he studied one of the sculptures of which Thea was particularly proud. The almost life-sized figure of a ballerina, sitting on the floor to tie the ribbons on her shoes, was priced at ?3,000. Earlier in the day a skinny Welshman had elbowed his wife in the ribs and said loudly, ‘There now, Gwyneth, maybe I could put you in your slippers, dip you into a tank of concrete and flog you in some fancy gallery.’ The wife had cackled with laughter and Thea had gritted her teeth, longing to punch them both down the stairs.
To add insult to injury the sniggering couple had left Starburst wrappers strewn across the bleached wooden floorboards. Oh, the joys of cretinous bloody tourists .. .
But this man, even if he was a tourist, which she doubted, was in a different league altogether. Anxious not to put him off, Thea decided to wait for him to initiate any conversation.
Resuming her seat before the half-finished figure upon which she was currently working, she rinsed her fingers in the bowl of water next to it and continued moulding the clay over the wire base of the torso.
Within the space of a minute she became aware of the fact that the man was now watching her. Calmly ignoring him, she concentrated instead upon the job in hand. The naked female required breasts and she had to decide on an appropriate size for them. It was also tricky ensuring they didn’t end up looking like improbable silicone implants. The figure was of a middle-aged woman; they had to have the correct amount of droop.
Oliver Cassidy, in turn, was studying the interesting outline of Thea Vaughan’s breasts beneath her ivory cheesecloth blouse. She was wearing several heavy silver necklaces and no bra, and as far as he was concerned her figure was admirable.
He was drawn, too, to the strong facial features of the woman who seemed so absorbed in her work. With those heavy-lidded dark brown eyes and that long Roman nose, she looked almost like a bird of prey. The swirl of white hair, caught up in a loose bun, contrasted strongly with her deep tan, but although he estimated she must be in her late forties, the lines on her face were few.
Observing her clever, capable hands as they moulded the damp clay, he said, ‘Did you do all these?’
Thea glanced up and responded with a brief smile. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re very good.’
‘Thank you.’
Intrigued by her apparent lack of interest in engaging him in conversation, Oliver Cassidy thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and surveyed the ballerina once more.
‘I particularly like this one.’
‘So do I,’ said Thea easily. Leaning back and resting her wrists on her thighs, careful not to get clay on the full, navy blue cotton skirt, she added, ‘It’s for sale at three thousand pounds.’
She liked the fact that he didn’t even flinch. She liked it even better when he frowned and said, ‘What’s the matter, are you trying to put me oft? Don’t you want to sell it?’
‘I’m an artist, not a saleswoman.’ Narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to one side in order to survey the figure currently in progress, she said, ‘And since three thousand pounds is a great deal of money, I doubt very much whether anything I say would have much impact either way. I couldn’t persuade you to buy something you didn’t want, so why on earth should I even try?’
Accustomed to the cut-throat machinations of the property business which had made him his fortune and rendered him impervious to the hardest of hard sells, Oliver Cassidy almost laughed aloud. Instead, however, and much to his own surprise, he heard himself saying, ‘But I do want it. So persuade me.’
Thea, enjoying herself immensely, replied, ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you might not be able to afford it. I couldn’t live with my conscience if I thought I’d inveigled you into buying something you couldn’t afford.’
In fifty-one supremely selfish years she had never yet been troubled by her conscience, but he didn’t need to know this. Her eyes alight with amusement, she shook her head.
‘Do I look,’ demanded Oliver Cassidy in pompous tones, ‘as if I can’t afford it?’
This time she gave him a slow, regretful smile. ‘I wouldn’t know. As I said, I’m not a saleswoman.’ He replied heavily, ‘I can tell.’
The ensuing silence lasted several seconds. Thea, determined not to be the one to break it, carried on working.
‘I’ll buy it,’ said Oliver Cassidy finally. ‘On one condition.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Mmm?’
‘That you have dinner with me tonight.’
Openly teasing him now, she said, ‘Are you sure you can afford both?’
For the first time, Oliver Cassidy smiled. ‘I think I can just about manage it.’
‘Oh well then, in that case it’s an offer I can’t refuse. I’d be delighted to have dinner with you, Mr—’
‘Cassidy. Oliver Cassidy. Please, call me Oliver.’
For buying the ballerina I’d call you anything you damn well like, thought Thea, struggling to conceal her inner triumph. Rising to her feet, she wiped her hands on her skirt. What did a few clay stains matter, after all, when you’d just made a mega sale? The contract was sealed with a firm handshake.
‘Thank you! It’s a deal, then. Oliver.’
Chapter 12
‘He’s a pig,’ said Janey, who still hadn’t forgiven Guy for his snide comments of the previous night. Overcome with a sudden need for companionship she had arrived at Thea’s house at eight only to find her mother getting ready to go out.
Thea, wearing her favourite crimson silk shirt over a peasant-style white skirt, was doing her make-up in the mirror above the fireplace. With an ease borne of long practice, she swept black liner around her eyes, enlarging
