audience was expected. And that meant an audience for his work as much as for Renville’s goods. Realising this, he had begun to feel a thrum of enthusiasm, his decorative tiles dancing through his mind, a vibrant kaleidoscope of colour and shape.
But then the blow had fallen. He was not to be free to plan as he wished, free to win over this admittedly difficult client to a striking and innovative design. He would have someone looking over his shoulder the entire time, and the end result would not be his. It would be a mishmash of ill-fitting tastes. Not only that, but it was a woman with whom he had to contend. He was to be supervised by a woman who was ‘artistic.’ It couldn’t get much worse. She would be one of those wispy, middle-aged females who had taken up watercolour painting as an antidote to the crushing boredom of domestic life and she would be replete with unsuitable suggestions that he would be forced to pretend to take seriously. Then he would have the fight of his life to dismiss them, one by one, from consideration. And with Renville huffing in the background, he would be unlikely to win. At this moment even the Gothic seemed preferable.
‘Working for a woman, eh?’
Fontenoy had come up behind him, unheard. Lucas was still astounded at the way news found its way around the office almost instantaneously. He didn’t reply, and Fontenoy went on with his teasing.
‘Now I wonder why DV chose
you
?’ De Vere was always known by his initials in the office. ‘Could it be that those blue eyes and that charming smile are likely to loosen the Renville purse strings?’
‘Don’t you get tired of singing the same song, Fontenoy?’ Lucas returned in some exasperation. ‘Having a female supervising the project will not make the slightest difference.’
He lied, he knew. It would make it twice as hard. If she wasn’t fey, she would be a dragon desperate to exercise some influence on the world. Married to an autocrat stuffed full of his own importance, why wouldn’t she?
Fontenoy raised sceptical eyebrows, and Lucas was goaded into defending himself.
‘Mr de Vere chose me to lead the project before ever he became aware that Mrs Renville was to be involved.’
He might as well make it sound important, even though his role had already been downgraded. Fontenoy’s eyebrows stayed where they were.
‘It’s simple. I’m the logical choice. Renville sells Italian silks and I’ve spent the last two years in Lombardy.’
‘Ah, that would explain it, then.’
His colleague gave a smirk and went back to his work, leaving Lucas feeling depressed. His earlier small enthusiasm had vanished and the Renville design no longer represented any possibility of advancement. Instead it was a dead end towards which he must trudge. He had no choice, he told himself; he was an employee and he did what his employer requested. But the opening of the Great Exhibition on the first day of May was beginning to sound like a date that couldn’t arrive quickly enough.
* * *
The summons came halfway through the afternoon when Lucas was indifferently leafing through the firm’s scrapbook of Gothic mouldings searching for new options to present to a dissatisfied client. His colleagues again looked up from their desks when his name was called and again were disappointed to discover that they were not to be party to the introductions. Like her husband, Mrs Renville had slipped in through the rear of the building.
‘
Buona fortuna!
’ whispered Fontenoy wickedly as Lucas made his way towards the office door.
The blinds had been drawn against the afternoon sun, and it took some while for Lucas to focus in the darkened room. The burly outline of Edward Renville was the first shape to emerge. He was standing by de Vere’s massive desk, tapping the wood with impatient fingers. He looked towards the door as Lucas entered and made only the barest of acknowledgments before embarking on introductions.
‘I have brought Mrs
But then the blow had fallen. He was not to be free to plan as he wished, free to win over this admittedly difficult client to a striking and innovative design. He would have someone looking over his shoulder the entire time, and the end result would not be his. It would be a mishmash of ill-fitting tastes. Not only that, but it was a woman with whom he had to contend. He was to be supervised by a woman who was ‘artistic.’ It couldn’t get much worse. She would be one of those wispy, middle-aged females who had taken up watercolour painting as an antidote to the crushing boredom of domestic life and she would be replete with unsuitable suggestions that he would be forced to pretend to take seriously. Then he would have the fight of his life to dismiss them, one by one, from consideration. And with Renville huffing in the background, he would be unlikely to win. At this moment even the Gothic seemed preferable.
‘Working for a woman, eh?’
Fontenoy had come up behind him, unheard. Lucas was still astounded at the way news found its way around the office almost instantaneously. He didn’t reply, and Fontenoy went on with his teasing.
‘Now I wonder why DV chose
you
?’ De Vere was always known by his initials in the office. ‘Could it be that those blue eyes and that charming smile are likely to loosen the Renville purse strings?’
‘Don’t you get tired of singing the same song, Fontenoy?’ Lucas returned in some exasperation. ‘Having a female supervising the project will not make the slightest difference.’
He lied, he knew. It would make it twice as hard. If she wasn’t fey, she would be a dragon desperate to exercise some influence on the world. Married to an autocrat stuffed full of his own importance, why wouldn’t she?
Fontenoy raised sceptical eyebrows, and Lucas was goaded into defending himself.
‘Mr de Vere chose me to lead the project before ever he became aware that Mrs Renville was to be involved.’
He might as well make it sound important, even though his role had already been downgraded. Fontenoy’s eyebrows stayed where they were.
‘It’s simple. I’m the logical choice. Renville sells Italian silks and I’ve spent the last two years in Lombardy.’
‘Ah, that would explain it, then.’
His colleague gave a smirk and went back to his work, leaving Lucas feeling depressed. His earlier small enthusiasm had vanished and the Renville design no longer represented any possibility of advancement. Instead it was a dead end towards which he must trudge. He had no choice, he told himself; he was an employee and he did what his employer requested. But the opening of the Great Exhibition on the first day of May was beginning to sound like a date that couldn’t arrive quickly enough.
* * *
The summons came halfway through the afternoon when Lucas was indifferently leafing through the firm’s scrapbook of Gothic mouldings searching for new options to present to a dissatisfied client. His colleagues again looked up from their desks when his name was called and again were disappointed to discover that they were not to be party to the introductions. Like her husband, Mrs Renville had slipped in through the rear of the building.
‘
Buona fortuna!
’ whispered Fontenoy wickedly as Lucas made his way towards the office door.
The blinds had been drawn against the afternoon sun, and it took some while for Lucas to focus in the darkened room. The burly outline of Edward Renville was the first shape to emerge. He was standing by de Vere’s massive desk, tapping the wood with impatient fingers. He looked towards the door as Lucas entered and made only the barest of acknowledgments before embarking on introductions.
‘I have brought Mrs
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