Free Fire After Dark by Sadie Matthews Page A

once because part of my degree focused on the development of Expressionism and art between the First and Second World Wars. The paintings here look as if they might be directly influenced by that era.
    In the window is a white card, handwritten in beautifully neat lettering:
     
    Experienced gallery assistant required. Temporary position. Please enquire within.
     
    I stare at it for a moment, seeing my own shadowy reflection in the glass. I came to London with the idea that I would look for some kind of summer job to keep me busy and perhaps to be the first step on a new path. After all, I can’t stay working in my hometown cafe for ever, and so many friends are moving to London to start the next phase of their post-uni lives that it makes sense to see if I can find a future for myself here. I felt that I had missed the boat by not sorting anything out but maybe it’s not too late. Laura asked me to come and live with her in London and share a flat or a house, but I hadn’t seen how I would afford the rent without a job, and anyway I intended to stay with Adam.
    I see a movement inside the gallery and catch a glimpse of a tall thin man with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. He’s in a dark suit and moving about near a desk halfway down the gallery. Has he seen me?
    I decide to walk away and forget about it but something stops me. I’m as polished and primped as I’ll ever look. If I can’t impress a future employer looking like this, I never will. Before I really know what I’m doing, I’ve pushed open the door and am walking confidently towards the man, my high heels tapping on the wooden floor. He turns to look at me, and I can see that he has short blond-grey hair cut to a speckled stubble at the sides and with a neat bald patch on top. His grey eyes are hooded and beneath the impressive jutting nose, he has thin lips and a well-shaped chin. He wears a pair of gold-framed spectacles so discreet they’re almost invisible. His hands are extremely graceful, and overall he projects an air of elegance and culture.
    He says nothing as I approach but raises his eyebrows enquiringly.
    ‘I saw your card in the window,’ I say in my most confident voice. ‘Are you still looking for someone? I wondered if you might consider me for the position.’
    His eyebrows rise even higher as his gaze flickers quickly over me, taking in the dress, shoes and make-up.
    ‘Yes, I am still looking, but I have some interviews this later today and’ – he smiles in a friendly but distant way – ‘I’m afraid I am looking for someone with experience.’
    I can see that he doesn’t think for a moment I’m up to it. Maybe my appearance is actually working against me. He thinks I’m a bimbo, too interested in lipstick to know anything about art. This annoys me. Surely any modern man should know that a woman shouldn’t be judged on her looks alone? Surprises come in a variety of packages after all.
    I can feel a spark of my old confidence come back. ‘If it’s experience with people you need, I’ve spent years working with customers in a retail environment.’ This isn’t strictly true – is a cafe a retail environment? But we did sell some knick-knacks, postcards and a motley collection of antique china, so perhaps it counts. I continue without missing a beat: ‘And if it’s knowledge of the subject you’re after, my degree is in the History of Art, and I concentrated on the early twentieth-century schools, the pre-First World War movements of Fauvism and Cubism and their growth after the war into a variety of Expressionist movements and Modernism. I can see from the artist you’re showing here that you might be interested in this area too. This artist is definitely influenced by post-Expressionism and the Bloomsbury Group: I love those simple shapes and faded tones, the naivety. That painting of a chair and the vase of flowers could be a Duncan Grant original.’
    The gallery owner is staring at me, then a smile creeps