by Anna Larner
With the care of someone disarming a bomb, Molly said, “It may help you to talk to her.”
“No. I can’t.”
Molly wanted to stroke Georgina’s flushed cheeks and press a soothing cool palm against them. It was clear she had suffered such pain. There was nothing much worse than a wound inflicted by a parent to their child. “I’m sorry she hurt you.”
Georgina took a deep shaky breath. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry too. It was wrong of me to drag you into such a discussion.” Georgina sat up straight.
“Don’t worry about it. Honestly. Everybody needs to talk about serious stuff now and then. And I’m flattered that you feel you can talk to me.” Molly risked a smile encouraging the sadness to disperse to the edge of things.
Georgina rested her arm across the top of the sofa, bridging the gap between them. “To be honest, you’re the first person I’ve told any of this to.”
“I am?” Molly’s heart inflated to bursting. “Well then, I’m doubly flattered.” If she was not mistaken, Georgina was looking at her with the intensity of someone who wanted to kiss her.
But then Georgina shook her head as if she’d said something foolish. “I’ve burdened you with my nonsense enough. Let’s change topic.” Georgina dropped her arm to rest at her side. “To a subject I’m hoping will be a little more straightforward. At least with your help.”
Molly tucked her legs up under her to face Georgina. She took a deep breath, willing herself to concentrate. “Okey-dokey—fire away.”
“At the risk of sounding pathetic, I’m struggling to muster a clear head to hand over the bequeathed works. Even though I understand it’s best, it’s just…” Georgina’s voice broke and she swallowed several times. “I’m sorry.”
Molly rested her hand gently on Georgina’s arm. “Don’t be.”
“It’s just, can you help me? I know it’s been many months since my father died, and it’s well overdue, and it makes no sense.” Georgina bit her lip and took a sip of her coffee.
“It makes complete sense,” Molly said. “How could you feel any differently?” How could she help Georgina when words would only ever be words? She needed to do something. But what? Wait. Would seeing the space where her father’s art would be help? “I have an idea.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll need to put your shoes on and come with me.”
Georgina laughed. “I’m not sure what to think.”
“Then don’t think, just follow.”
Molly led them outside and across the square to the museum. The weekend front-of-house assistant gave a distracted nod in Molly’s direction as Molly reached behind the reception desk and grabbed the keys for the annex.
She opened the annex doors to be greeted by the peaceful empty space so in contrast to the rest of the hectic museum. The paper at the windows had been removed, and daylight flooded in, falling on the polished flooring and fading away into the whiteness of the skirting.
“So here we are. It’s only just been finished, so you’ll need to watch your clothes as I’m not sure what’s dry and what’s not.”
“It’s beautiful.” Georgina stood in the centre of the room, casting glances from one corner to the other.
Molly closed the door behind them. “It’s Evelyn’s work.”
Georgina raised her eyebrows. “Really? She’s done an excellent job. Will you thank her for me?”
“Of course.”
Georgina wandered over to the French doors. She stared in the direction of her father’s house.
Molly sat on a bench by the back wall, determined to give Georgina the space she needed to take everything in.
After a few minutes of being together in silence Georgina said, “The way the room looks out to the house has a real poignancy to it, doesn’t it? It almost feels like, I don’t know, less a change of location for the artworks and more a shift of focus.”
“Yes, that’s a really good way of looking at it,” Molly said, impressed at how quickly Georgina had grasped a sense of things.
Georgina turned to Molly. “Thank you for showing me this.”
Molly stood. “No worries. Even with the art in place, it will retain this lovely feel.”
Georgina gazed around the room once more. “It’s hard to imagine it full of art.”
“Right, yes. Well, we know there’ll be plinths for the Rodin and for the bust of Thomas Cook. And we’ll need to put the Staffordshire ware out of harm’s way in a glass display cabinet. All it takes is a stray elbow or an unfortunate trip. You only have to ask the Fitzwilliam.”
Georgina laughed. “Yes. Sensible.”
“Then, let me think, there’ll be an introduction panel giving a brief history of the foundation over time and of course an overview of your father’s work and life. The paintings, the cartoon, the photographs, and the sketch will occupy the wall space. I was thinking of suggesting to Evelyn that we hang the family portraits from the 1800s together in a series just as they’ve been hung in your father’s house for all those years.” Molly pointed to the back wall that faced towards the square. “Just here, maybe? I thought we could even make them a talking point.”
Georgina gave a hesitant, “Okay.”
“You see, I always think with exhibitions, that people relate best to other people. To human stories. We could really engage visitors with the lives behind the paintings.”
Georgina moved to stand beside Molly, staring with her at the bare wall.
“I know it will be a fab space,” Molly continued. The sensation of Georgina so close was making it almost impossible to breathe. She struggled to compose herself to say, “Do you, I mean, if you’re ready, shall we make our way back to the house?”
Georgina cleared her throat. “Yes.”
As they reached the door, Georgina looked back into the room. “I can almost imagine him standing at the window, looking out to the square.”
“I promise we’ll care for your father’s art,” Molly said. “And do everything we can to respect his memory.”
Georgina returned her gaze to Molly. “I know that. I trust you.”
“Thank you.” Molly swallowed down an urge to cry. “That means a lot.”
* * *
“Here you go.” Georgina handed Molly a glass of water.
Molly sat forward on the sofa and pressed the glass to her forehead. “Ooh, thanks. That really helps and I may even drink it.”
Georgina laughed. “I feel bad that you’re having to help me, with a hangover and on your day off as well. Are you sure I can’t get you something more to eat? Or another coffee?”
“Nope, I’m fine, thank you, though. And as days off go, this is fun. I like getting things done.”
“Yes, me too. And if you’re sure—”
“Totally.”
“So what’s the next step in the process of the handover?”
“Just let me know the date that suits, so we can schedule things, or if it’s easier for you and you’re happy to trust us, we could have a key and get on with the transfer on your behalf.”
“Yes, the latter would be great. I’ve got to get extra house keys cut for the estate agent later today, and then I’ll get them to drop a key in at the museum. Thanks for making everything less…overwhelming.”
“My pleasure. And thanks to your father and to you for such a fantastic gift. I confess I’m really excited by the Wright room—sorry, the Wright Community Room and Gallery.”
Georgina beamed a smile. “Good.”
“And on the subject of being excited, and at the risk of sounding like a total geek, I couldn’t be more impressed that the bequest includes a Leibovitz, but even more than that, my head spins at the thought of the Rodin.”
Georgina nodded. “Ah, yes. Even I’m impressed by the Leibovitz photo. And you’re not the only one interested in the Rodin. It’s certainly been attracting a lot of attention. It’s got quite an interesting history actually. It’s been with the foundation since its
beginnings in 1888. There is some speculation as to how the foundation acquired something so valuable. But the gist is that William Wright was the solicitor and confidant to a very wealthy industrialist here in Leicester. On hearing that Josephine had set up the foundation, his son, to reduce death duties following his father’s death, gifted the Rodin. The more scurrilous rumour is that he didn’t want his estranged wife to have it.”
“Really? I love it.”
Georgina burst into laughter. “It’s good to know that the Wright history is entertaining.”
“Absolutely. Never a dull moment.”
A loaded silence soon replaced their laughter.
“I should probably go,” Molly said. “And let you get on.” Leaving had never felt harder. She gathered her things and followed Georgina into the hall. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” Molly shook her head. “I meant to mention that Evelyn has in mind the evening of Friday 8th December for the opening. Would this fit? If this date is okay with you, then we’ll proceed with issuing invitations.”
“Let me just check.” Georgina retrieved her phone from the pocket of her jeans and thumbed through to her diary. “Yep, I’ve pencilled it in, so to speak.”
“Great.”
Blushing, Georgina asked, “Is it still okay to have your number?”
Molly could have cried with relief. “Oh yes. In exchange for Penguin, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
Georgina went to fetch Molly’s corkscrew while Molly typed her number in to Georgina’s phone.
“One free bird.” Georgina handed Penguin over with a wide smile.
“Thank you, although, on second thoughts, why don’t you keep it for now. After all, a house without a corkscrew is a scary place to be.”
Georgina laughed. “I’ll buy one, I promise, and return Penguin to you.”
Without debating the rights and wrongs or the personal versus the professional, Molly leaned up and kissed Georgina on the cheek, just as she had done the night before. She lingered a moment, brushing her lips softly against Georgina’s skin, and then she stepped away. Georgina was looking at her face and studying every feature. Why wouldn’t she kiss her? She could tell Georgina wanted to. Or was she imagining it somehow? Could it be that Georgina really didn’t want a relationship with anyone? But then, why ask for her number? Or was it just for work? A chill rose like floodwater to her chest. That must be it—she considered her a colleague and nothing more. Molly swallowed hard and said, “Goodbye then.”
Georgina nodded. “Yes, goodbye for now. And thank you again for everything.”
Molly forced herself to turn the door handle and to walk away towards Daisy May, who as ever waited patiently for her return. She wasn’t sure whether it was hearing the heartbreaking tale of Georgina’s sad childhood and seeing her terrible grief, or the simple pain of not being kissed goodbye, but either way, tears began to stream down her cheeks that she feared might never stop.
Chapter Seventeen
Georgina stood in the middle of the sitting room and watched Molly walk away towards Daisy May. She waited, wondering why Molly wasn’t starting the engine. Had Daisy May broken down? Or was it Molly? She could just make out that Molly’s head was bowed. Was she reading her phone? Or was she upset? Was Molly okay? Should she check?
No. What if she was the cause of her upset? Then going to her would only make things worse, surely?
Was she hurting her by confusing her? Was that it? By not knowing what to do about the girl she had no right to fall for. For there were expectations of her behaviour. There were professional boundaries. She was Georgina Wright, for God’s sake. And yet all she wanted to be in that moment was Georgina, a girl who was falling for another girl who seemed to like her too.
What must Molly be thinking now? One minute she was telling Molly how she had never even thought about the possibility of a long-term partner, and then the next minute she was asking for her number.
It was cruel, for she could sense Molly falling for her just as she was falling for Molly. It was there in the nervous excitement in the air whenever they met and in the glances and the words that meant too much, but most of all it was in the palpable wrench of saying goodbye.
When they were together, she could feel Molly’s gaze upon her and see the affection in Molly’s eyes when she looked at her. And she had encouraged it. She wanted more than anything for Molly to want her. She was responsible for how Molly seemed to be feeling, wasn’t she? She was the reason Molly had just kissed her cheek for the second time and looked at her with an expression that seemed to say, I want more. I want you.
London was only an hour away. They could date. But then what? How was she to know? She’d never got beyond dating. But then, Molly was different in every way. She already felt more for Molly, far more than those women she had dated for many months. Not only did she feel more, she felt differently. She instinctively wanted to protect her and care for her and make her dreams come true. She wanted to be her knight in shining armour and to rescue her from dragons. She wanted to come home to Molly. Only Molly. She wanted to hear her laugh and to admire her passion and to wake and plan a day with her and to fall asleep at night in her arms.
Maybe Molly was her one? Maybe there was such a thing? But then, hadn’t her father thought that? Hadn’t Edith thought that?
September 1832
City Walk, Leicester
“Edith! Edith, wait!” Josephine pulled at Edith’s sleeve. “For pity’s sake.”
“Pity? How can you speak of pity?” Edith tugged her sleeve free from Josephine’s hold. “You have none.”
“And you have no sense! Wait!” Josephine followed after Edith, trying her best for her walking not to become running. Ladies did not run, after all. Edith, on the other hand, seemed to find walking at a genteel pace a torture she would not endure. Josephine could just see her ahead, running, weaving through the crowds that had gathered on City Walk for the much anticipated lighting of the first gas lamps.
“Edith?” Josephine looked for Edith’s shape amongst the pressing throng, so familiar, so loved. She felt a hand slip into hers. She felt Edith’s lips warm against her ear.
“I do not need sense when my heart tells me all I need to know.” Edith lifted Josephine’s hand against her chest.
“Please, Edith. I cannot be strong for both of us. We need to let each other go.”
Edith gripped Josephine’s hand tighter. “Why? Why must we? We can build a life together.”
With her lips pressed in turn to Edith’s ear lest someone in the crowd about them should hear, Josephine gasped, “How?”
“With love.”
“Love does not feed us or pay our bills. It does not keep the cruel scrutiny of others at bay. Love will not protect our reputations, Edith. Love is not enough. And let us not forget, you have your mother to care for. Your writing will barely be sufficient, as it is.”
“I have an endowment. Small it may be, but we could make it stretch. We can do anything. Be anything.”
“Miss Brancaster. Good evening! I thought it was you.” William Wright, ruddy cheeked, and eyes bright as if lit by the lamplighter himself, beamed a smile at Josephine. If he had seen Edith or for that matter caught sight of her dropping Josephine’s hand to her side, he did not comment. “What a night! Can you see? I have a spot nearer to where the lamplighter will rest his ladder for this lamp here. Would you care to join me?”
“Good evening, Mr. Wright.” Josephine gave a courteous nod. “I’m fine just where I am. But thank you for the kind offer to stand with you.”
“Very well, as you wish. Should you change your mind, I am just there. Good evening to you.” William lifted his hat and gave a small bow with his heels clicking softly together before he turned to stand a few feet away.
“How do you know him?” Edith narrowed her eyes, watching him leave as if chasing off the keen beau.
“I don’t know him. He has been working with my father. I believe he is a solicitor.”
<
br /> “Well, I believe you are causing him to be quite distracted. He has missed that lamp being lit right at his ear, for his attention cannot be drawn from you.”
“I have done nothing to attract his attention. You have my word.”
“Men do not require a woman to do anything. There is a presumption, and I think he is presuming.”
“And he is not the only one. For you are presuming too much—for us, for the future.”
“I am not presuming you love me. I know you do.”
“That is not the point. How many times must I say that?” Tears forced their way over Josephine’s lips, squeezed tight in an attempt to hold back a sob. “I will not say it again. We cannot be together as we’ve been any more. We must stop this. This evening, in fact. Right now. And begin again as friends and colleagues. We must at least try.”
With a heartbreaking blankness to her voice, Edith said with her gaze dropped to the floor, “I can no more stop my feelings for you than I can stop my heart from beating.”
Josephine felt Edith move away. “Edith.” She reached out and found no hand to hold, just air. Empty air bathed in a golden street light.
Georgina heard Daisy May’s engine start. Her heart ached as she watched Daisy May disappear around the corner. Molly had left, and nothing about her leaving felt right.
* * *
Molly sat in her kitchen with her cheek resting against the table’s surface. A half-empty Nutella jar sat in front of her. October’s Museums Association magazine was open to her side. She had stuck neon Post-it notes to sections and tabbed pages to mark interesting information or ideas. As Saturday evenings went, hers was, well, less rock and roll and more geektastic.
She tapped out a repetitive note against the glass jar. Trust her to fall for someone who didn’t do relationships. Trust her to open her heart, unguarded. How did she imagine that someone like Georgina Wright would fall for her, anyway? What was she thinking? It was total madness. She was totally crazy.
