How I Left the National Grid by Guy Mankowski Page B

farewell into something more provocative.
    Sam faltered for a moment. ‘My girlfriend organised the exhibition. Didn’t I mention it?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘And what a fine job she’s done.’
    Bonny turned to the older man who she’d entered with, one with the arched eyebrow and air of long-endured suffering one might expect from a restaurant critic. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ she said, ‘Sam is just going to give me a tour of the gallery.’
    ‘What brings you this far north then?’ he asked, easing his way through the bodies.
    ‘Well, trips like this are all part of my new career, Sam,’ she said. ‘Holding has been quite an inspiration to me. I had to see his work in person.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘You don’t like his pictures? Don’t you think they are similar to mine at all?’
    They both contain messages, Sam thought. But his are for everyone, and yours are just to Wardner.
    ‘I don’t know,’ he answered.
    He felt conscious of eyes upon him. He looked up to see Elsa, the icy expression that he had long associated with her now very apparent.
    ‘I’m glad we bumped into one another, Sam. I’ve been feeling guilty. I think I must have freaked you out the other day.’
    ‘I can handle it,’ Sam said, meeting Elsa’s eye.
    ‘She doesn’t look very happy with you,’ Bonny said.
    It occurred to him that in her coat Bonny tonight resembled a caricature of the persona that had almost made her famous.
    ‘Excuse me a moment.’
    He moved towards Elsa.
    ‘You’ve done a great job. I can’t believe how many people are here,’ he began.
    ‘So you thought you’d invite your childhood crush to the opening night?’ she hissed, her voice low enough to be submerged in the surrounding babble. Her shop front smile remained intact.
    ‘Not at all. She’s an artist now. She’s come to check out your show. She’s a huge fan of Holding’s.’
    Elsa’s raking gaze took in the fur coat in one sweep. ‘She’s aged badly,’ she whispered, passing a flute of champagne to a passing guest.
    ‘That’s a bit harsh.’
    ‘That’s what that line of work will do to you.’
    ‘What line of work?’
    ‘Chasing after madmen.’
    At that moment Malcolm arched backwards, gesturing wildly with his hands for the benefit of two buyers. He knocked over two glasses of champagne in the process, throwing foam over the walls.
    ‘Which you never do,’ Sam answered, nodding at her boss.
    ‘I have to get on, Sam. Here, take your lady friend a glass of bubbly. She’ll love that.’
    Turning back he was surprised to see Bonny was already at his side.
    ‘Something has just occurred to me, Sam. Would you be interested in meeting Theo?’
    She received the flute with her fingertips.
    ‘Well, yes,’ he said, torn between the question and the penetrating stare that Elsa had again kindly just made available.
    She sipped. ‘Because I have an exhibition of my work soon, and we thought it would be fun to combine it with a performance of National Grid songs.’
    ‘With Wardner singing?’
    ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
    Sam drank. ‘So why are you doing this for me?’
    ‘I don’t want my anxiety about Wardner to be the only account on record.’
    ‘You don’t strike me as the anxious type.’
    ‘Well to be honest, I felt bad about the impression I gave you.’ There was mischief in her eyes. For a moment Sam could see the iconoclastic manager from days past.
    ‘It’s in London I presume.’
    ‘What’s in London?’ Elsa asked, handing Sam a fresh glass of champagne out of nowhere.
    Sam looked between his girlfriend and Bonny.
    ‘The future of art. And, an exhibition of my work about Wardner,’ Bonny said. ‘Which might warrant an appearance from the man himself.’
    Elsa looked penetratingly at Sam, who shrugged. Sam had the sense that the quiet exchange somehow satisfied Bonny.
    A few minutes later Sam was finishing the glass as the gallery began to quieten.
    ‘You’re not leaving the exhibition