Somewhere in the close vicinity a mobile phone trilled.  After a moment of looking around for the offender Ess realised it was her own.  Hastily she dug into her bag and fumbled for the mute button.  The display told her Oz was bored kicking his heels and wanted to torment her.  She stuffed the phone back into her bag and studied the portrait of Davenport to hide her embarrassment.
 
“He nearly didn’t make it in, you know,” said a voice from beside her.  Ess turned to see a man in his fifties, clothes stylish, hair immaculate.
 
“No?”
 
“No.  Nick was still finalising the exhibition even a couple of weeks ago, took this and thought it rather drear.  Then a week later he came back insisting it needed to be there.  I was against it, but then Davenport dropped in and persuaded me.  I’m still in two minds.  What do you think?”
 
“I think, um.”  What could she say that wouldn’t expose her as a phony and have her kicked out?  “I think he’s very different in the flesh.”
 
“Undoubtedly.  Nick’s very clever like that.  He can find aspects in a subject they don’t even know themselves.  The smug politician, though.  A little clichéd perhaps?  Still, the exhibition as a whole is genius, don’t you think?”
 
“Oh, yes.”  Inside her bag her phone vibrated.  She hugged it, hoping no one else would notice.
 
He finally tore his critical gaze from the photograph and turned to her.  “I’m Leonard.”  He said it as though no further explanation was necessary.
 
“Ess.”
 
He looked at her as if expecting more.
 
“I’m a friend of Martin.  You know, the artist.”
 
“Oh, Martin.  Wonderfully gifted.  Not seen him for a while.  Locked up in his studio, no doubt.  Is he here tonight?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Wonderful.  I put on one of his early exhibits, when he was still quite unknown.  It’s about time he returned the favour.  Is he working on a series at the moment?”
 
“No.  Well, he’s done a series on Daisy, but I don’t think it’s for a show.”
 
“Daisy, eh?  Well, use your wiles on him.  She’s certainly flavour of the month at the moment.  I could work with that.”
 
“Have you seen her lately?”
 
“Me?  God no.  I’m far too worldly for her.  Great artists paint, poor ones deal.”  He smiled, nodded at her then turned towards another group of guests.
 
Inside her bag the phone vibrated again.  She ignored it and scanned the crowd for people who looked the least intimidating.
 
Thirty minutes later she was bored.  People talked to her only as long as it took to find she could not further their career and then dismissed her.  She flitted from group to group of beautiful people like Quasimodo, and every five minutes her phone called to her.  Eventually she gave up and sought out Martin.
 
“Martin, this is a bust.  I’m not learning anything here.  Besides, I’m not exactly blending in.  If you pick up anything, you’ve got my number.  I think I’ll call it a night.”
 
“Okay.”  The disappointment on his face could have been read from space.
 
“I’m not giving up, nor should you.  I’m just giving up on this party, all right?”
 
“Are you sure?  It’s still early.  Others will probably turn up after one.”
 
Over his shoulder a tramp pressed his face against the window.  As he brought up his hands to shield his eyes Ess realised with horror the tramp was Oz.  He saw her at the same moment and beckoned to her.
 
“Oh God.  I mean, goodness, no, I don’t think so.  You’ve got a much better chance with these people than I have.  Look, I’m sorry to play the Cinderella card, but I’ll phone you as soon as I hear anything.  Goodbye.”
 
She air-kissed him in the universal habit of these people as Oz gurned on the other side of the glass.
 
Outside she marched up to the professor.
 
“Ess.  Why didn’t you answer your – “
 
Without breaking her stride she grabbed him by his lapel and dragged him along the street, away from the window of the studio.
 
“Oh, hello.  I like a woman who takes the lead.  Are you going to have me roughly in a shop doorway?”
 
She whirled on him.  “What are you trying to do, Oz?  I’m trying to be professional, trying to build up reputation, because unlike some I’m not just doing this for fun.  Then you turn up and start playing the clown.”  She punched his barrel chest.  “Why can’t you just do what you’re told for once?  I said not to come.  I told you.  But no, you had to turn up like, like…”
 
“Like the phantom at the feast?  If you’d answered your phone, I wouldn’t have had to come.  What’s up?”
 
“I just told you.”
 
“No.  I’m always the clown.  You know that.  It’s part of my roguish charm, and whether you like it or not, it means I can get results sometimes when your stunning good looks and sex-on-legs demeanour fails.  So what’s really up?  Tell Uncle Oz.”
 
She stared at him, fists balled, debating whether to thump him again.  Oz grinned.
 
“Don’t you hate it when I’m right?” he asked.
 
“Okay, okay, this evening has been a total waste of time, and I’ve got no idea where to go from here.  So maybe I’m not in the best of moods, but that still doesn’t let you off the hook.  Your ‘roguish charm’ may work on freshers and barmaids, but Martin didn’t want you there.  What’s so important it couldn’t wait?”
 
“We’re dropping the case.”
 
“What?  Why?  Has she turned up?  Oh God, she’s not, you know?  They haven’t found her body, have they?”
 
“No, she’s still off with the fairies.  Figuratively speaking, of course.”
 
“Then why?”
 
“There’s a pub round the corner and we can just squeeze in a swift one before closing time.  Let’s discuss this in a civilised manner with a drink in our hands.”