by C. Fonseca
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else but here. But I’d love to travel, and if I have a chance, I will,” Andi said.
“It’s an exciting time for you right now, working towards your first solo exhibition. Bloody fantastic.” Ellie raised her glass in a toast. “This is what you’ve dreamed about, and it’s happening. And if you want my advice—don’t let her get away. I have a good feeling about Caitlin Quinn.”
CHAPTER 13
Caitlin loved the view from the floor-to-ceiling corner windows of her living room. From her cross-legged position on the yoga mat, she looked out over the magnificently landscaped garden with its central water fountain. The sun was rising, bringing early light into the estate’s formal, east-side garden. Through an open window, she could hear the wind move through the trees with a rustling whisper. English box and hebe hedges corralled flowering azalea and rhododendron. In parallel lines to the main building sat neat rows of purple lavender, white hydrangeas, and hosta.
She finished her session of Iyengar yoga asanas—a routine she and her mother had practiced since their visit to Pune, India. At that time, Orla Quinn was on a quest to improve her concentration and posture. The primary aim of Iyengar was to unite the body, mind, and spirit for health and wellbeing, but the added bonus for Caitlin was increased flexibility and sensual power. She’d always worked hard to keep her body and mind in tune. Now, however, restlessness inhabited her, and she yearned for more earthly pleasures. She rolled up the yoga mat and headed for the shower.
Caitlin had an easy day, with few pressing appointments on her calendar. She looked forward to accompanying Isabella to an illustration exhibition at the Royal Botanic Gardens, where they would view both watercolour paintings and pencil-and-ink drawings that depicted native and ornamental plants.
Then, maybe, if Isabella was up for it, there would be a short walk around the spring blooms and a light lunch at Jardin Tan. The French Indo-Chinese restaurant was located in the gardens. Dining there would round off their outing nicely.
Caitlin finished her second espresso and checked her phone. She’d picked it up three or four times already, tempted to call Andi. So far, she had resisted. So many questions flooded her mind. Had Ellie left? What was Andi doing? Should she ask her if she would like to attend the Women in Arts bash at the Emerson hotel, or should she just send her the tickets? She checked the time. It was still too early to call, and she shouldn’t disturb her now. Maybe she would ring her tonight.
* * *
“The gardens are glorious this time of year,” Isabella said, as she settled back into her chair. The fragrance of star jasmine and sweet, cut grass carried on the warm wind drifting across the river. The restaurant, Jardin Tan, was big and airy, with a patterned tiled floor and sturdy, wooden tables.
“What did you think of the exhibition?” asked Isabella.
Caitlin refilled her water glass. “One hundred and fifty entries; I think the Domain House Gallery does quite well to display such a large collection of works. Impressive.”
“I noticed you had your favourites.” Isabella pointed to the certificate of purchase in Caitlin’s hand. “Heather’s watercolours are of an international standard.”
Caitlin nodded. “Yes, I love the way she’s captured the perfection of the pincushion-like flowers at various stages of development. Beautiful colours.”
“Hakea laurina. Have you seen the plants around Hakea? They are much more common in Western Australia, but, for some reason, they have always grown in that pocket of Victoria, hence the town’s name.”
“I have. At first, I thought they were a wattle, with those woody seed cases. I was lucky to see one in bloom. Those flower heads with their red and white styles are amazing. There is a magnificent specimen in Andi’s garden.”
“Andi?” She stared at Caitlin. “I gather you have been keeping in contact with the young artist.”
Caitlin closed her eyes for a fleeting moment and pictured Andi’s broad shoulders, narrow waist, and smooth olive skin. She remembered the surprising fullness of Andi’s breasts pressed against her own and the warmth that radiated from her passionate smile. She inhaled deeply and steadied her breathing. She nodded slightly. “I talked to her on the phone once last week.”
“Have you sent Andi the tickets to the dance?” Isabella asked.
Caitlin shook her head. “Not yet, but I will.”
“Well, I am pleased to hear it. That will be a step in the right direction.” Isabella smiled. Caitlin wished she were as sure as her grandaunt. It was totally inconvenient that her trip to Sydney overlapped with the night of the dance. There still was a chance that she wouldn’t get back in time.
Isabella’s eyes lit up as the waiter placed colourful plates of food on the table. “Lemongrass beef, banh mi with house-made terrine, and a fresh and light Asian-style salad, all made with produce from the café’s kitchen garden. Enjoy your meal.” He bowed gracefully, leaving them to relish their food.
“A feast,” Isabella delighted, rubbing her hands together. “What a colourful spread.”
At her grandaunt’s obvious pleasure, Caitlin smiled. Isabella was as adventurous with food as Caitlin.
Isabella always seemed to bring out the best in her. Without judgment or undue interference—Isabella was a steadying influence. The fact that her grandaunt was a lesbian made it so much easier for Caitlin to talk openly about her personal life—much easier than talking to her mother.
* * *
After making certain Isabella was safely back home in the cottage, Caitlin parked the estate’s Prius in the red-bricked stable garage at the rear of the property. She made her way to the house along the tiled pathway and entered through the back door of the main building. She climbed the stairs straight up to her first-floor office.
Currently, the small ground floor gallery was open to the public by appointment only. Caitlin, Kim, and their team were in the process of setting up a new relational database system. Once that part of their work was completed, they would begin the preparation of showcases, plinths, and labels, as well as the hanging of artworks in the main gallery. Caitlin turned on her computer to check her email and reached for the stack of snail-mail that had been delivered to her desk that morning.
Letters, bills, and invitations. “Ah…here it is.” She opened the red-and-grey cardboard envelope stamped with the Victorian Women in Art’s logo. These should be the tickets for the fundraiser—the dance to be held at the Emerson hotel. Excellent.
Each year, the estate purchased ten tickets. This year, Caitlin planned to keep one for herself, whether she made it back from her meeting in Sydney or not. She would post two to Andi’s studio, and the rest were for the staff and interns.
Bringing her calendar onto the screen, she checked through tomorrow’s schedule. Her job demanded a combination of artistic consciousness, business acumen, social skills, and practical abilities. She’d discovered that, to her surprise, it was much more demanding than her academic career, and so far, she was enjoying the challenge—very much.
Caitlin opened an email from Erica, reminding her about the Edge Gallery opening on Thursday evening. As Isabella’s representative, she’d enjoy dressing up for the occasion. Maybe she would choose something bold and funky; she liked to mix it up.
Erica Hunt, the director, planned to introduce her to many of Melbourne’s art elite, so it wouldn’t hurt to look the part and feel confident.
* * *
Satisfied with her productive but exhausting day of painting, Andi was too tired to prepare a hot meal. Instead she settled for a bowl of diced pawpaw, strawberries, and coconut yoghurt. She lay on the couch with Koda nestled on top of her legs. Andi loved spending any time she could with Ellie, but now that Ellie had returned to Melbourne, she needed to concentrate on her painting and the exhibition.
Next week, she’d meet with Anthony Broadhurst, the director of the Watershed, to discuss her progress. She wanted to review dates and deadlines to clarify the gallery’s
and her own responsibilities.
Andi was painting feverishly again after her weekend off, and it was all very well to be painting, but there was so much more involved in having a solo exhibition. The hardest part was getting her head around the other tasks on her ever-growing list.
The document Anthony emailed, listing all the tasks she had to complete, overwhelmed her. There were so many things she needed to take into account; she wished she could focus on her art and leave the rest to someone else.
A surge of panic descended on Andi. Framing, packing, insurance for transportation, pricing, planning the placement of the works… It was never ending.
Koda licked her knuckles, her tongue rough like sandpaper, and brought Andi’s attention to how tightly she’d been holding Koda’s foot. Andi rubbed the paw and kissed the top of Koda’s head. “I’m so sorry, darling. So sorry…” Koda purred loudly and settled back into position.
When the phone rang a few minutes later, Andi reached over to grab it. Disturbed again, Koda bit firmly into her finger, the first infraction forgiven and the second swiftly punished. “Ouch!”
“Andi?”
“Caitlin.”
Caitlin’s laughter travelled through the phone, seductive and irresistible. “I don’t usually elicit such a response.”
Andi closed her eyes, charmed by the cadence of her voice.
“Sorry about that. Koda just bit me. She was on my lap and wasn’t pleased when I moved. Her teeth just found my little finger.”
“Okay, poor Koda,” she said in a mellow tone. “How are you, apart from the new teeth marks on your pinkie?”
Andi grinned, brushing her hand lovingly across the purring feline. “I’ve been working, but I’ve had a few distractions. The weather is warm. Surf’s been good, and I’ve had company.”
“Ellie?”
“Yes. She went home yesterday, so I got straight back to painting this morning. I’ve a meeting with the director next week, and I have to admit I’m feeling a bit swamped.” She couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her voice.
“I might be able to help. Tell me, what’s worrying you?” Caitlin was calm and reassuring. “I hope you don’t mind, but after you told me your exhibition was at the Watershed, I did a Google search and visited the website.”
“Really? Thank you. I would appreciate your opinion.”
“It’s quite an impressive space. I love how the building is curved along the waterfront like the hull of an old sailing ship. I also like the director’s attitude, the way he supports emerging artists. In addition to showing two new artists, they seem to have at least six major exhibitions every year.”
Andi was impressed that Caitlin had taken time to research the Watershed.
“My meeting is with Anthony Broadhurst, the gallery owner and director.”
“I’ve asked around. He seems to have a very good reputation,” Caitlin said. Andi imagined that Caitlin would know the right people to ask. “You haven’t told me about the application process; I gather you had to submit a CV and portfolio. When did you know your application was accepted?”
She felt Caitlin was genuinely interested, and Andi’s confidence grew. “It was a surprise. I got an email from Anthony five months ago asking me if I was interested in submitting for an exhibition. I couldn’t believe it. Of course, he wanted high-quality images and my resume. I was pretty astonished.”
“So how did he know about you? You told me you’d not produced or exhibited for over a year.”
“Anthony and his partner, Todd, were holidaying in Aireys Inlet. They’re friends with Cynthia, and Todd was impressed with the same painting you saw and wanted to buy it. She wouldn’t sell, but Anthony asked for my details.”
“Just like I did. That’s rare for a director. He must have been impressed.”
“I don’t know about that,” replied Andi. “Todd’s practice is in Geelong, and he’d already been my osteopath for over a year. We get on well, and I guess he put in a good word for me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. There is no way someone like Anthony would take on an artist if he wasn’t one hundred percent confident of their ability.”
“Thanks. Be that as it may, I still have to produce another eight paintings by the first week of December,” Andi said.
“I have every confidence in you. Remember, I’ve seen some of your pieces already. I know you’ll be fine.” Caitlin’s voice was melodic and encouraging. That was the word. Andi was encouraged by Caitlin’s support.
“Why the need for an osteopath? Did you fall off your surfboard and land on a wave?” Caitlin asked.
“That is so not funny. It was a ridiculous snowboarding incident. More embarrassment than injury, actually. I’m sticking to waves in the future.”
“I’m very happy you weren’t seriously injured. And it’s wonderful to hear you laugh.” Caitlin paused. “So, can I help you with anything else? I could make some time later in the week.”
Andi could easily pour out her insecurities about her preparation for the exhibition, but pride and her need to keep their friendship as just that stopped her.
“No, I’m okay. I just need to keep working through the list. It will all get done eventually.”
“Okay.” Andi detected a hint of disappointment in Caitlin’s voice, but she had to keep some distance between them for her own sanity.
“But my offer still stands,” Caitlin said. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
Though their conversation ended on a pleasant note, Andi hoped she hadn’t sounded ungrateful or abrupt. Am I protecting Caitlin or myself?
CHAPTER 14
Caitlin entered the contemporary building of glass and stone and went straight to the cloakroom. She unloaded her cropped leather jacket and satchel with the attendant at the desk, which left her hands free to juggle champagne and canapés. She was there to represent Isabella and the estate at the Edge Gallery’s latest show, Women in Time.
Although confident in her role, Caitlin took a deep breath as she entered the main exhibition room with some trepidation. Tonight, she would mingle with notables from Melbourne’s art world, a sophisticated gathering, and she’d dressed suitably.
“I’m so glad you showed up.” A woman’s arms circled Caitlin’s waist as a sultry voice purred, “God, you always manage to look so damn delectable, Caitlin Quinn.”
“Erica.” Caitlin gasped and gently prised Erica’s arms from her waist. She turned to face the willowy, blonde gallery director. “It is always good to see you too.”
“I don’t know how you manage to pull it off—but you do. Impressively arty with the essence of smart.” Erica stroked the fabric of Caitlin’s sweater dress. “Cashmere?”
Caitlin shifted uncomfortably as Erica’s gaze dropped from her form-fitting dress and black leggings to her suede three-quarter boots.
Erica whisked two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray as she studied Caitlin; her intentions were boldly transmitted and positively lascivious. “I hope you’ll stick around. You’re not going to disappear after the obligatory half hour of mixing, are you? You’ve done that before, but there are a few people here tonight I’d like you to meet.”
Caitlin scowled.
“Don’t give me that look. You, of all people, understand the importance of networking in these circles.” Erica’s hand lightly clasped Caitlin’s forearm. “Afterwards, we’ll have a late supper together, as soon as I can get away.”
Before Caitlin could reply, Erica’s assistant waved from across the room.
“Excuse me, darling, I think Nicola is having a hard time with Councillor Norton. That old lech can’t keep his hands to himself. I’d better rescue her. Don’t disappear.” Erica strode towards her assistant, and Caitlin made her way through to the main exhibition.
Using the catalogue, she soon found the piece the estate had loaned to the gallery for the show. It was a large oil painting that perfectly captured its subject—the innocence and spirit of Isabella O
’Riorden, a young Red Cross nurse—surrounded by a group of Korean orphans. The portrait, painted by Maggie in 1952, showed Isabella, bright eyes staring directly ahead. Her slender figure and ivory complexion created a vast contrast to the horrors of war that were reflected in the stricken faces of the children.
“You don’t have her hair, but you certainly share her beauty,” Erica whispered. Her lips brushed Caitlin’s ear.
Caitlin turned. “Thank you for the compliment.” She raised her glass in a toast to Isabella. “She was a woman in love, and she still has that eternal fire burning inside her…after all these years.”
“What was their story?” Erica asked. She looked up at the portrait.
Caitlin moved forward to stand beside her. “At the end of their war service, Isabella had to return to Ireland. Maggie came home to Australia. She carried the unfinished portrait of her lover home with her.”
“Going to opposite corners of the world must have been heartbreaking.”
“Yes, but Maggie was determined to reunite and, after less than a year, made the arduous six-week voyage to Ireland by ship with the finished painting.” Caitlin gazed up at the canvas. “This was her trump card. Her chance to secure Isabella’s love.”
“It obviously worked. When did they come to Australia?”
“A few months later. It was tough on Isabella. She left her country, her home, and family.”
Erica raised her champagne flute. “Let’s drink to a remarkable woman.”
“She is…indeed.”
Isabella was a remarkable woman and had led an amazing life. Caitlin was proud of her grandaunt. She was exuberant and passionate—an inspiration to Caitlin.
“So, what happened next?” asked Erica.
Caitlin recounted the story of how Isabella and Maggie became part of the fifties’ art movement in Melbourne. Local artists were rejecting international art trends in favour of a uniquely Australian artistic perspective. Their relationship withstood separation from family, immigration, red tape, and the pressures of living as a lesbian couple in Melbourne’s high society.
