Dulcie found herself smiling as she thought about that lovely hour devoted entirely to food and fiction. Now, reality had come screaming back. She stood in the middle of her room and eyed her laptop as though it was the enemy.
She did not want to open it. There would be emails. Too many emails. And not just from him either. She reached beyond it on the table and picked up the bottle of wine that she’d grabbed at the duty free shop after her arrival. Bordeaux. A label that she usually didn’t see in the States. She had spent too much on it and did not care. She had opened it the previous night, and it had not disappointed. Now she popped out the cork and searched around the room for a glass. Something that resembled a whiskey tumbler was in the bathroom with a little cardboard cover over it to ensure, somehow, that it was sparkling clean. Good enough.
She poured a glass of wine, took a deep breath, and opened her laptop. The messages began downloading. They kept downloading. Dulcie looked away, not wanting to see his name appear. She stood up and opened the door to the balcony.
With the gentle breeze fluttering the curtains, Dulcie at last turned to the computer. Oddly, there was only one message from Nicholas Black. It simply said:
Dulcie, I’ve been trying to get in touch via text. Just heard you were away. Hope all is well. I’d like to see you when you get back. –Nick
That was it? She had expected more. Should she reply? She sat back and sipped her wine. Then she noticed the series of emails from Rachel.
Rachel had been Dulcie’s assistant since Dulcie had become the director of the museum. Rachel had started out as a volunteer at the front desk but had proved her capabilities well. She had a way of being able to second-guess everything that Dulcie needed before she needed it. It was a natural fit, so when it was obvious that Dulcie needed an assistant, it was equally obvious who that person would be.
Now, however, it seemed that Rachel was in over her head. Dulcie started with the oldest message and worked her way up:
Visiting artist is here… not happy … needs larger place, on ocean with north-facing studio … must have room for wife and sister as well … needs different brand of paint in museum studio, must order from France … will only work with maximum of five students for master classes … must have freshly brewed green tea from Ceylon…
“Oh my!” Dulcie said out loud. She immediately wrote back:
Rachel, hang in there. I’ll be back tomorrow and clear everything up. Sorry you’re stuck with this situation. I had no idea! Thanks for all your work so far. –Dulcie
Logan Dumbarton. Noted for his abstract oils of seascapes. At least, most art critics assumed they were seascapes, and Logan never denied it. His sister was his business manager and had initially contacted Dulcie with the idea for Logan to come as a visiting artist. The sister and Dulcie had emailed and telephoned over several months, and Dulcie had believed that all of the plans were in place, which was why she had left his initial arrival in Rachel’s capable hands.
For one brief moment Dulcie thought about calling Rachel. Then she decided against it. She would be back soon enough and perhaps most of the issues would resolve themselves. Dulcie did find it strange that there were so many concerns, though. The sister, Linda, had seemed perfectly capable, professional and reasonable. Yet she had never indicated that she would be coming as well, and certainly had never mentioned that her brother was bringing his wife. Or that he even had a wife. ‘That must be a new development,’ thought Dulcie. ‘I’m losing my touch. I used to know all the gossip about the big names.’
She closed the laptop, firmly deciding against any reply to Nick. She really didn’t have anything to say.
No great artist ever
sees things as they really are.
If he did, he would cease
to be an artist.
― Oscar Wilde
CHAPTER 2
“After all of these years you still have no idea how to make a cup of tea! Are you a complete idiot?” Dulcie heard the low, snarling words from where she stood at the end of the hallway. She proceeded in the direction of the voice at a slow pace, letting her heels click loudly on the marble floor to announce her approach.
As Dulcie reached the room, Logan Dumbarton sat perfectly poised at his easel mixing paints with a small spatula while the person that Dulcie assumed was his sister scurried about in the corner with an electric kettle. She looked like an ever-efficient mouse. Her brownish-grayish-blondish stick-like hair was pulled back in a low, short ponytail with a rubber band. Dulcie wondered if she slept with it like that. It looked permanent.
Dulcie took several steps into the room and opened her mouth with what she intended to be a greeting, but what instead came out as a small gasp. She found herself staring at another woman who was a very stark contrast to the lady rattling teacups over in the corner. This woman’s hair was also pulled back, but with what was obviously a Hermès scarf. The flowing locks cascading from it were thick, glossy, long and nearly black. Her dark eyes were rimmed softly with ebony liner so that they appeared almost luminous. Her petite frame was stretched across a royal-blue woolen blanket that contrasted with the glow of her golden skin, very evident given the fact that she was completely naked.
She wiggled on the blanket. “Logan, this itches!” she whined.
“Yes, my love. That is the price we must pay for immortality. I’m nearly done here. As soon as I get some proper tea we can take a break,” he said in a gentle voice while shooting a venomous look in the direction of his sister. Dulcie waited for him to finish his stroke before she moved farther into the room.
“Good afternoon! I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be here to meet you when you first arrived. I’m Dulcie Chambers,” she held out her hand as she walked across the room.
Logan Dumbarton put down his brush deliberately. He eased himself off his stool with a hand theatrically placed on an aching back, then stood. He touched her fingertips with his, bringing her hand to his lips, and kissed the back of it.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said softly.
Dulcie was caught completely off guard. She looked at him with wide eyes for a moment, then found herself blinking rapidly as her senses returned.
“Logan, are we done?” the whining voice asked.
Dulcie turned to the vision now sitting up on the blanket, reaching for her robe.
“Yes, my love. I suppose we are for now.” Logan Dumbarton turned again to Dulcie and said, “Allow me to introduce my wife, Isabel. And you’ve spoken with my sister, Linda, on several occasions I believe,” he gestured across the room to the woman now dipping a tea bag into a mug of steaming water.
Dozens of thoughts and questions were now running through Dulcie’s head. Who was this sister who had seemed so confident and proficient on the telephone? Where had this other woman come from who now was evidently Logan’s wife? And why was he painting her nude when he was known for abstract seascapes? Dulcie blinked again and said, “I hope that you’re settling in well. I understand that there were some concerns at first?”
“Ah, nothing that we couldn’t solve. Linda takes care of everything so well.” He smiled at his sister who now handed him the tea. Dulcie noticed that Linda did not return the smile.
“Would you like some tea?” Linda asked Dulcie in a flat voice.
Dulcie shook her head. “Thank you, but no. And I feel a bit awkward. I should be offering all of you tea since you are the guests here, not the other way around!”
“We feel so at home already,” said Logan. “Don’t even think of it!” He smiled with a very beautiful, pearly white expanse of teeth.
Dulcie reached toward Linda and shook her hand. “So nice to meet you at last although I feel as though we’ve already met, since we’ve been in touch for some time.”
Linda nodded but said nothing. She forced a smile.
“Is that supposed to look like me?” Isabel had joined them, wrapped in a silk robe that gaped loosely. She jabbed a finger at the canvas.
Logan laughed. Dulcie thought it sounded a bit condescending. “My sweet, it’s representational. You are the essence. The inspiration. The muse!” He patted her bottom and she squealed softly, giggling.
Dulcie felt as though she’d walked into someone’s penthouse apartment. Worse, someone’s bedroom. ‘This is a museum! My museum!’ she reminded herself.
Logan continued, “Allow me to properly introduce this exquisite creature, my wife, Isabel.”
The woman extended her hand limply and shook Dulcie’s with as little effort as possible.
Dulcie spoke first before Logan could make any more saccharine, endearing comments. She was finding them difficult to stomach. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I’m very glad that you could accompany your husband on this excursion.” She quickly turned toward the canvas. “But I must confess that I share Isabel’s confusion. Are you shifting your focus from seascapes now to the human form?”
Logan laughed again. The throaty chuckle that he seemed to emit prior to every utterance was getting on Dulcie’s nerves. “I have decided to take this opportunity of working in a new venue to explore alternative directions. You see, by placing Isabel against the cerulean background, I am fusing an image of the sparkling sun and the waves with their boundless, sleek curves, into the deep blue essence of the mysterious depths.”
Linda turned away. She busied herself writing in a notebook. Dulcie wished that she could do the same. She had heard many artists describe their work in self-flattering terms, but this took the proverbial cake.
“Well, I’m glad that you are inspired by being here. And we are indeed honored to have you. All of you.” She turned slightly toward Linda. “I wanted to work out some of the details of the upcoming class when you have a few moments?” She looked back and forth between Logan and Linda, not certain who would respond.
Logan had already pulled Isabel onto his lap. Linda said, “I’ll take care of that. Could we speak somewhere else, though? I’m somewhat allergic to turpentine — the odor makes me feel nauseous.”
‘That’s not the only thing,’ thought Dulcie. “Certainly,” she said aloud. “Let’s go to my office.”
Linda quickly grabbed her bag. “I’ll see you back at the house, Logan. Dinner will be ready by eight.”
“Excellent,” he replied flatly without looking at her. He was dabbing at the painting again with Isabel wiggling on his thigh.
Linda sat across from Dulcie in her office. Neither had spoken since they had left the studio. They looked at each other. Linda exhaled loudly and slowly. “I really need to apologize,” she said, breaking the silence.
Dulcie began to object but Linda stopper her. “No, I must. You see, my brother does not mean to be difficult. He is so focused on his work. And his health has always been, well, I suppose fragile is the best word. He has his good days and bad. He works so much, you see, and it’s very wearing.”
‘Wearing for whom?’ Dulcie thought, but kept it to herself. Instead, she said, “I understand. But I do want to apologize to you for not having all of the accommodations in place. I just assumed that he would be with us for only a month at the most, and on his own.”
“And that was the correct assumption. But again, Logan needed me with him. He didn’t tell me until the night before he was scheduled to leave. He thought that I had been coming all along although I remember telling him that I would be staying in London to take care of business matters. He has an exhibition in September that’s been a bear to plan.”
“Forgive me if I sound rude, but I didn’t realize that he had married,” Dulcie said. She knew that she was being very direct, but the whole situation felt like it was becoming a circus. She had decided to give up on platitudes.
“Yes, that’s new,” Linda said as she slumped back in her chair. “Logan never seemed to be interested in women.” She put up her hand as if to stop Dulcie’s next words. “No, he wasn’t interested in men either if that’s what you’re thinking.” Dulcie was about to respond that she wasn’t, but Linda didn’t seem to notice. “He just didn’t seem… interested. At all. In anyone. Then he went to a party at some photographer’s loft in Chelsea, and saw Isabel. I wasn’t there, but I heard that he kept staring at her. She was indifferent to him. Unimpressed. She must have known who he was. How could she not know? That must have been part of her charm, though. You see, everyone fawns over him. The Great Artist.” She said the last words with an edge of sarcasm. “He became obsessed with her and eventually convinced her to see him. From there it was only a few weeks before they were married.”
“Truly a whirlwind,” said Dulcie.
Linda did not hear her. She continued on in the same droning voice, “From that point on he’s been with Isabel constantly. His little muse, he calls her. And no matter what plans I make, they change at the last minute.” She stopped at last and sighed. Then, she looked across the desk at Dulcie as though she was surprised to see her sitting there. “Forgive me. I’ve been under a lot of pressure.”
Dulcie nodded. She decided to refrain from speech until Linda was silent for at least a few moments.
Linda continued, more slowly, “You see, he really is fragile and that’s what actually frightens me about this whole situation. He’s been pushing himself in new directions artistically, not to mention staying up late with her. Little sleep, new work, not eating correctly, drinking more… I feel as though it’s a disaster waiting to happen. I thought that Isabel would be staying in London at least for the first week or so that Logan was here in Maine, but of course that was not the case. That’s why I felt that Logan was right to want me here as well. Someone to take care of all the little details. God knows Isabel could never do it.” Linda stopped, and her focus shifted to Dulcie again.
Now Dulcie felt as though she could finally speak. “Of course. I understand, and you are all very welcome. You did find a place to stay that was suitable?”
“Yes, Rachel was a huge help there. It’s in a town called Cape Elizabeth.”
Dulcie thought, ‘I’m sure that’s costing the museum a fortune!’ Aloud she said, “Does it have the correct situation for Logan’s personal studio?”
“Absolutely. I think that the studio would have been the second bedroom, but I’m very comfortable in a small space off the kitchen. I think it would have been the pantry – it’s quite an old house. But I’m fine. I make all his meals and am typically up before him in the mornings, so no matter. It’s actually quite helpful to be there, near the kitchen.”
Dulcie wasn’t convinced. She changed the subject. “Logan’s master classes are scheduled to start this week. Will he be ready for them?” Linda seemed to think that Logan needed to be placated, but Dulcie was increasingly annoyed with the idea. He was a guest, yet he was also there to work. Not only was the museum giving him a stipend, Dulcie had also agreed to cover his expenses. These seemed to be increasing rapidly.
“Yes, I’ll make sure that he is,” said Linda.
“I understand that there was some concern about the number of students in the class?”
Linda looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “He said that he can handle only five. Any more would be very exhausting.”
The Master Class in Abstract Painting with Logan Dumbarton had been advertised briefly and had received a great deal of interest. Although the fee for the course was steep by the museum’s normal standards, seven people had signed up. The maximum that Linda had agreed upon originally had been ten. “We can close registration now, but we do have seven people already. They have all paid, so I feel that I can’t deny them a spot at this point. Perhaps if I speak to Logan about this…”
“No, no! I’ll handle it!” Linda looked flustered. “I’m sure it will be fine. I just don’t want him to be overtaxed.”
Something felt very odd about the entire situation. Dulcie tried to keep herself from being concerned but was having difficulty. She told herself that since this was the first master class that she had arranged at the museum, the kinks in the proces
s were normal. The next time would go much more smoothly.
“If you think that will work best, then I’ll leave it with you, Linda,” said Dulcie. “The other point that we should talk about is the subject matter. The class description said that the students would be painting seascapes, including plein air sessions as weather permits. Logan seems to have gone in a new direction personally, but I hope that he can still honor our agreement and work with the students using his previous style.”
Linda said nothing. Convincing Logan of anything was never easy. He always had excuses for everything that he did. Or, more accurately, everything that he did not do. Linda could hear it now: my sinuses are hurting, the sun is giving me headaches, the fog destroys my canvas…. “I’ll speak to him,” was all that she said.
“Wonderful,” said Dulcie, trying to keep the edge of sarcasm from her voice. “The first class will be on Thursday at 10 AM. That one is scheduled for the studio here at the museum, regardless of weather, since it’s the introduction. And, because it’s an introduction, it will only last for three hours. We’re providing lunch for the students that day, but after that, they will be on their own for lunch each day. Is there anything specific that we can order in for Logan?”
Anything specific. Linda could tell her in extremely specific detail exactly what Logan would want. And as soon as it arrived, it would be incorrect. “I’ll check with him,” she replied.
Dulcie felt as though she was getting nowhere with the conversation. Masking her frustration she said, “Is there anything else that all of you might need at this point?”
Linda shook her head. “No. Not at this point. Thank you.” She stood, even though Dulcie had not indicated that the meeting was over. “I have several errands to run. Also, the paints that I’ve ordered for Logan should be arriving tomorrow. I had them delivered to the museum since we did not have a delivery address yet for where we are staying. Could you let me know when they’re here?”
The Fragile Flower Page 2
