“What I know,” Nick said, “is that the images in the Woman in the Window series remind me of the collection of dirty postcards I found in Uncle Pete’s attic. He said he picked them up in Paris on his way home from the Great War.”
“Your uncle evidently taught you everything you know about art, which amounts to absolutely nothing,” Winston shot back.
The scene was getting out of hand. Vivian was torn between laughter and outright panic.
Pete materialized out of the crowd. There was an unholy gleam in his eyes that looked very familiar. There was a remarkably similar glint in Nick’s eyes.
“Someone mention my name?” Pete asked.
“We were discussing dirty postcards and your name came up,” Nick said.
Pete got a reminiscent look. “I do have a nice collection up in the attic. Those pictures of naked ladies on the other side of the gallery remind me of some of those postcards.”
The entire room was electrified now. Winston turned on Joan.
“I expected to encounter a more sophisticated clientele here tonight,” he said.
“Eye of the beholder and all that,” Joan said. She spoke in soothing tones. “Don’t worry, Winston. I have clients clamoring for your pictures. Now, why don’t you get a glass of champagne and mingle. I see a crowd of admirers gathering around your pictures. This would be an excellent opportunity for you to explain the artistic values of pictorialism.”
“Right.” Winston exhaled a theatrical sigh. “I suppose it is my job to help educate the masses.”
Satisfied that he’d had the last word, he stalked toward the far side of the gallery. The crowd parted for him. He was soon surrounded by a gaggle of admirers.
He had apparently forgotten about Ginny. For a moment she just stood there, stricken. She finally pulled herself together and fixed Vivian with an unreadable look.
“I apologize for the scene my friends just made,” Vivian said. She shot Nick and Pete a quelling glance and turned back to Ginny. “That was uncalled-for.”
Ginny blinked and then she started to smile. The smile turned into a mischievous laugh.
“No apologies necessary,” she said. “He had it coming. Between you and me, I thought the pictures looked a lot like dirty postcards, too. But I told myself I was working for a real artist so it had to be real art.”
“You are working for a real artist,” Vivian said. “Winston really is brilliant in his own way.”
“Do you really think so?” Ginny looked unsure.
“I’m positive,” Vivian said. “His style is different from mine, that’s all.”
Pete snagged a glass of champagne off a passing tray. “A glass of champagne, ma’am?”
Ginny brightened. She took the glass and emptied half of it in a single swallow. She smiled at Pete.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Anytime.” Pete cleared his throat. “Would you care to tour the pictures on display with me? I’m sure you know a lot more about art than I do.”
Ginny’s smile got a few watts hotter. “It would be my pleasure.”
She slipped a graceful hand around his arm. Pete escorted her through the crowd.
Vivian groaned. “I’m sorry, Joan.”
“Don’t be,” Joan said, radiating satisfaction. “There is nothing more entertaining than a loud argument about what constitutes true art. You’ll notice that no one is walking out the door. Mr. Sundridge and his uncle have guaranteed that this show will make tomorrow’s edition of theHerald. My gallery will be the talk of the town tomorrow.”
Vivian shot Nick another ferocious glare. “I just hope they didn’t hurt your gallery’s reputation.”
“Nope, not a chance,” Joan said. She gave Nick a speculative look. “Out of curiosity, do you really think that Miss Brazier’s Men will outsell Winston’s Woman in the Window series?”
“Damned if I know,” Nick said. “I was being honest when I said Ididn’t know much about art. All I can tell you is that it’s clear from Bancroft’s pictures that he doesn’t really like women. If they have secrets, he doesn’t care about them. He shoots them the way you’d shoot a doll or a statue. Vivian cares about her subjects and it shows. She knows they all have secrets and she knows how to make sure the viewer understands that, too.”