Gallery, afternoon, Allan and Emma
Allan breezed into the gallery with ash in his hair and dirt on his face and a totally smashed cell phone in his hand. It was a casualty of him trying to move a load of stone from one part of his workshop to another without checking where he was going to put it down and he had remembered he needed to call Cartwright about another visit to look over his 'model'. Surely the gallery could tell him the number?
But first he had to observe the formalities.
"Whoa Emma," he whooped. "Are all dose legs yours? All the way up? Jaysus, just the sight of you makes an old man happy!"