Page 62 of Never Too Late
I swallowed hard. My daughter was right. We had done our best to instil those values in her and it seemed to have worked. But all the time I’d been making sure my daughter was never made to feel as inferior as I had been made to all those years ago, I’d forgotten to take that lesson on board myself.
‘Besides,youwere invited by the artist himself.’ She pulled a face that didn’t entirely mask her disapproval but tucked my arm through hers anyway. ‘Come on. Let’s go and look at the paintings. I can’t believe Gabby has let me film in here and get an exclusive!’
‘Yes, that was very kind of her.’ I knew that Tomas must have agreed too. They were his paintings, after all, but as Sash’s reaction to the mention of him the other night hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy, and she was so excited about it right now, I decided to omit mentioning him any further for the moment. Likely she would meet him later anyway.
‘Where do you want to start?’
‘Let’s go this way,’ she said, pointing in the opposite direction to where Gabby had gone. I stayed silent as Sash filmed, the press lanyard Gabby had prepared for her stopping anyone questioning her. When she lowered the camera, we exchanged comments on the paintings in front of us, all of them positive and not just because we ‘knew’ the artist. The scenes were just as intoxicating as they had been the night Tomas had given me a private viewing. The rain gleaming on wet Paris streets, so real I could practically feel it, reminding me of the many times the three of us had run through the rain, squealing and laughing as we got soaked to the bone before warming up back at either my tiny studio flat or the larger one that Tomas and Gabby shared, huge bowls of hot chocolate cupped in our hands as we thawed.
The cool rain was contrasted in the next painting where heat shimmered above endless rows of lavender in a hot, dry summer. A mass of purple marching away from the viewer until they halted, stopped by the foot of mountains.
‘You can practically smell the lavender,’ Sash sighed and snapped me back to the present.
‘Yes. Yes, you can.’ My reply was soft as my mind travelled back to those fields.
‘I might not like him but he’s certainly talented.’
A couple next to us pretended not to hear but I noticed the shared private exchange of minutely raised eyebrows.
‘Shh,’ I whispered. ‘You can’t say that in here. Besides, you don’t know him.’
‘Why not?’ she asked in the way that many of her generation did. ‘I’m allowed an opinion, aren’t I?’
‘Of course,’ I said, keeping my voice low as I steered her away from flapping ears. ‘It’s just not polite to say so in the middle of the man’s exhibition.’
She shrugged. ‘OK. I was complimenting his art, though. It’s not like I said that was shit.’
‘No, I realise that, but let’s just keep our thoughts about other things for later, shall we?’
‘Fine. I still don’t like him, though. Not after what he did to you.’
‘It was all a long time ago, Sash. And anyway, he didn’t do anything, not really.’
‘That’s rather my point,’ she fired back, one laminated brow arched. ‘He just let you sit there and get talked down to by his mother and made no effort to stand up for you. Unlike his sister. Perhaps you should have dated her.’ She gave me a half-smile, signalling that she was done arguing.
‘Maybe I should,’ I replied, returning her smile.
‘Gabrielle would certainly have had your back every time,’ a deep voice behind us agreed.
We both spun round to find Tomas standing there looking unbearably handsome in a suit the colour of midnight and a crisp, white shirt, the collar unbuttoned. Both Armani, if I wasn’t mistaken.
‘Tomas!’ I wondered exactly how much of the conversation he had heard. As our eyes met, I knew. Every single word.
‘Kitty.’ He hesitated for a moment until receiving the almost imperceptible nod I gave him then bent, kissing me on both cheeks. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Thanks for inviting us.’
He nodded along with the game. Gabby was the one that had invited us, telling me that although Tomas had wanted to, he felt that it might be better coming from her. And, from Sasha’s point of view, he’d probably been right.
‘Tomas, this is Sasha, my daughter.’
‘Hello,’ she said, her face not quite a smile but doing its best as she studied him and stuck out her hand. Tomas didn’t miss a beat.
‘Hello,’ he replied, shaking it. ‘I’m so glad you could come. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘Oh?’ Sash flicked me a look.
‘Yes. Your mother is extremely proud of you. You are a social media influencer, I understand?’
