The Crystal Cage by Merryn Allingham

felt vastly irritated. He might as well not be in the room. It was a bargaining process between two powerful men, and he was a simple pawn. Whether or not he wished to design for Renville was immaterial. He would have to. But despite its disagreeable source, the commission was sounding interesting. A display space created especially for the sensuous silks of Italy; he might even infiltrate his beautiful tiles into the design, and then the rest of the world, as Renville had put it, would see them at last. It might just be his breakthrough—a goodbye to the Gothic pillaging, the cramped cubicle, tea at ten thirty.
    ‘Mrs Renville will be in charge of the project.’
    They had risen from their seats readying themselves for the obligatory farewell but at this statement, both de Vere and Lucas blinked.
    ‘Mrs Renville?’ de Vere queried.
    ‘My wife,’ Renville said curtly, as though that explained everything.
    Then, seeing their blank faces, he said in a tone verging on the acerbic, ‘You cannot think that
I
would have time to supervise something so…’ and he struggled to find a properly dismissive word, ‘…frivolous. I have a business to run.’
    Daniel de Vere swallowed hard and when he spoke, a newly abrupt manner signalled that he knew himself to have judged rightly in delegating this small undertaking to the most junior of his staff.
    ‘The project will be carried out in whatever way you think fit.’
    ‘Good.’ Edward Renville drew himself up to his full height and looked through them. ‘Our dear Queen opens the Exhibition on May 1 and Renville’s must be ready. As it happens my wife is Italian and an artist herself. She will oversee the design and make sure that it is right for our merchandise. She has a sharp eye, not as sharp as mine, but sharp enough. Most importantly, she will ensure that the business does not incur unnecessary expenditure. In that she will have my full support, do not doubt.’
    The slightest of smiles creased the corners of his mouth. He seemed delighted that he had trampled any likely opposition. With this final admonition, he lodged his top hat firmly on his head and turned to shake hands with Daniel de Vere. Lucas was accorded a brief nod.
    ‘I will bring her here,’ he announced. ‘This afternoon. You will need to get started.’
    Both men looked taken aback. ‘No time like the present,’ Renville gave a satisfied grimace. ‘But before I sign anything, I will need to see the small print, de Vere!’
    He wrenched open the door to the outer office and stalked a pathway through the interested minions.
    ‘Well, Royde,’ de Vere said in a carefully controlled voice once their visitor was out of earshot, ‘You should hold yourself ready this afternoon for a visit from Mrs Renville.’
    Then as he made to return to his room, he added quietly, ‘Remember, they are the clients. They decide. But do try to steer the lady away from anything too elaborate. Something quite simple, I think, something quite modest. Yes, modest, that’s the word.’
    And his office door closed with what seemed a sigh of relief.
    Lucas wandered back to his desk, unsure of what to think. He had disliked Renville on sight, but if an architect only worked for those he took in immediate liking, he would starve. Had he not bemoaned the lack of satisfying work and daydreamed of a chance to show his skill and here was a commission? And here was a commission that opened up any number of new possibilities. He had been in England for only a few weeks and knew little of the Exhibition, but from a brief scan of the newspapers, he had a measure of its likely importance. Discussions in the press were frequent and wide-ranging: from arguments over admission prices to warnings against opening the Exhibition to ‘foreigners’ to moral panic whipped up by some of the papers that Hyde Park would be inundated by socialist demonstrations. The mere fact that so much discussion was taking place meant that a very large