“Okay, now for Jane’s paintings.” Abby went to the second stack of artwork. “Her paintings go in this next room. The placement is marked on the plan.”
Jane could barely contain her excitement. “My work is going to be in a gallery, my gallery,” she yelped.
Slowly Jane’s masterpieces filled the space. Her paintings of scenes on their cruise excursions. Paintings of scenes all over the capitals of Europe, painted from her memories of their buying trips. Paintings of Lobster Cove, which the tourists would love, and paintings from her studio window of the ocean and the Martin Lighthouse at various times of the day and a variety of light levels. Her style was reminiscent of and heavily influenced by Chagall and Monet, but her brand was her own, as was her unique visual style. Abby predicted she would be famous one day. What a coup to introduce such a talent to the world. Those paintings would fly out of the gallery. But first Abby was going to purchase one of Jane’s paintings of the scene behind Longley House.
Once Jane’s work was hung, the guys hung the paintings the four friends had collected from Prague, Paris, the Greek islands, and the Balearic Islands of Spain—Mallorca and Ibiza—and other places they’d visited after their cruise. All mini-masterpieces from undiscovered but hugely talented artists. They reminisced about how they’d acquired each one, recalling their conversations with the artists and remembering the fun they’d had traveling around Europe.
There was the Italian painter Michelangelo—his mother must have had a real sense of humor. They’d discovered him painting scenes of Lake Como and Portofino. Jane apparently had a thing for artists. She had developed a crush on the painter and had fallen in love with his artwork, so they had to carry his Whispers of Portofino painting and his breathtaking Lake Como series. After they pulled Jane away from the sexy artist and the beautiful scenery, they traveled to Prague to the Charles Bridge, where Jane walked up and down, settling on one particular quiet painter whose work she also fell in love with and that the Venus Gallery would now carry.
They discovered a Russian-born artist in Venice, painting scenes of the Grand Canal. Abby had fallen in love with Ca’ d’Oro, of Palazzo Santa Sofia, one of the older palaces in the city, and signed the artist to a long-term contract. There was something about the way the light shone on the façade, reflecting the gold of the building and the blue of the water, that she couldn’t get out of her mind. That was the beauty of art, the way it serenaded your soul.
Paris was fun, and they’d picked up some exquisite Seine River scenes from the City of Lights. Visitors would enjoy a large selection of styles, colors, and media, from oil and acrylic paintings on canvas and paper, to watercolors, embellished serigraphs on wood or canvas, lithographs, and giclées in color on canvas. They had acquired works directly from the artists or, if an artist was deceased, from the artist’s estate. Jane still wasn’t over their trip to Giverny, Monet’s home. She had felt she was making a pilgrimage to the past when she stepped into the artist’s studio and explored his gardens. That was the thing about Jane. She was an original, but she could deliver a faithful reproduction of any artist dead or alive. That was how she had learned to paint, by imitating the masters.
Abby’s goal for the gallery was to demystify art, to bring a broad cross-section of artwork to Lobster Cove so visitors could appreciate the beauty and take home a slice of life from their travels to Lobster Cove. Whether the visitor was in the market for aesthetic beauty or was a serious collector, the Venus Gallery would have a lot to offer. After visiting the gallery, patrons could visit the sculpture garden outside and relax on one of the new benches Aidan had set facing the ocean, view the iconic Martin Lighthouse at sunset or delight in the color of the ocean and the light from the sky as it shifted during daylight hours.
The Venus Gallery would offer artwork at a range of prices. Abby had finally decided that to attract serious collectors she would sell off a selection of paintings from her in-laws’ collection, including Old Masters, Impressionists, and Modern Masters. She would also display the Longley art she did not want to sell, so the world could enjoy it with her. The pieces she and her new partners had collected consisted of mostly contemporary living artists, but there was something for everyone to like, from hand-signed original Chagall drawings and paintings to artwork by Matisse and Renoir. Of course Jane would be the artist-in-residence, and it looked very likely that Ethan Logan might stay on. At least that was her hope, along with Jane’s. The two had grown very close.
Abby’s plan for the future was for Jane, at least, to offer painting lessons and lectures, and that the gallery would sponsor traveling exhibits. In addition, Abby planned to fly in some of the artists whose work they had collected and hold periodic signing events and meet-the-artist gatherings. Victoria had already prepared single glossy bio sheets of each artist with his or her picture.
The statuary was in place, and all the pictures were hung. Abby walked through each room, approving each piece in turn. When her tour was concluded, she covered her head with her hands and burst into tears.
“Abby, what’s wrong?” Jane said, alarmed.
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything is perfect. I just can’t believe we did it.”
The women gathered in a circle and hugged.
“We did it together,” Victoria said.
“When will the gift shop be stocked?” Abby asked.
“All the inventory is in. We’re going to set up the Maple Avenue location tonight.”
“It looks like we’re ahead of schedule,” Natalie said.
Abby walked to the gallery entrance, to the windows that were visible from the driveway. “There’s just one thing missing. The centerpiece, the Portrait of Venus.”
“Joshua said the painting’s new owner would allow you to keep it for the opening,” Victoria reminded her.
“I know, but what about after the opening? Everything revolves around that portrait.”
The women gathered around Abby. Natalie brought her over to a comfortable couch. “Now, you need to sit down. We have a surprise for you.”
Ethan and Jane left the room, and when they returned, they were each holding a framed picture and an easel. Jane placed the easel in front of the couch and placed a portrait on the easel. “This is for you, Abby.”
Abby looked at the picture and burst into fresh tears.
“Don’t you like it?” Jane wrung her hands.
“Like it? Jane, it’s phenomenal. Did you paint this?”
“Yes, in the style of Sandro Botticelli. I used his exact technique.”
“It’s Portrait of Venus,” Abby exclaimed. She got up and studied the painting closely.
“When did you paint this?”
“I did a reproduction of the original, using the actual painting as a guide. That’s why I wouldn’t let you into the study.”
Joshua went to the painting. “This is amazing. It looks exactly like the original. Even I can’t tell the difference.”
Jane instructed Ethan to place the portrait in a place of honor at the gallery entrance. “Now you have your painting back.”
“Jane, you are a major talent. I agree with Joshua. I can’t tell the difference between this and the original. You must have worked long hours to complete this in time.”
“I knew how much it would mean to you.”
Abby embraced Jane. “Thank you so much. Thanks to all of you. Just think, a few short months ago we didn’t even know each other, and look at us now.”
“Now, stay seated, Abby,” said Victoria. “Don’t look yet. We have another surprise.”
Jane placed a second portrait on the easel. “You can look now.”
Jane opened her eyes. “Oh, Jane. Oh, I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s Queen Isabella,” Jane said, beaming.
“You painted her in the style of Diego Velázquez, posed like The Infanta Margarita in Las Meninas at the Prado. Her dress, her countenance, her spirit… This reproduction is magnificent, but the face—this is our Isabell
a. It’s breathtaking. We’ve got to show it to her.”
“I’m so glad you like it.”
“She is going to love it. Tack is going to— How are we going to show it to her without Tack? I don’t want to see him.”
“I’ll go pick her up and bring her over,” said Aidan. “Tack’s taken the boat out today. Isabella is home with her grandmother, so we’ll sneak her over here.”
“We’ll have another unveiling,” Abby said. “And I’ll have Chef make something special for dessert as a special treat for Isabella. Jane, this is wonderful.”
Thirty minutes later, Aidan escorted Isabella into the gallery. She walked around, looking at the pictures and clapped. “I love this. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. We worked very hard to make this dream come true. And now, we have a big surprise for you.” Abby took Isabella’s hand and led her to where her covered portrait was displayed on an easel.
When Isabella was directly in front of it, Jane pulled off the white cloth.
Isabella got very quiet and took in a breath. She kept staring at the portrait. “It’s me. It’s me. I look like a queen.”
“Or a little princess,” said Jane.
“Didn’t Jane do a wonderful job?” Abby prompted.
“Thank you, Miss Jane.” Isabella let go of Abby’s hand and gave Jane a big hug. Then she ran back to Abby.
“Thank you, Abby. I love you.” She clung to Abby and wouldn’t let go. Then the tears started cascading down her cheeks.
“Honey, what’s wrong? Don’t you like your painting?”
“Yes, but Daddy won’t let me keep the clothes you bought me.”
Abby bristled. Tack was infuriating. She thought by now he would have calmed down and let his daughter keep at least some of the clothes.
“My grandma says Daddy is as stubborn as an old billy goat.”
Well, she’s right.
“The clothes are still in the bags by the door. He says he’s going to take them all back. He stomps around the house, slamming doors and barking.”
“Barking?”
“Yelling for no reason. Banging pots and pans around in the kitchen, and throwing things. Grandma says he’s irritable and moping around like a lovesick cow. Is my Daddy sick?”
Abby smiled to learn that Tack was suffering too. “Not in the way you think. I have an idea. Why don’t you give me your tutu, and I will have it dry cleaned and preserved so it will stay beautiful always. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. I’ll give it back to you to keep in your closet. Tell your daddy you will stop wearing the tutu if he lets you keep the clothes.”
“Do you think he will?”
“I have a feeling he will. Now let’s go have a treat in the kitchen, and then Aidan will drive you home. Tell your grandma we will have the picture framed and sent over to your house.”
Isabella removed her tutu and gave it to Abby before she took her hand, and they walked into the kitchen. Small victory.
After dessert, Aidan drove Isabella home.
“I just love that child,” said Abby. “I wish—”
Everyone around the table was silent. Everyone knew what she wished.
“Okay, let’s change the subject,” suggested Victoria. “The photographer is due in tomorrow and will be here all day. For the rest of the week, I’ll be on publicity and marketing duty, and working on launching the Web site.”
“I’ll be organizing the RSVPs,” said Natalie. “So far, we have a full house, including media, local businesses, friends, and VIPs. The catering menu is set. That new chef, Caleb Reardon from the Crow’s Nest, is handling that, under the direction of Chef. And the orchestra is set. Flowers, done. Nametags, done.”
“I’ll work on my opening remarks,” said Abby. “Can you shoot me the updated guest list, Natalie?”
“Will do.”
“It goes without saying I don’t want to see Tack Garrity at this event.”
“He wasn’t invited, so we should be good,” Natalie assured her friend.
“After the VIP event, we’ll be open to the public. We’ll manage the gallery ourselves, in shifts, until we get a permanent manager hired. We’ll start out with limited hours so we can handle it and still have a life. Jane, please tell Ethan to keep painting. We need a good supply of his work, and yours. I have a feeling this opening event is going to be a sellout. And let me just say I love all of you. I can’t imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn’t met you, if we hadn’t found each other. I’m more grateful than you will ever know.”
“I think I speak for all of us when I say we feel the same way about you,” said Victoria.
“We can certainly be proud of ourselves and all we’ve accomplished,” agreed Abby.
Chapter Fourteen
Tack Garrity strode into the gallery in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, looking like some movie star stepping up to accept his Academy Award. He surveyed the crowd until his eyes fixed on Abby.
Abby headed to where Tack was standing to prevent him from coming any farther into the gallery.
“You were uninvited. What are you doing here?”
“I’m Aidan’s Plus One.”
Abby rolled her eyes and turned away. “Well, just stay out of my way. I don’t want you to create a scene. In fact, I’d prefer it if you left, now.”
Tack spun her around to face him.
“You purposely dressed that way, in that see-through gauzy thing, just to tempt me,” Tack accused.
“Tack, I don’t dress for you. I dress to please myself. I didn’t expect you to be here. In fact, I was quite sure you wouldn’t be.”
Tack’s face transformed to molten steel. “You look like her.”
“Like whom?”
“Like Venus, like the girl in the painting.”
“That’s the effect I was going for.”
“Well, you damn well pulled it off. And it makes me want to pull this dress off you, right here, right now.”
Abby blew out a breath, frustration rising like mist on a river at dusk. Tack’s caveman imitation was wearing thin. “Tack, if you don’t behave yourself, I’m going to have security escort you out, although you probably own the security firm, too. I can’t help it if you own every damn business in town.”
“I’m an investor,” Tack reminded her. “I invest in my community.”
Abby shook her head. “That’s very noble of you. Now do us both a favor and get out. This is my night. You’re not a part of it. I won’t let you spoil it for me.”
Still in Tack’s arms, Abby gave him a critical appraisal.
“Did you think I’d show up in overalls?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“You didn’t think I own a tuxedo?”
“I had no doubt you did.” Abby shrugged. “You probably own a tuxedo rental shop. Why would I care?”
Tack tightened his grip. “You do care, and I’m going to prove it.” Tack kissed her long and hard, and it would have knocked her off her heels if she hadn’t been trapped in his arms.
Every part of her body was responding to him, but this was not the time or the place. She pulled away from his embrace and immediately missed his warmth.
“I heard Jane painted a picture of Isabella. She can’t stop talking about it. I want to see it.”
“It’s at the framers’. Do you own them, too?”
“No, as it happens, I don’t. I want to pay you for the portrait.”
“Tack, you can’t buy everything. That painting was a gift, because we love Isabella. We won’t accept any money for it.”
“Isabella told me you convinced her to retire the tutu. I appreciate it more than you know. I hated seeing that thing on her. It reminded me of Renata.”
“I did you a favor, so now will you do me one and let her keep the things I bought her?”
“My mother agrees with you, so we’re keeping them. That’s what I came to tell you.”
“Great. Now I have to get back to my guests.�
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“Can we talk afterward?”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“I have a lot more to say to you.”
“Well, I have nothing more to say to you,” said Abby. Unless you want to talk about shared custody of Isabella.
“I’m not going to go away unless you agree to talk to me.”
“Whatever it takes. Call me this week, and we can set up an appointment.”
“It’s a date, then.”
“Tack, you’re delusional. It won’t be a date.”
“I’ll wear my overalls, then.”
Abby tried her best to look stern as she watched Tack walk out the door. She had half a mind to follow him and pummel him into oblivion. Or maybe she just wanted to touch him again. Focus, Abigail. Focus. Tack was a major distraction she did not need tonight.
Abby moved through the crowd. Everyone on the invitation list had shown up. Even those not on the list had shown up. Tack being a case in point. People were mingling, having fun, enjoying the food and the music, and soaking up the atmosphere. She’d received so many compliments about the design of the gallery and the variety of the artwork available. Everyone agreed the gallery was unique.
“Abigail, I love what you’ve done here,” said the mayor of Lobster Cove. “The Venus Gallery is going to be a real boon to our town. Now people won’t feel compelled to flee to Boston to get their culture fix.”
“That was exactly what we had in mind. Lobster Cove will be a new travel destination.”
“I saw you talking to Tack Garrity earlier,” the mayor noted. “He’s a fine man, don’t you agree?”
Abby frowned. It seemed Tack was in the room, even when he wasn’t.
“If it hadn’t been for Tack, in that last economic downturn, Lobster Cove might have turned into a ghost town. He literally put us on the map, bringing in the Crow’s Nest for fine dining, putting up the capital for a number of local businesses. He has his hands in everything.”
And on everything, especially me, she refrained from saying.
“When Tack moved back to Lobster Cove, everything changed. We’ve become a much more vibrant community because of his contributions—not only his money but his time. When my term is up, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tack will run for mayor. And he’ll win. It would be a landslide. Almost everyone in this town owes Tack a debt of gratitude.”
The Widows' Gallery Page 12
