Free The Gallery of Vanished Husbands: A Novel by Natasha Solomons

predatory fox.
    ‘My father is very kind and understanding. After all, he’s allowed me a day off every week to concentrate on our plans for the gallery. But I have to work. I have two children.’
    Either Charlie hadn’t told her, or Valerie took pleasure in her ability as an actress. Her mouth quivered in shock, and she pushed her sunglasses up her head, in order to better display her astonishment.
    ‘Oh! Charles is such a naughty thing. If he’d told me, I would have asked your husband down too. I suppose he’s having a dreary weekend with the little ones.’
    Juliet found herself forced to confess her situation, which she was almost certain Valerie already knew.
    ‘The children’s father and I are no longer together.’
    Valerie clapped her hands in delight. ‘Divorced? Or were you never married at all? I know you artistic types. How thoroughly modern.’
    ‘I was married. I am not divorced.’
    ‘Mummy,’ said Charlie, his tone sharp.
    ‘What?’ Valerie simpered. ‘I’m just getting to know your friend. Are you going to get divorced?’
    Juliet’s pulse fluttered like a cornered butterfly.
    ‘Stop it,’ said Charlie, tossing down his napkin like a gauntlet. ‘For God’s sake, leave her alone.’
    ‘Sit down, Charles. You know I can’t bear a scene.’
    ‘Be nice,’ said Charlie, sitting. ‘Or else we shall go, and that will entirely ruin your seating plan for dinner.’
    ‘See how cruel he is to his poor old mother?’ said Valerie, appealing to Juliet. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, my dear. It was much easier for me; Charles’s father simply died. Oh don’t put on that awful face, darling. I know you liked him. But really, the man was a dreadful bore. He liked his garden more than he liked me.’
    ‘Let’s talk about the gallery,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ve all agreed Juliet must run it. It has to be her.’
    ‘No one talks business over lunch.’
    ‘Then I’ll ring for coffee,’ said Charlie.
     • • • 
    ‘A pleasant weekend?’ said Juliet, turning to him once they were finally released. She looked as if she was about to swat him, but then suddenly she laughed.
    Charlie crumpled in relief, so grateful that he wanted nothing more than to hold her as she laughed, but he didn’t dare. He’d never touched Juliet beyond the oddly formal handshake when they said hello. Once or twice he’d tried to rest a casual hand on her shoulder, but she’d looked at him in surprise and he’d drawn back, hurt and faintly embarrassed, a schoolboy caught in his first crush. She came up to the studio every weekend when they worked on plans together for the new gallery but he still felt as though she lived at a distance from him. The only time he was ever allowed to touch her was when she modelled for him. If she agreed to let him sketch her while she studied the accounts or sipped her tea, then she did not object when he altered the shape of her arm, or with shaking fingers – how he hoped she could not tell – smoothed away her hair so he could see her face. He found that he asked to draw her when he knew her position was wrong, and he would be compelled to move her.
    ‘Oh. I think perhaps you’d best never marry,’ she said between hiccups of laughter. ‘It really wouldn’t be fair.’
    Charlie, who had begun to laugh with her, stopped.
    ‘Don’t look so fierce, Charlie. I’ve met your mother, God help me. Now I’d like to meet your father.’
     • • • 
    Mr Fussell’s portrait hung in a bright drawing-room cum study overlooking the garden. The walls were painted butterscotch yellow, the plasterwork icing white. Even the sofas and armchairs were covered in a pale caramel candy stripe reminiscent of sweetshop paper bags. Juliet felt like Gretel grown up, although rather than a gingerbread house this room was an Antonin Carême confection. There were matching white bookcases with carved roses that looked as if they were made of sugar rather than wood. When Juliet read