There was a private view and party for the opening of the Garret’s Lane gallery, and all the right people found their way to the little cul-de-sac; the write-ups for the opening exhibition were good, the critics were encouraging, there were nice photographs of the conversion as well in an architectural magazine. It was a good beginning. Zachary by this time had taken on inspired, shrewd, calculating Hannah as his manager, and there had been an awful morning six months before the opening when Hannah came to talk to Christine in confidence. — I love your pictures, she had said. — I love them. But they’re not the right thing for Zach’s opening. They’re not big enough. He needs to aim at something big, right from the beginning. You’re not a big enough name, not yet. And he shouldn’t begin anyway with a mixed exhibition: it’s too timid, not enough of a statement. I’ve talked to Hari Rostami, he could be interested in putting together a new show for us. He’s what the gallery needs, as a launch pad – you know, the name, the noise! Later, when Garret’s Lane is big, Zachary can do what he likes. He can put you on properly, and you’ll be big then because he’s put you on.

In her hurt Christine cast around vindictively: she thought that Hannah was head-girlish, leaning forward so eagerly to placate her, the glossy wings of her red hair swinging. Her dark fitted suit, no doubt intended as film noir-ish, was more like school uniform, and her figure was top-heavy with incongruous bosom. Christine felt pinned to the spot, faking smiling carelessness, as if she were being lectured for not pulling her weight on the hockey team. — You’ll never forgive me for saying this, Hannah apologised. — I hate myself for saying it. But it’s my business to have Zach’s interests and the interests of the gallery at heart. Of course I’ve said it all to Zachary already, he knows what I think, but he’s adamant, he’s faithful to you because you’re his friend – and because he believes in your work. He thinks I’m wrong, and even if he didn’t think I was wrong I don’t think that he’d change his mind because he promised, and he couldn’t bear to let you down. You know him, you know what he’s like. And of course if you decide to take no notice of me, which I’d completely and utterly understand, then you’ll just hate me for it, and I’ll understand that too, and I’ll also back your work to the hilt. I’ll do everything in my power to prove myself wrong.