A Hallowed Place by Caro Fraser Page B

paintings were all largely derivative, lazy, but in some he glimpsed possibilities. He did not think there was anything he would care to buy.
    ‘Excuse me - would you like something to eat? We’ve got an early-supper menu.’ Leo glanced round. The young waiter had materialised at his side, holding out a menu.
    Leo hesitated. He hadn’t meant to eat here, but he might as well. ‘Thank you,’ he said. The boy sped away. Leo glanced down at the menu, then, after a few seconds, lifted his eyes. The boy was standing at the bar, fiddling with some glasses, watching him. Their eyes met and the boy looked away. After a few moments he came back to Leo’s table, and produced a notebook and pen. He looked enquiringly at Leo.
    ‘I’ll have the Eggs Benedict,’ said Leo, ‘and let’s see …’ He looked up at the young waiter. ‘Some wine. Is there anything you specially recommend in the way of reds?’
    The boy hesitated. ‘I don’t really know much about wine, I’m afraid. But I can ask—’
    Leo shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. I merely wondered. I’ll have a half bottle of the Morgon.’
    The boy nodded and scribbled, giving Leo leisure to scrutinise his features, the small, rather petulant mouth, the light frown of concentration which drew his brows together. He was altogether lovely, quite unconscious of the effect he produced. Leo felt that familiar slipping sensation in his heart. Beauty of any kind touched him deeply, but this young man stirred more erotic depths. Leo watched as he moved away, still writing. God, he was sublime. Leo was suddenly filled with a desire to talk to him, to get to know him.
    When the boy returned with the food and wine, Leo indicated a picture on the wall just above his table. ‘I’vejust been studying this, and I’m not sure whether I like it or not. What do you think?’
    With an expression of surprise that slightly widened his hazel eyes, the boy looked up at the painting. Leo was pleased to see that he did not merely glance at it, but studied it properly, his mouth tightening in a line as he concentrated, considering. ‘I like it,’ he said at last. ‘I’d say the style owes rather a lot to Diebenkorn, but it’s still pretty good. I like all those variegated planes.’ He looked at Leo, his expression inscrutable.
    Leo was both amused and taken aback. ‘You’re familiar with Richard Diebenkorn’s work?’ he asked.
    The boy smiled. ‘Actually, to be honest with you, that’s my painting. So I’m not a fair judge.’
    Leo raised his eyebrows, intrigued. ‘Well, I’m glad I didn’t express a firm view at the outset, in that case. That could have been embarrassing.’ He looked back at the picture. ‘Actually, I do like it.’ He glanced round the Galleria. ‘You have other things here. That—’ he gestured towards another canvas ‘—is yours, if I’m not mistaken.’
    The boy nodded. ‘I didn’t think my style was that unique. I always think of myself as just another boring abstract expressionist.’ There was a pause, and the boy said, ‘Enjoy your meal,’ and moved away.
    At the end of his meal Leo lit a small cigar and sat over his wine, brooding upon the dilemma of Oliver. He’d have to ring his solicitor tomorrow, get her to lodge whatever application it was to try and get to see him on his own on a regular basis. It was years since he’d so much as cast a glance in the direction of family law, didn’t have a clue onwhat basis they made their decisions in these matters. Was it genuine, Rachel’s threat to rake up his past if he took the matter to court? One could never be sure with her. He sighed and glanced up as the young waiter returned to take his plate away.
    ‘Would you like coffee?’
    ‘Thanks, yes,’ said Leo. The boy slipped the plate on to his tray and poured the remains of Leo’s wine into his glass. ‘Do you sell much of your work?’ asked Leo, settling back in his chair, studying the boy with pleasure.
    He shook his head.