‘Up, up…down. Yes, definitely down. Overpowering it. Up, down. That one’s all right. Down, down…’ He strode grandly along the big upstairs room, with its mansard lights, its piles of paintings and frames. He turned at the end of his domain, and viewed the potential collection. Kaeti was surprised he didn’t stick a hand in his jacket, in the style of Napoleon; one day she was sure he would. ‘That will be fine,’ he said. ‘See to it will you, Bob…’ He headed for the stairs. His assistant was already working, lifting stacks of frames aside, pulling others forward, peering at tarnished gesso. ‘Up, up, down,’ he said. ‘Try that one at the end there will you, Kaeti? Ought to be about right. And that one next to it, if you would. Fine, champion. Now. Up, down, down. Let’s see…’ He readdressed himself to his task. Kaeti sniffed. The paintings were of all shapes and sizes, as were the frames. It beat her how Bob ever made sense of it; he did though, every time. After all, it was a vital process; Toby had impressed it on her often enough.
