Chapter Twenty-Six
We might have been in the poshest hotel in Venice, but in the end, a work meeting is a work meeting.
Which was why, at the sight of EKArts and Resilience Needs colleagues gathered together, clutching cups of coffee and tiny biscuits, I had to fight the instinct to turn on my heel.
After lunch I’d flipped to casual and dressed in a cropped grey cardigan with large buttons and acid-wash wide-leg jeans, along with my deeply unstylish fake fur-lined boots.
Meanwhile, Jacob had changed back to formal.
I considered how long it would take me to get back to the hotel and put on a safe version of my usual black outfit, then discounted it.
The chatty, happy staff members included Sasha, wide-eyed with delight at being in the room.
At the last minute, several other members of staff who’d previously been uninterested in Chroma had signed up to come along, too.
Funny how a trip to Venice got everybody on board with the new dating app that was apparently being invented out of nowhere.
Sasha threaded her way through the group and arrived at my side. ‘I’ve had enquiries on B Corp status from the Financial Times and Communicate Magazine,’ she said to me.
‘Did you send them the standard press release?’ I asked.
‘No, er, I’ll do that this evening,’ she said.
‘Also, there’s a bunch of meeting requests for the week you get back.
I’ll forward you details. I can’t quite work out which ones you’d want to go to.
And did you see I emailed Dawson about the website issue he asked about?
’ Sasha had access to my email inbox for urgent matters, i.e.
when the number of unread emails went over two hundred.
I winced to myself. My lovely day, travelling, eating pasta and sleeping, had led to a build-up of messages.
There was also the matter of a strategy document I’d been sent but hadn’t seen fit to comment on.
I’d put it off till today then got caught up with fixing the payment problem for Alex’s physio.
This wasn’t what I was normally like; things were starting to get on top of me.
‘I didn’t see you’d responded to Dawson,’ I said to Sasha, ‘but thank you. I’ll catch up with things this evening.
I really need to nail down the specifics of the happy couple’s announcement.
’ They had vetoed our early draft – the draft Olly and I had written before that smokin’ kiss – having let it ‘percolate’ until this point.
They wanted something that gave more details on the new app (when we’d first written the statement, we’d had no idea what those details were); something which ‘delineated their joint philosophy’, which was, precisely, what?
And although I’d said ‘yes, of course, no problem,’ to their instructions, as I always did, I now found myself without any idea of what we were supposed to write.
We were back to square one and due to present to potential investors in four days’ time.
Sasha went to get another cup of coffee.
I glanced across the room to see Olly standing there, his laptop tucked under his arm.
He’d put on a dark green jumper over his denim shirt and his eyes popped as though a filter had been applied to the scene.
No matter where I looked, our gazes kept snagging. I didn’t need this.
Jacob, who was dressed in a bespoke tweed suit and looked as though he was very tired of everyone milling around, called for people to take a seat at the large U-shaped table that had been set out.
As the room settled, Esme and Ajax entered, their argument seemingly forgotten.
Just this once, they were dressed similarly: Esme in a cream boiler suit with a long magenta scarf wrapped around her neck; Ajax in white trousers and shirt, with a chunky, ink-blue cardigan, his usual suit left in his suitcase.
Esme went straight to the live whiteboard and switched it on, beaming the phrase ART IS LOVE / LOVE IS ART into the middle of it, a love-buzzy smile on her face.
It was definitely time for me to exit. All of my tolerance had been used up by apologising to Rebecca as I transferred a chunk of money from my account, and soothing Dad.
(‘You know it was your mum’s birthday yesterday,’ he’d said, as though I wouldn’t remember. ‘I know, Dad,’ I’d muttered.)
I stood against the back wall as Esme began to speak in her husky voice.
‘Esteemed colleagues, I am so pleased, so pleased to welcome you here to work on our baby project, Chroma. Chroma will use art to match would-be lovers, ensuring people are matched on a far deeper level than dating apps normally manage.’
There was a random scattering of applause.
‘I want you to bring your whole selves to this process. We want this app to reflect life in its beauty and complexity, darkness and light. To unlock the secrets of attraction.’
Ajax was nodding.
I glanced up, and my eyes met Olly’s. He pointed questioningly towards the exit. I nodded and followed him.
‘So,’ said Olly gloomily. ‘As you said, people will be matched according to their responses to specific artworks, and a series of questions. Then they will be shown their matches. The Resilience Needs technical team have put together a very rough idea of what some of the screens might include, or look like, as a jumping off point. Lots of the discussions over the next few days will be about look and feel, as well as what kind of art and questions will be included.’
We were in the room next door to the brainstorming session, and we had the better deal than the group. It overlooked the lagoon, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a mahogany table and velvet upholstered Rococo chairs which made our flipchart look very out of place.
‘I know there are plans to talk about colour palettes, and trying to vision board ideas for the aesthetic,’ I said. ‘Our people will take the lead on that – obviously to be refined by a design agency later.’
‘And today they’re brainstorming the questions that people answer when they sign up.’ Olly put a printed list of bullet points on the table. ‘These are A&E’s first thoughts, which they’ll be talking about now.’
We looked at them in silence. ‘It’s quite a mix,’ I said. The questions involved everything from logic puzzles to favourite colours. ‘They’ll need to consult a psychologist, or similar, to firm these up?’
‘High likely,’ said Olly, his tone brusque.
‘Do we need to cover all of this in the speech for potential investors?’ I said. ‘We don’t have much that’s concrete to work with. We can keep things fairly conceptual.’
‘I think Deliberately Vague is the phrase you’re looking for,’ he said sharply. ‘But, in my experience, potential investors will ask detailed questions.’
‘But if we don’t have the answers…’ I said.
His mouth remained in a grim line. ‘I guess in the art world, you’re used to winging it like this,’ he said.
I was opening my mouth to ask him what he meant by that, when the door swung open and Jacob stomped in.
‘Fuck my old boots,’ he said in a murderous whisper.
‘Esme’s issued a directive. We have to go to a masked ball.
One of her millionaire patrons is in town, and she’s scored an invite for some of us to one of his epic parties.
Apparently EKArts will foot the bill for the costumes. ’
‘Oh, Jacob,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Esme’s friend owns a Renaissance villa,’ Jacob said. ‘I thought she was taking the piss when she said it to me, but they definitely do. I just checked.’ He named an art connoisseur and private collector who had more money than God. I pulled my saddest face in an attempt to calm him.
‘Very sorry to hear you’re being forced to attend a party. Shouldn’t you be in the other room keeping tabs on the Chroma budget?’ said Olly, checking his phone.
I put my hand on Jacob’s arm. ‘We’ll sort it later,’ I said, as calmly as I could possibly manage considering I’d just drunk my fifth coffee of the day.
Jacob made an indiscriminate noise that sounded a bit like ‘gah!’ and stomped out to cast a shadow over the freestyle buzz-creating session in the next room.
‘Esme’s disrupting everything again,’ said Olly. ‘That woman’s like a hand grenade.’
I met his gaze with my own. ‘I’m sorry, what?’ I said.
‘Ajax is behind on his podcasting schedule. He’s missed a week of recording. We’re getting questions from sponsors as well as listeners.’
‘And you’re telling me this why?’
‘Well, sorry, Lizzy, but I thought you might be able to do something about it. I didn’t want it to come to this but speaking plainly – Esme’s bad for business.
I didn’t realise how bad, until now. We’re losing engagement, and engagement is everything for Ajax.
She’s a distraction the company can’t afford. ’
‘A distraction?’ I said. ‘What do you think he is? She’s behind on her content, too. She’s not creating anything. Whose idea was it to go to the Cotswolds? Who told her to bin off the interview I got for her on Radio 4 talking about women in art? Go for it, though, Olly – blame the woman!’
‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t say that about me. I’m blaming the person who told him to take a break from his recording schedule. I don’t care if she’s a woman or a cocker spaniel. I heard her say the words “Fuck the Sponsors”.’
‘You’re missing the point,’ I said. ‘Ajax is your guy. Speak to him. Unless you’re saying it’s my responsibility to sort everything on your behalf – do you want me to make you a cup of tea as well?’
Olly’s phone buzzed on the table. He looked, then glanced away.
‘Please don’t let me stop you from taking that,’ I said sarcastically, wondering where my inner bitchery was coming from. ‘Tinder never sleeps, after all.’
I saw the anger flare in his eyes. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Let’s just get on with what we’re paid to do. It’s hard enough dealing with this shitstorm without your sniping.’
‘Sniping?’ I jumped to my feet. ‘You’re the one who started the sniping. Who do you think you’re talking to?’
‘I know who I’m talking to and that’s what’s so disappointing,’ he said, holding my gaze with his dark, fiery eyes.
‘You’re the fucking bee’s knees, and you’re phoning it in.
Zero comments on that last strategy document.
’ He waved his phone in the air. ‘When did Lizzy Brinks last have nothing to say? Where’s your head at? ’
‘Thanks for highlighting my inadequacies, Olly,’ I said, far louder than I had intended, and ignoring the guilt I felt at dropping the ball on the strategy document in favour of getting annoyed.
‘And accusing me of phoning it in is pretty rich coming from you, a man who – as far as I can see – devotes most of his strategic skills to finding a tradwife.’
‘For your information,’ he said, in a hoarse voice, ‘I haven’t been on a single date since that night. Not that that should bother you.’
‘It doesn’t,’ I shouted, lamely.
‘When are you ever going to understand?’ he said hoarsely. ‘I’m not your enemy! Can’t you see that I—’
‘Guys.’ Carl had come in and was waving his hands, pulling a face. We both swung round. ‘Lower your voices. Esme is about to do a guided meditation with the group.’
I gave a laugh of desperation and put my hands up to my face. ‘Of course she is! A guided meditation is the answer to everything!’ I said. I turned back towards Olly, saw hurt mixed with anger in his face. Somehow, the hurt was worse. ‘I’m through with this charade,’ I said, half to myself.
I turned and started to walk towards the door.
‘Elizabeth,’ I heard Olly say. ‘Lizzy!’
I slammed the door shut.