“I saw you arguing,” says Tessa, looking surprised. “Shouting at each other on the beach. You sounded like a couple. And I thought, ‘Oh, the children who saved Dad fell in love.’ It felt right.” She pauses, her brow wrinkling. “Aren’t you a couple?”
I can’t look at Finn. My eyes feel a bit hot, and I’m wondering if I’ll need to make an excuse and leave, when a fruity voice behind me booms, “Tessa, what did you just say? The children who saved Terry? What children?”
I swing round to see Mavis Adler looking avidly from me to Finn to Tessa. She’s holding a whisky glass, her fingers are covered in traces of clay, and she smells of tobacco.
“Hello, Ms. Adler,” I say quickly. “Congratulations on your exhibition; it’s stunning.”
“What children?” demands Mavis Adler, ignoring me.
“These children!” Tessa gestures from me to Finn. “Only they’re grown up now.”
“Well, I know one of them,” says Mavis, giving Finn an almighty wink.
“And this is Sasha,” Finn says, hastily gesturing at me.
“They’re the ones who pointed the police in the right direction after the kayak accident,” Tessa says. “If it hadn’t been for them, Dad might have lost everything. I was just saying thank you.”
“My goodness!” Mavis grabs first my hand, then Finn’s. “I remember that incident well! And as an old friend of Terry, I’m absolutely delighted—”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Jana’s voice interrupts us, and we all turn our heads to see her on the small stage. “Welcome to the launch of Figures, a new collection by Mavis Adler.” A round of applause breaks out, and Mavis Adler shifts uncomfortably.
“Lot of nonsense,” she mutters. “Anyone got any more whisky?”
“In a few minutes, Mavis will be participating in a Q and A session. But first we’d like to welcome her onstage. Mavis?” Jana scans the ballroom, then spots her and beckons vigorously. “Please put your hands together for one of the finest artists working in the UK today, Mavis Adler!”
The crowd parts as Mavis makes her way to the stage, stumps up the three steps, then stands surveying the room, her feet planted wide apart.
“Well, thank you for coming,” she says briskly. “And I hope my pieces speak to you in some way. But if my art is about anything, it’s about community. Our community.”
“Community,” echoes Jana reverentially. “Of course, this is one of the central concepts of Figures and underpins so much of your work. Mavis, could you expand on that idea for us a little?”
“Yes, I could,” says Mavis. “Forget Figures for a moment. There’s another story in this room tonight, and I think you need to hear it. Is anyone here a friend of Terry Connolly?”
There’s a surprised murmur, then laughter, as people begin putting up their hands all around the room.
“Who’s Terry Connolly?” I hear the lady from Sotheby’s saying to the Cork Street gallery guy, who starts googling on his phone.
“Terry means a lot to many of us here,” says Mavis emphatically. “He means a lot to this community and we love him. Well, some of you may remember an event that happened on the beach twenty years ago.” She pauses, until the entire ballroom is silent. “There was an attempt to smear Terry, and it might have been successful if it hadn’t been for two children who told the police what they saw. Twenty years later, those children are here tonight. Finn, Sasha …” She gestures at us, and slowly the faces begin to turn. “As you know, Terry doesn’t have it easy anymore. I’m not sure he’d be able to thank you himself. So from all of us, from the friends of Terry in this room, thank you.”
She brings her hands together, but the ripple of applause has already begun. Keith is clapping, Simon is clapping, Herbert cheers hoarsely, and before long the whole ballroom is alive with stamping. I feel hands grasping mine and shaking them. A voice murmurs, “Well done!” in my ear, and now, to my disbelief, we’re being ushered up to the stage.
“This is insane,” Finn mutters in my ear.
“This isn’t for us,” I say. “This is for Terry.”
Tessa has come onto the little stage with us, and to my surprise she steps to the front, pushes her hair off her face, and surveys the audience.
“I don’t much like speaking up,” she says in trembling tones. “But sometimes you have to. By speaking up when they did, Finn and Sasha gave my dad twenty years of teaching surfing on Rilston Bay that he might have lost. For my dad, as some of you know, teaching surfing is life. Was life,” she amends, then draws breath. “So they gave him his life.”
The applause rises to a roar, and I glance at Finn, feeling a bit overwhelmed. Mavis lifts her hands and gradually the crowd quiets.
“To celebrate this special moment,” she says dramatically, “I would like to change the program of events. I now ask Finn and Sasha to do me the great honor of unveiling my new work, Titan. In this new piece, I depict the vulnerability and beauty of humanity in all its rawness, all its power, all its nakedness.”
At the word nakedness, I sense the crowd perk up with interest. Maybe Keith’s right. Maybe it’s a naked kissing couple! Naked Young Lovers 2. That would bring in the tourists, all right.
Jana, looking a bit miffed at the change in arrangements, shows Finn and me where the rope is to unveil the artwork. We take hold of it together, then glance at Mavis.
“I am delighted to present my most ambitious, significant work to date,” she announces to the audience. “I give you Titan.”
Together, Finn and I pull on the rope, and gradually the drapery over the massive structure falls to the ground, revealing—
Oh my God.
It’s Herbert. It’s a massive twelve-foot statue of Herbert, totally naked, made from some rough gray-white clay. Fully anatomical. Fully.
There’s a muffled squeak from the audience, which sounds like Cassidy, and a couple of startled shouts, and now some laughter, and finally the clapping starts. Herbert is standing, looking totally composed, a mysterious little smile on his face, while Simon looks like he might keel over in horror at any moment.
Sensing that our role is over, Finn and I make our way back down from the stage and are immediately surrounded by people, all asking questions. Meanwhile, Cassidy has elbowed her way over to us and is busily fielding all the inquiries like some sort of publicist.
“They’re staying at the Rilston with us.… Yes, they used to come here as children.… Did you know Sasha is our resident wellness guru?”
“I thought they were a couple,” I hear Tessa telling someone else, over the hubbub. “So I wrote them a message on the sand, ‘To the couple on the beach.’ ”
“They are a couple!” Cassidy wheels round, overhearing. “They’re definitely a couple.” Her eyes twinkle. “I’ve seen them at it.”
“Are you?” says Tessa, glancing at me uncertainly. “I thought …”
“Aren’t you?” Cassidy stares at us, her face gradually falling in dismay. “Oh, you two! No! Don’t do this to me, guys. Aren’t you?”