Nadia Knows Best by Jill Mansell Page A

minutes. I mean, it’s a disgrace, what can anyone do in fifty minutes?”
    Nadia, keen to be gone, jumped to her feet and said, “I’d better find—”
    â€œOh, here he is!” Having leapt up with even more alacrity than Nadia, Clare exclaimed, “We thought you’d escaped! Hi, I’ve just been hearing all about you.”
    No you haven’t, thought Nadia but it was too late. Clare was already introducing herself, mentally giving Jay Tiernan the once-over and wittering on about handcuffs and lawn mowers. She’d never been what you’d call shy.
    Sometimes you do something silly on the spur of the moment then spend the next six months or six years regretting it and praying you won’t get found out. Like persuading a virtual stranger in an art gallery not to buy one of your sister’s paintings. Because in all honesty, what were the chances of her ever getting to hear about it?
    Sadly, in Nadia’s case it took about six seconds.
    â€œI’ve just seen the painting in your sitting room,” Jay announced. “Why didn’t you tell me you already had one by the same artist?”
    Oh fuck.
    Right on cue, the words of an old song wafted into Nadia’s mind. Who’s sorry now?
    Puzzled, Clare said, “In our sitting room?”
    â€œI wasn’t snooping, I promise. The door was open and I spotted it on the wall.” Jay smiled at her while Nadia sent frantic telepathic messages instructing him to Stop Right There. “I bumped into Nadia in Clifton this afternoon and dragged her into the Harrington Gallery. Couldn’t decide between two paintings. She told me which one to buy.”
    Clearly, those telepathic signals hadn’t worked. Stumbling over her words, Nadia said hastily, “Oh no, that’s not true, I didn’t tell you—”
    â€œAnd?” Clare interrupted. Her eyes were glittering, her face dangerously pale. “Which painting did she say you should buy? The one by the artist whose work is hanging in our living room?” Horrible elongated pause. “Or the other one?”
    As if she hadn’t figured it out already.
    â€œThe other one.” Now it was Jay’s turn to hesitate. “Er, sorry, have I put my foot in it? Is the artist a friend of yours?”
    â€œYes, Nadia, do tell us.” Clare’s tone was icy. “ Is the artist a friend of yours?”
    â€œI… I just—”
    â€œYou complete cow!” roared Clare. “How could you?” Turning to face Jay, she bellowed, “ I’m the artist, I painted those pictures and this is the kind of support I get from my own sister! I mean, what did I ever do to deserve this?”
    What had she ever done? Ha, only about a million things.
    â€œOK, OK, maybe I should have told Jay I knew you. But then he’d have felt he had to buy your painting. He asked me which one I preferred,” Nadia said hurriedly, “and I told him the truth.”
    â€œYou bitch! And which one did you prefer?” Professional rivalry meant Clare was compelled to spit out the question.
    â€œBig mountains. Little telephone box.”
    â€œOh, for crying out loud, that piece of crap!”
    â€œI’ll take it back to the gallery,” Jay offered. “Swap it for yours.”
    â€œSee?” demanded Nadia. “Now you’ve made him feel guilty. He likes the other one best but he’s prepared to take it back because you’re acting like a big baby. Aren’t you embarrassed?”
    â€œOnly at having a sister like you.” Clare’s eyes blazed as she spun back round to face Jay. “She’s jealous, that’s all it is. Because I can paint and she can’t. Nadia spends her days selling plastic gnomes and humping sacks of gravel into the trunks of people’s cars. She can’t even keep a boyfriend, they all run off and leave her, and who can blame them? That’s another reason