“Oh, they’re fine. I like all their stories, for the most part. Always something different. Everyone seems to like mine, too.”
“That’s because you embellish,” said Dulcie while blowing on her coffee.
Dan grinned. “Creative license. Makes for good entertainment. And speaking of entertainment, how’s the situation with that artist?”
Dulcie leaned her head back and groaned.
“Oohh! It’s better than ever, I see!”
“Dan, I really think it’s out of control. He seems to have a split personality. One day he’s sickly, the next he’s an overbearing snob. Lately it’s the latter, and he’s managed to belittle nearly everyone in the class. Yesterday he even threw one woman’s painting into the ocean.”
Dan’s eyes were wide. “No! That’s awful! How’d she take it?”
“Not well, that’s for sure. Logan stormed back into the house. I wasn’t there to see it. One of the other students called me right after, so I hurried over from the museum. When I knocked on the door of their house, Linda said that Logan had a headache and couldn’t be disturbed. You can imagine how I reacted to that.”
“Unfortunately, yes, I can.”
“After that, I spoke to the students and said that they could drop the class with a full refund. No one seems to want to take that route yet. Dan, if they do, I have an enormous hole in the budget. The Dumbarton expenses have been huge, and even if I don’t pay him the stipend, I’m in big trouble.”
“Whoa, slow down! Dulcie, you’re not there yet. Yes, good to have a Plan B always, but don’t assume the worst. This all could blow over.”
“I suppose so. I just have a really bad feeling about it.”
“Don’t buy trouble. You’re such an eternal pessimist.” Dulcie had heard that so many times from him. She tried to hide her smile with the coffee cup. Dan noticed. “Here’s what you do,” he continued, “Take one day at a time. Get yourself a nice big Chinese take-out dinner tonight, chicken fried rice and all, and don’t think about anything. Read a good book. Otherwise you’ll just fret.”
“Yes. I know you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Now get the hell off my boat and go to work. I’ve got things to do!”
Dulcie laughed. “It’s my boat, too!”
“You don’t live here. Gimme that mug. Off with you!” He waved her away and opened the door. The wind howled through the cabin, as Dulcie stepped out. She climbed back up on the dock, waved to her brother, and hurried toward the museum.
Two hours later Dulcie was driving down the winding roads toward the ocean in Cape Elizabeth. She had not heard from Kimberly, so she assumed all was well. As she parked her car, she looked out across the lawn. The wind was still gusting, and many of the students had devised clever ways to hold their canvases in place. The twins had given up and were kneeling on the ground over theirs. They had held them down with rocks.
Dulcie subtly waved at Kimberly who smiled and nodded back. Dulcie quietly greeted the students as she wandered among them, making her way over toward Kimberly’s direction. “Any sign of The Master?” Dulcie asked.
“Nope. Not yet. I’ve only just seen the curtains open. Maybe it was a late night for them.”
“Unfortunately that always seems to be the case,” Dulcie replied.
“You look tired,” said Kimberly. “Late one for you? But not in a good way?” she asked.
“You could say that,” said Dulcie. “The wind kept me awake. That, and worrying over this situation. My brother told me that I should have a big dinner along with a good book tonight and stop thinking about it.”
“He’s right, you know,” Kimberly said. She had a comforting, motherly manner. She seemed to emit strength, and that’s what Dulcie needed.
They both turned when they heard the door of the house open. To their surprise, Isabel stepped out. She wore blue jeans and a faded silky sweater. Logan was nowhere to be seen. Isabel carried a steaming cup of tea with her. Dulcie could see the paper tab on the end of the teabag string fluttering in the wind. Isabel sipped carefully.
She walked over to the twins and sat on the ground between them. They both stopped working. Isabel said something that made them both giggle. They started dabbing at their canvases again. Isabel appeared to speak to them for several more moments, then stood and continued on toward Bethany.
Isabel gestured toward Bethany’s canvas and appeared to be complimenting her. Bethany looked happy and began talking animatedly. Isabel sipped her tea and looked as though she was listening intently.
“What is this?” said Kimberly “Damage control?”
Dulcie was in awe. “I think that’s exactly what it is. The question that I have, though, is who instigated it? Was it her idea, or did Logan, or more likely Linda, suggest it?”
“That’s a very good question. Shall I ask her?”
Dulcie looked, wide-eyed at Kimberly. “How could you pull that off? You can’t just outright say, ‘who put you up to this?’ could you?”
“Oh, I have my ways!” she said mysteriously.
Isabel was approaching them. “Follow my lead,” Kimberly whispered. “Good morning!” she called out to Isabel.
Isabel smiled radiantly. “Good morning to both of you.”
Dulcie felt instantly dumpy. Isabel was like a tiny, golden doll. ‘The British accent doesn’t hurt, either,’ Dulcie thought. “Good morning,” she replied aloud, trying desperately to mask her thoughts.
Suddenly, the wind howled. Kimberly grabbed her canvas. “We seem to have trying circumstances today!” She laughed as she wrestled with it for a moment before clamping it down again. “There! All set. So how is the Dumbarton household getting on this morning?” she didn’t look at Isabel as she spoke. Instead she busied herself with her paints.
“Oh, we’re fine. A bit slow as always,” Isabel replied.
Kimberly chuckled. “I do know that, ever since I’ve been retired! Are you usually the first one up, or is it the ever efficient Linda?”
A shadow came across Isabel’s face. She quickly gulped her tea. “Usually it’s Linda. This morning, I woke up early, though. It must have been the wind. It seems to make everyone angry.” She took another mouthful of tea, as if stopping herself from saying too much.
Dulcie thought she could see where Kimberly was going with the conversation. “You’re right,” she said. “I barely slept at all last night with the wind howling. My brother runs a tour boat, and he never goes out on days like this.” She turned to the house. “Is Logan up and about? Will he be doing a critique today?”
Again the shadow came over Isabel. “Yes, he’ll be out later. I think I’ll join him too, if that’s all right with you. I’ve wanted to learn more about his work, so this would be a good way for me to do just that without taking up any of his time, really.”
Kimberly nodded her agreement. “He seemed distraught during his critique yesterday. Has he been working hard lately?”
Dulcie held her breath. It was a more direct question than she would have dared ask.
Isabel turned and gazed across the water. “Yes. He’s pushing himself in a new direction. Linda has scheduled quite a number of showings as well.” She started to take a drink of tea, but realized her cup was now empty. “I am…, I think…,” she looked confused. “I’d best get more tea. Cheers!” She raised her empty mug to them and attempted a happy look but failed. Quickly, she retreated back into the house.
“Well, what do you think?” asked Kimberly.
“I think that she is one unhappy woman. I also think it’s her idea to do damage control. Linda would only make excuses for Logan. Or ignore his behavior. I don’t think Isabel has any interest at all in Logan’s painting. She wants to make sure that he behaves.”
“I’d pretty much concur on all counts,” replied Kimberly.
#
Thursday’s windy weather brought in pouring rain overnight, along with an oppressive heat wave on Friday. Willow was the first to arriv
e at the Dumbarton’s rented house. She was hesitant to get out of her car and set up on the lawn. She waited for as long as she thought she could, then slowly gathered her items from the back seat. ‘Why did I get here so early?’ she thought. Looking at her watch, she realized that she wasn’t early at all. The others were all late.
Willow trudged up to the lawn and began to set up. Suddenly, she sensed someone nearby. She turned quickly and nearly gasped, then stopped herself. It was only Isabel. She held out a cup of tea. “I don’t know how you like it, but I just took a guess and put in a little sugar,” she said.
“That’s exactly how I like it,” Willow said. “Thank you!” First Bryce, and now Isabel. Why were people suddenly being nice to her? She surreptitiously looked at Isabel over the top of the mug as she drank. She was so exotic. Beautiful, intriguing, and strangely magnetic.
“Look, I know Logan’s been dreadful. You really must ignore him. I mean, I know that he’s here to give instruction so I suppose that’s important, but try to ignore the rest.” She glanced back at the house. “That’s what I certainly try to do.”
Without thinking, Isabel reached out and stroked Willow’s arm. Her skin was as soft as she had thought it would be, in spite of being covered with tattoos. “I know what it’s like,” she said quietly. “To have someone yell at you. And use you.”
Willow froze, but did nothing to stop Isabel. Willow just watched her delicate hand gently stroking her arm. The glittering rings with stones of so many colors flashed in the morning sunlight. Willow felt as though she was in a trance.
A car drove up. Willow’s head snapped around toward the driveway and Isabel dropped her arm. Bryce got out, looked over at them, and jerked his chin up in his typical, ‘I’m too cool to wave’ greeting. As he did, Isabel saw the curtains of the house move. Without turning her head, she cast her eyes to the window. Linda was staring at her.
Isabel finished her tea in one, long drink. She looked at Willow’s cup. It was nearly empty. “Shall I take that?” she asked. It was a statement, not a question. Willow silently handed it to her and, as Bryce walked across the lawn to join them, Isabel hurried back into the house.
“What, did I scare her off?” he said with surprise. He was usually more successful with women.
“Someone did,” Willow replied. She had seen the curtains flutter closed.
Bryce looked back and forth between her and the house. Then he shrugged his shoulders and continued on to his usual spot.
As the other students arrived and set up, the temperature continued to rise. Bethany brought her usual cooler and let the others put in their drinks. A lively discussion took place regarding the effect of heat on oil paint. As an art instructor, Scott stepped in to resolve the question. “Usually the hot weather makes the paints dry more quickly, so you either need to use more paint on the canvas, or…”
“Make it fatter,” a voice booming with arrogance said from behind them. The group had been facing toward the ocean, looking at Scott’s painting. They turned en masse to face Logan Dumbarton. He looked down his long nose at Scott. “Never use more paint than you would normally. Add linseed oil to extended the drying time. Besides,” he scanned the group with disdain, “I don’t think that any of you can afford to use additional paint.” He chuckled his condescending laugh.
No one knew how to respond. Scott looked angry and frustrated at the same time. He felt that he had to say something. “Don’t you think that you should restrict your comments to art instruction rather than handing out an analysis of our lives?” he asked in a low, even voice.
Logan took one step toward him but did not deign to look at him. “No,” he replied.
Everyone looked at each other. No one dared look at Logan. Kimberly cleared her throat. “Well, I for one have plenty of paint and plenty of linseed oil today, so I’ll try both methods and report back to all of you!” she said, attempting a light tone. She heard Logan snort quietly and caught the sneer that crossed his face. Scott smiled at her. It was a smile that said, ‘Thank you!’ Before Logan could speak again the students scattered back to their canvases and resumed working.
Although she had not heard what was said, Isabel had witnessed the scene from the house. She was heading toward the door when Linda spoke. “Rescuing them?” she asked innocently.
Isabel knew that her words were anything but innocent. “No, Linda,” she said quietly. “I’m rescuing you. Without him, you are nothing.” With that, she quickly left.
#
The official reception for Logan Dumbarton was scheduled to begin in half an hour. Dulcie had double-checked the catering menu and had made sure that plenty of ice was on hand. The heat wave had not yet let up. As she looked at the mounds of ice, she suppressed the urge to jump in them.
“The Widow is hiding out in her usual spot!” Rachel whispered as she walked by.
“Thank you!” Dulcie whispered back. She did not have a good feeling about the evening. Her trust in Logan Dumbarton had been diminishing rapidly with each new day. The entire situation with him had become increasingly strained. Celebrating his presence at the museum, not to mention introducing him to board members and wealthy donors, seemed like a recipe for disaster.
Dulcie had asked Linda to make sure that he arrived on time at seven o’clock. Linda had responded, in her usual flat manner, that she would do her best but had no control over her brother. ‘Really?’ Dulcie thought. ‘You control his entire life. Or have up to this point.’
The time went by quickly and soon guests were trickling in the door. Dulcie recognized several of the master class students. She was surprised to see Willow appear wearing a flowing organza dress. Her nose spike had been replaced by a small gold ring, and her tattoos were concealed by lacy sleeves. Dulcie smiled across the room at her, and she thought that Willow attempted the same. It came across more as disgusted look, but Dulcie decided to be charitable and assume that it was a smile.
At seven-thirty the guest of honor arrived. He appeared as he had when Dulcie had first met him, arrogant and suave. He wore a white silk shirt, with several buttons open, stone colored chinos, and very expensive looking tan leather shoes. ‘Italian,’ thought Dulcie, ‘and most certainly bespoke, hand-made.’ His blond hair was swept back from his face with just the right amount of gel. One lock fell artfully out of place. He accepted the glass of champagne that was pressed into this hand with a gleaming smile, but Dulcie saw him immediately whisper to his sister and shove it at her. It slopped on the front of her blouse. He did not apologize. Linda disappeared, then quickly reappeared holding what looked like a gin and tonic.
Isabel was at his side in complete contrast. Her glossy dark hair was braided down her back. She wore a deep purple sari with golden threads gleaming in the low lights from the gallery. She sipped her champagne while haughtily, with heavily mascaraed lashes, eyeing anyone brave enough to come near.
Dulcie patted the neat chignon that she had managed to achieve with her own chestnut-brown hair and approached them. “It’s such a pleasure to see you,” she lied. “You both look wonderful!” At least that wasn’t a lie. She hoped that her enthusiasm made up for her lack of sincerity.
“Oh, but it is you who looks wonderful,” replied Logan. “Along with my ever-beautiful wife of course!” he added with the annoying, self-deprecating laugh. Isabel did not even smile.
“There are several people here who are looking forward to meeting you,” Dulcie said, glancing around the room. She spied the museum’s wealthiest donor nearby. “If you don’t mind?” she continued.
Logan heaved a great sigh. “Yes, of course,” he replied flatly. Dulcie saw him catch Linda’s eye. He jangled the ice in his now empty glass. Linda nodded and scurried away.
‘I’m about to introduce you to yet another patron of the arts who would be more than happy to give you tens of thousands for what I’m increasingly seeing as the worthless crap that you create, and you consider it a chore?’ thought Dulcie. She considered skipping the cu
rrent introduction until Logan seemed to be in a better mood, but then remembered how much this particular patron had donated during the museum’s last fundraising campaign. ‘No, this is my job. Just take it on the chin,’ she thought unhappily. She forced a smile and made the introduction.
For the next hour Dulcie continued to circulate with Logan. She smiled, chatted, and attempted to conceal his often blatant condescending remarks. She never enjoyed any of these gatherings, even when the guest of honor was far more enthusiastic than Logan. This was always the worst part of her job as far as she was concerned. It all seemed so affected. But she knew it was necessary. She slid away from the current conversation in search of the next person on her mental list of those who should meet the famous artist.
As she scanned the room, Dulcie saw Linda slumped back against a wall near the coatroom. At that moment, Dulcie felt sorry for her. Linda would never be in the limelight. She would never get the recognition or accolades that she probably deserved. Dulcie shook her head. It was sad, really. Dulcie certainly did not like her, but she could respect how hard Linda seemed to work.
As Dulcie looked over at her, Linda suddenly changed. She stood up straight, her eyes wide. She was looking into the coatroom. Dulcie could not see into the room, so she had no idea what Linda was watching. It was certainly startling her, though.
Linda quickly turned away and edged across the room, quietly moving between the groups of people. At that moment Dulcie looked back at the coatroom and saw Isabel and Willow emerge. They did not speak to, or even acknowledge, one other, but as they were about to move in opposite directions, Dulcie saw Isabel put her hand on Willows bottom and subtly squeeze it.
“Wow!” Dulcie said out loud.
“Pardon?” a voice next to her replied. She had not realized that Kimberly was now beside her.
Dulcie quickly took a drink of champagne to mask her surprise at the scene she’d just witnessed. She swallowed hard and searched for something to say. “I’m thrilled that this many people were able to come!”
The Fragile Flower Page 6
