"No," I said. "But it's freezing out there. You really want to spend the day outside?"
"Okay. Then how about a museum? Have you been to the National Gallery?"
"Yes," I fibbed, in part because I didn't want to be dragged there. Museums make me weary, and the dim lighting depresses me. But I also lied because I didn't want any attitude about the number of days I had spent in stores in lieu of museums. If he called me out on it, I had a rationale ready—the museums and cathedrals weren't going anywhere, whereas fashion was changing by the second.
"Oh, really? You didn't mention you'd been there," he said, with a hint of suspicion. "What did you think of the Sainsbury Wing?"
"Oh. I loved it. Why? What do you think of it?" Deflection is always a good technique when you're in mid-fib.
"I love it… I wrote an article about it."
I struck a thoughtful pose. "What was the article about?"
"Oh, I wrote about how the modernists criticize it because they prefer a streamlined simplicity in architecture. You know, 'less is more'… whereas the postmodernists, including Robert Venturi, the American who designed it, believe that a structure should be in sync with its surroundings… so the rooms in that wing reflect the cultural context of the Renaissance works housed within it." Ethan spoke excitedly despite the dull topic.
He continued, "Thus you have this grand interior with all sorts of things going on, like this perspective illusion where these aligned arches get smaller in the distance, just as they do in the Scala Regia, at the Vatican Palace… because in Venturi's words, 'Less is a bore.' "
"Hmmm," I said, nodding. "Less is a bore. I'd have to agree with Venturi on that point."
Ethan adjusted his glasses and said, "So would Prince Charles. Upon seeing the initial design plans for a much more simple design by modernists, he made the comment that the wing would be 'a monstrous carbuncle on the face of a much-loved friend.' "
I laughed. "I don't know what a carbuncle is, but it doesn't sound pleasant. I wish one upon Rachel's nose."
Ethan ignored the remark and asked me what were my favorite paintings in the National Gallery.
"Oh, I couldn't begin to choose just one."
"Did you see The Supper at Emmaus?"
"Yes. Brilliant."
"And how about Jan van Eyck's Arnolfini Portrait?"
"Oh, I loved that one too," I said.
"Did you notice the inscription on the back wall in the painting?" he asked.
"Refresh my memory?"
"The inscription over the mirror… Its English translation is 'Jan van Eyck was present' and sure enough you can see his reflection in the mirror, along with the couple getting married and another guest. I've always wondered why Jan van Eyck wanted to include his own image in that painting. What do you suppose he was trying to say?"
I had the sudden feeling that I was back in college, being put on the spot by an art history professor. "Hmm. I dunno."
"I don't either… but it does make you think… And don't you just love how huge that painting is? Just dominating the room?"
"Uh-huh," I said. "It's huge, all right."
Ethan shook his head and laughed. "You're full of shit, Darce. That painting is tiny. You've never been to the National Gallery, have you?"
I tossed my hair off my face and smiled sheepishly. "Okay. No. You got me. You know I don't like museums, Ethan! I'd rather live life than walk around some dark rooms with a bunch of dorky American tourists." It sounded like a good excuse. Sort of like people who say they don't read the newspaper because the news is too depressing. I had subscribed to that one in the past too.
"I'd agree that when you go to a new city, you shouldn't spend every moment in a museum, but you'll miss a lot if you blow off all museums… In any event, I'd like to show you something of London. Something other than Harrods and Harvey Nichols. What do you say?"
I thought to myself that what I really wanted was to return to Joseph for a leather jacket I had resisted the day before. It was over four hundred pounds but classic enough to last forever, the kind of purchase you never regret. I was sure it would be gone if I didn't get back there tomorrow. But I relished the idea of having daytime companionship, so if Ethan wanted London culture, I'd oblige.
The next day Ethan woke me up at eight, chirping excitedly about the full day he had planned for us. We showered and dressed quickly, and by nine, we were making our way up to Kensington High Street. It was a frigid, gray day, and as I slid on my aubergine leather gloves trimmed with rabbit fur, I asked Ethan why London always felt so much colder than the actual temperature.
"It's the dampness in the air," he said. "Permeates every layer of clothing."
"Yeah," I said, shivering. "It's downright bone-chilling. Glad I wore my boots."
Ethan made an acknowledging sound as we walked at a faster clip to keep warm. Moments later we were at the entrance of Holland Park, both of us slightly out of breath.