Ollie approaches him. The gallerist swings his legs over the side of the sunlounger, flips his glasses shut, tucks them into his shirt pocket, and proffers a hand. He is wearing workman’s boots. Unusually, he has a Cockney accent, a real one. He sits with legs crossed at the ankles. He looks like a boiler repairman.

He gestures Ollie to sit down on the lounger opposite, and signals the waiter.

An attendant dips a net into the pool and catches the leaf.

*

Downstairs Jeanie and Lottie are trying to blag their way in. The front-of-house guy is stonewalling.

Jeanie sees Ollie emerge from the stairwell and peels herself off the counter. What did he say?

He told me to resist the siren song of easy, cheap success.

Well, you’ve resisted it thus far, says Lottie.

They walk past Trans Gallery twice before locating it, even though they’ve been there before: the lack of signage is always confusing. They try googling it and then remember it doesn’t have a website, and doesn’t appear on any maps. Jeanie has a number, but they won’t be reduced to calling it. As they pass it the third time Lottie spots the entrance, replaced with an anti-squatter door now, for some reason, and half-hidden behind an industrial wheelie bin. They press the buzzer and are buzzed in without a word.

The room is silent, gloomy, empty. Ludmilla sits on a stool behind the counter. There may be some kind of acknowledgement of them, but it is too subtle and Slavic to decipher.

Ollie glances at the empty counter.

Nothing as gauche as a press release I suppose, Ludmilla?

Ludmilla spreads her ringed fingers.

A door swings open in the back to reveal a glimpse of the lurking Zsolt, and then closes again. The sound of a drill.

List of works? says Ollie.

She inclines her head.

Never mind. We can make an educated guess.

Ludmilla’s eyes follow them around the room as they take in the show. After a few minutes Jeanie says, OK – I think we’re done. Thanks, she says in Ludmilla’s direction.

A fractional inclination of the head.

They step out into late sunlight. Not a bad show, says Ollie. I might actually review it.

Ludmilla would hate that. She’d never forgive you.

What would that look like, I wonder?

Magyars at three in the morning, says Jeanie. Long after you’d forgotten you’d upset her. She looks at her watch. Are we going to the Whitechapel PV?

That’s Thursday.

This is the secret PV. Strictly guest list only.

Are we on the list?

No, but I can find out who’s on the door.

They call into the Whitechapel Gallery and let Jeanie do her stuff with the reception and cloakroom. Ollie and Lottie sit on a bench in the lobby.

All set. Andriana’s on at six. Let’s get something to eat.