Chapter 109

“It’s an excellent composition,” I told him. It was of a young man making his way through the storm-tossed surf, a pensive expression on his face, and it was obvious he was unaware of the photographer. It reminded me strongly of the work done by Gustave Le Gray in the mid-nineteenth century, although Le Gray was more inclined to do seascapes.

“I took it a few years ago,” Grant said shortly, not giving any further details.

“I like what you’ve done, and I want you to photograph me and my husband.” I could see he was hesitating. “Cost is no object, and you’d have free artistic rein.”

“That’s an offer you can’t refuse, Porridge!” Paget enthused.

It looked like Grant was going to refuse anyway—I would, if people kept referring to me by such a ridiculous nickname—and I turned to Paget. “If you’ll excuse us, Julian?”

“Oh, but—”

“Kipp?” The glance I sent him signaled I wanted Paget out of there. All he was doing was interfering with my negotiations