history?â
âThatâs them!â Imogen trilled. âOne of the über -dynasties across the Channel. Utterly rolling in it. Made pots of money in every country in Europe for the last two hundred years,â she reeled off. âJust about financed the Industrial Revolution and bankrolled merchant fleets to every far-flung colony. Theyâre so seriously into money and survival they even made it pretty much intact through the last centuryâboth the World Wars, not to mention the Cold Warâprobably because they had family on every side going. And now they are riding higher than ever, despite the recession. And a lot of that is due to Guy de Rochement. Heâs the whiz-kid thatâs propelled the bank into the twenty-first century, and the whole vast clan just slobbers all over him because heâs raking in the loot for them.
Her voice changed, adopting that husky tone again. âMind you, Iâd take a punt itâs the females in the family that do the most slobbering. Just like the females outside the family! I was practically salivating down the phone, and I was only speaking to his PA.â
Alexa cut to the chase again. Imogen was clearly bowled over by this Guy guy, whoever he was, and Alexa had certainly never heard of him.
âSo whatâs the deal, Immie?â she asked.
âThe deal , darling, is that heâs interested in being painted by you!â cooed Imogen dramatically. âAnd if he goes for it youâll be made , my sweet. No more dull old suits and cigars. Youâll be able to take your pick of the A-listersâthe really fab ones, up in the stratosphere. Theyâre all as vain as peacocks, and theyâll just snap you up. Youâll be rolling in it!â
Alexa made a wry little face to herself. The whole portraiture kick had been Imogenâs idea. When theyâd both emerged from art college several years ago, her fellow student and friend had announced straight away that she was never going to be good enough to make anything out of art, and she was going to go into commercial management.
âAnd youâll be first on my books!â sheâd informed Alexa gaily. âIâll make you pots of money, see if I donât. No starving in garrets eating the acrylics for you, I promise!â
âIâm not really very interested in making money out of art,â Alexa had temporised.
âYes, well,â Imogen had retorted, and Alexa knew there had been a touch of condemnation in her voice, ânot all of us can afford to be so high-minded.â
Then, immediately seeing the flash of pain in Alexaâs eyes, sheâd backtracked, hugging her friend.
âIâm sorry. My mouth sometimes⦠Forgive me?â
Sheâd been contrite, honestly so, and Alexa had nodded, hugging her back.
Imogenâs familyâlarge and rambling and open-heartedâhad taken Alexa in, literally, during that first terrible term at art school, when Alexaâs parents had been killed in a plane crash while coming back from holiday. Imogen and her family had got her through that nightmare time, giving her a refuge in her stricken grief, as well as helping her with all the practical fall-out from their deaths, whichhad included sorting out the best thing to do with what she had inherited. It was not vast riches by any means, but prudently invested it had provided Alexa with enough to buy a flat, pay her student fees and living expenses, and yield a small but sufficient income that meant she would have the luxury of not having to rely exclusively on her artistic career to live.
Even so, Imogen was dead set on turning her friend into a high-flyer in the art world.
âWith your fantastic looks itâs a dead cert!â sheâd enthused.
âI thought it was whether I was any good or not,â Alexa had replied dryly.
âYeah, right. That as well, OK. But come onâwe know what makes the world go round,