Page 113 of The Quiet Wife
Jemie lifted his eyebrows as though bored by the conversation. “I imagine he found it bang up to the mark, as anyone with any knowledge of art at all would.”
“Vainglorious. He said it was… vainglorious,” Frederick hissed.
Frances felt sick. She glanced at Jemie, who appeared as remote and implacable as her husband.
“Pfft,” Jemie huffed in a tone of dismissal. “What does he know? I assure you, that this room is on its way to becoming the most admired, most talked about dining room in the whole of London. As will your appreciation of art. It is something that will be a talking point long after we are both dead and buried. Remember, anything at the forefront of art is always misunderstood. Particularly by those who don’t appreciate it. History tells us that much.”
His reply impressed Frances and granted her a flicker of hope, but her husband was clearly unconvinced.
Frederick looked around. A sneer curling his lip. Then made his pronouncement.
When it came, it was damming.
“It’s vile.”
CHAPTER 37
London - Kensington
Frances’ heart stopped. Jemie visibly stiffened, but just shrugged off Frederick’s denouncement, as though his words confirmed what Jemie had said about art being misunderstood. That Frederick didn’t have the artistic eye to appreciate it. They faced off against each other.
“Of course, it isn’t quite finished yet,” Frances said into the silence that ensued.
Frederick ignored her.
“Is it?” She appealed to Jemie.
He looked at her, and his eyes softened a fraction. “You are, of course, quite right. It is not finished.”
Frederick snorted.
Jemie’s eyes hardened again, and it seemed like he might say something. She needed to get him away from Frederick before things really went awry.
“Perhaps I can fetch us some refreshments. Frederick, my dear, should we repair to the drawing room?”
Frederick’s expression was contemptuous. “You can repair where the hell you want. I’m going out.”
He yanked the door open and stormed off. Frances wilted with relief, but it was short lived. Jemie hadn’t quite finished. He followed him.
“You know, I’d always credited you with an astonishingly good eye and exceptional taste. Was I wrong?” he called to Frederick’s retreating back.
Frederick paused but then stalked out.
Jemie was livid. She could see it in his eyes, in his entire demeanour and she could hardly blame him at being accosted by Frederick in such an appalling way.
“You shouldn’t take any notice of him,” she said. “He’s in a mood. When he’s like this, there is no talking to him. I’m sure he’ll come around about the artwork when it’s completed.”
Jemie just regarded her steadily. He seemed to choose his words carefully. “He shouldn’t speak to you like that.”
“What? Like what?” she asked, bewildered.
“Like you’re his servant? Less than his servant? Completely beneath his regard? Howdarehe address you thus?”
She pressed her fingers to her head, completely unsure of how to reply. It took her a moment to gather herself.
“Are you… are you angry because he didn’t like the room or… or because he was rude to me?”
Jemie’s eyes widened. “He can think what helikesabout the room. It’s done now and if he doesn’t have the style or artistic taste to appreciate it, that’s his problem. I’m angry about how he treats you. To behave like that is bad enough, but to do it in front of me is beyond all reason.”
