by Anna Larner
“You okay?” Fran briefly rested her palm on Molly’s back.
Molly shrugged. “Can I say no?”
Fran nodded. “Of course. In fact I always trust a no more than I trust a yes.”
Fran always knew what to say, and Molly loved her for it and for her every cynical life-weary wise word.
“And it’s no surprise to hear. I’ve been putting your unnerving quietness these last few weeks down to work pressure.” Fran sat with a groan on a bench against the far wall. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I rather miss the regular updates on you and Ms. Wright.”
Words choked in Molly’s throat. The last weeks of being brave and of pushing to the back of her mind all thoughts of Georgina had taken their toll. What was Georgina thinking at that moment? Why hadn’t she rung or messaged? Was she waiting for Molly to be in touch? Was that it? Should she have apologized? But for some reason it felt like she would be apologizing for caring, and hadn’t Georgina once said that she should never do that? Then why hadn’t Georgina rung? Had Molly lost her?
Fran patted the space next to her. Molly just stared at the empty seat.
Fran shook her head and sighed. “So why am I having to endure your miserable face?”
Molly couldn’t help but smile. “Rude.”
Fran gave an unapologetic shrug.
Molly reluctantly perched on the edge of the bench and took a long deep breath. “I found out that Edith died just seven months or so after Josephine married. She was only twenty-six.”
“Oh, poor Edith and poor Josephine, indeed. Losing a loved one before their time is just cruel. On that note, I’m guessing you’ve updated Georgina?”
“Yes. She was with me the day I found out. We saw Edith’s grave together. Edith is buried in the graveyard of St. Mary de Castro. All that was marked on her gravestone was her name and dates. Nothing else. It was like she’d achieved nothing and loved and was loved by no one. It was properly heartbreaking, Fran. It really upset me. Georgina seemed upset too, but then…” Molly hung her head.
“Why do I get the impression we’re about to get to the actual reason for your subdued mood.”
“I thought,” Molly said, barely above a whisper, “hoped, maybe, that we were on the same page, you know?”
“Nope, I’ve no clue what you’re on about.”
“No, not you and me. Georgina and me. You see I wanted to display Edith’s portrait of Josephine alongside the other paintings from the 1800s and for it to be a discussion point. It could be the instigator for revealing other hidden histories, couldn’t it? Correcting similar injustices even. I naturally assumed, as Georgina had been so involved with uncovering Edith and Josephine’s story, that she would want this too.”
“And Georgina doesn’t?”
“No. It really threw me, and then I didn’t know what to say or how to feel. All I seemed to want to do was leave. So I did, and now we haven’t spoken since.”
“Goodness. I see. Did she say why she didn’t want it displayed?”
Molly nodded and repeated Georgina’s explanation. “So as things stand, she’s not comfortable offering it for display.”
“That’s so strange, isn’t it?” Fran said, frowning. “What was George thinking?”
“It could have been just a mistake. But it’s clear Georgina doesn’t think it was.”
Fran absently stroked the bench. “It’s almost like he didn’t feel it was his to bequeath. But then it’s clearly his family’s heirloom.”
“So maybe he’d already given it to someone. But then why not let the solicitors know? Why oblige Georgina to have to sort it out? It’s like he wanted her to focus her attention on the painting and to solve its mystery. Do you think he’d always wondered about it?”
“It’s impossible not to wonder about that painting. It’s so intriguing and enticing.” Fran looked at Molly. “But I think, Miss Marple, you may be getting a bit carried away.”
“Maybe. It was awful, Fran, to feel the mood become tense between us. And it got even worse when I suggested that the painting would prompt debate and how important that was. She was adamant that her mother’s infidelity had already invited scrutiny and speculation and that she wanted to protect her father from all that again.”
“Look, you’ve simply hit on a sore spot.” Fran gave a slight shrug. “It happens when you’re getting to know someone.”
“Yep, definitely.” A terrible sinking feeling tightened around Molly’s chest. “Now that I think about it, during our research Georgina was really upset with what she saw as Josephine’s betrayal of Edith. Of course, I’m so stupid, the last thing she would want in the Wright room is discussion involving betrayal.” Molly swallowed. “She must think I’ve never understood what she has told me about her life. And then I walked out on her…Oh God, no wonder she hasn’t been in touch since.”
“Maybe she’s just giving you some space,” Fran said. “Because you left, it could be that she’s waiting for you to get in touch with her.”
“I miss her, Fran. I really miss her.” Molly pressed a hand to her chest and a tear rolled down her cheek. “My heart hurts so much.”
“Well then, you must make sure you find a moment to tell her all this when you see her at the opening.” Fran handed Molly a tissue from her cardigan pocket. “I have a theory that what we feel for someone, they likely feel for us.”
“So Georgina is missing me too?”
Fran looked at her and smiled. “I think her heart will be hurting as much if not more than yours. Now I’m going home, and I suggest you do the same before we are mistaken for artefacts with you hung on the wall and me stuffed on a plinth.”
Molly’s chuckle at Fran’s comment soon drifted away as she glumly said, “Sure, I’ll lock up. See you Monday.”
How could that be possible? How could anyone’s heart hurt more? For it was hard to imagine a pain greater or a regret more sorely felt.
Chapter Twenty-four
Molly was right. The annex hadn’t lost the poignancy Georgina had felt on that first visit when it was just an empty space yet to be filled with objects. Now that it was completed, it was still without question simply beautiful, and as before evoked a calm peaceful mood. You would have loved this, Father.
Georgina was so pleased that by arriving early for the opening she’d somehow managed to slip unnoticed into the annex. She was delighted to have the room to herself if only for a few moments and relieved to notice that Evelyn was now focused on the foyer and the imminent arrival of the evening’s guests. Molly and Fran were nowhere in sight. Molly. Georgina crossed her arms. What would she say to her tonight? Tears which had threatened every day since she last saw Molly rose again. She mustn’t get upset. Not here. Not tonight, for this was her father’s evening.
She took a deep breath and walked around the elegant space, taking everything in. Rodin’s bronze cast of Little Eve and the bust of Thomas Cook sat resplendent on their plinths positioned opposite each other at either side of the French doors. Two explanatory panels had been designed to fit the long column spaces that supported each side wall of glass. One panel introduced the Wright Foundation and the other provided an outline of her father’s life and work, just as Molly had anticipated. Georgina peered into the cabinet placed in the centre of the room, smiling for a moment at the memory of laughing with Molly about protecting the porcelain from stray elbows. The light glinted in the soft sheen of the figurine’s milky glaze and the patterned blue of the vase shone out like a cloudless sky on a summer day.
“Georgina! How wonderful. Fred said he thought it was you.” Evelyn strode into the room with the confidence of someone whose victory in all matters was assured. “Welcome and tell me, what do you think of the room?”
“It’s beautiful, Evelyn. My father, I’m sure, would be very pleased indeed. Thank you.”
“It has been our pleasure. I hope you can see that we’ve been at pains to let each artwork breathe.” Georgina followed Evelyn to the far wall
. “And you will see we have taken a chronological approach. On the left are your family portraits from the 1800s.”
Georgina stifled the sensation of hurt triggered by the mention of the paintings.
Evelyn carried on without pausing for breath. “I took the liberty of including The Hunt within this series of works, which I’m sure you’ll agree fits very well. And then we move left to right into the twentieth century to the present day ending with the Leibovitz and your father’s photograph of his charming garden.”
Georgina nodded. “It works well.”
“Good. Now in terms of the order for the night, as people gather I will give the briefest of welcomes and then hand over to you. I know how much it will mean to our guests to have you speak of your father and for you to introduce them to the Wright Community Room and Gallery. I’ve asked Molly to say a few words from a curatorial perspective.” Evelyn looked out towards the foyer. “Oh, there’s the mayor. I hope you don’t mind—I made some additional invitations to those persons holding influence both locally and further afield. Oh, wonderful, Mark has seen him. Won’t you join us in the foyer as we welcome our guests?”
“I’d rather take some more time with the room before people arrive.” Georgina glanced at the dignitaries milling in the foyer. “If that’s okay?”
“Of course. When you’re ready.” Evelyn left with her back straight and her demeanour poised to take the moment the occasion offered to win over hearts and minds and, above all, patronage.
Georgina stood motionless, claiming a final private moment with the objects her family had cherished and loved. Soon all that had been familiar and personal would become unfamiliar and impersonal, for seeking public memory came at a cost, and sentiment and privacy seemed to be the price.
Georgina risked another half glance in the direction of the foyer. More guests had arrived, drifting in from the blackness of the December night and gathering in small groups, their eyes furtively seeking out the refreshments.
She quickly turned away. Could she excuse herself somehow and leave? But they were expecting a speech, weren’t they? They were expecting thanks and praise and poignant memories of her father. Did they want her to publicly grieve? As a minimum they were expecting her to impress them and to show them she was the worthy heir to the Wright Foundation. Tonight she belonged to them, and the thought filled her with rising panic and dread.
“Hi. I figured you might need a drink. I’ve had two.”
Georgina turned at the sound of Molly’s voice, so familiar and reassuring. Molly was smiling at her, a tentative smile, uncertain perhaps of Georgina’s reaction.
“Thank God for you.” Georgina took a glass and a huge gulp of wine.
Molly’s smile grew wide, as she said, “You look—”
“Terrified?”
Molly laughed. “Yes. Terrified and beautiful.”
Georgina felt herself blush. “Thank you.” She brushed nervously at her thighs before running her fingers along the bottom edge of the jacket of her dark grey trouser suit. She was surprised at how self-conscious she felt. It had all of the trepidation of their second meeting and all of the heartache of their last. When she hadn’t heard from Molly she hadn’t known what to do or what to think. Her doubts about ever having a one didn’t match how much she missed Molly and how much she hurt. She knew in her heart, she was here this evening as much for Molly as for her father, if not perhaps more.
“You look beautiful too,” Georgina said, relieved to feel the warmth of Molly’s smile upon her.
But then Molly always looked beautiful. Whether dressed to impress like tonight in a slim fitting navy-blue dress set off with her free-flowing auburn curls or chatting casually in denim jeans with her hair tucked up under a fisherman’s hat. Pain stabbed at Georgina at the memory of Molly’s heartbroken face that day she found out Edith had died. The same day Georgina had so evidently disappointed her.
Molly’s expression became serious as she looked down, her eyes darting as if chasing her thoughts. “I’ve missed you and…and I’m so sorry about the last time we chatted. I shouldn’t have left like that.”
Guests were mingling around them. Georgina could hear Evelyn’s voice approaching. Georgina rested her hand on Molly’s arm. “Let’s talk later.”
Molly looked up. “Yes, I’d like that.”
A high-pitched tapping of pen to glass called everyone’s attention to Evelyn. “Everyone. Welcome to the opening of the Wright Community Room and Gallery. This is a space which celebrates a most generous gift from the Wright Foundation of an exquisite collection of fine and decorative art. It is also, we hope, a fitting tribute to the late George Wright, who was instrumental in bringing this gift to fruition. Amongst the works on display tonight are pieces from George’s own personal collection, which it is now our absolute honour to treasure on his behalf. Without further ado I would like to invite George’s daughter and head of the Wright Foundation, Georgina Wright, to say a few words.” Evelyn turned, clapping in Georgina’s direction, encouraging the gathered crowds to join her in appreciative applause.
“Good luck,” Molly whispered.
Georgina nodded and tugged at the cuffs of her shirt. She joined Evelyn, standing at her side.
“Thank you, Evelyn, and to your hard-working team.” Georgina glanced at Molly who blushed. “And thank you to the museum’s trustees and to the city council for their kind support in making this evening possible. I know my father would have been so proud to see his artworks and the foundation’s collection residing in such a fitting and wonderful space.” Georgina paused to allow the murmur of approval to circle the room and rest. “He would be as thrilled as I am to think of the visitors who will be able to enjoy these amazing objects as my family have had the privilege of doing for so many years. I know he would ask you, as I do now, to raise a toast to—” In that instant everything stopped. No. It can’t be. Not you. Not here. Georgina’s gaze was captured by a figure standing at the back of the room. A figure she had not seen for many years but one she recognized instantly. It was the same slender-framed woman who haunted her dreams, waking her night after night, as Georgina tried to stop her from leaving again and again and again.
Georgina glanced at the crowd and at their raised glasses and confused expressions. She briefly closed her eyes and swallowed. Her mouth was dust dry and the sound of her blood pounded in her ears. She could feel the room slide and shift. She opened her eyes, seeking out Molly who mouthed, You okay?
“To the Wright Community Room and Gallery!” Evelyn said, with a confidant tone that almost persuaded the onlookers that this was intended, a double act indeed.
The guests all dutifully repeated the words of Evelyn’s toast. Their questioning faces leaning like sunflowers tilted to the sun in the direction of Georgina.
Georgina turned to Evelyn and whispered with barely concealed fury, “Did you invite her?”
Evelyn smiled broadly at the gathered audience, at the same time saying with the skill of a ventriloquist, “I thought it might offer opportunities for…My apologies if I am mistaken.” Without waiting for Georgina’s response she quickly raised her voice to the crowd once more and continued, “Thank you so much, Georgina. We are so very grateful. So everyone, to help you enjoy your evening with us, I would like to welcome Molly Goode, our curator of fine art here at the museum, to say a few words to guide and to illuminate.”
“Are you okay? What is it?” Molly whispered as she joined Georgina and Evelyn.
Georgina shook her head. “My mother’s in the audience.”
Molly swallowed and her face drained of all colour. “Oh.”
Evelyn gave a short cough. “And here is Molly to say a few words.”
“Yes. Good evening, everyone.” Molly gripped her notes. “There is”—she cleared her throat—“perhaps no surer way of getting to know a person than through the objects they have loved.”
Georgina couldn’t face hearing Molly speak on behalf of the museum that had taken su
ch liberties not only with her feelings but with her father’s memory. But even more than that, she couldn’t bear the thought that her mother was now looking at her. She quietly stepped back and left the room to find sanctuary in the foyer.
“Would you like a drink, Miss Wright?” Fred was smiling and gesturing to the drinks table in front of him.
Georgina looked at the wine poured out in glasses. “A glass of red. Thank you, Fred.”
From the safety of the foyer and with her back to the Wright room, Georgina half listened to Molly’s speech, giving an overview of the major items in the collection before wrapping up with, “So everyone, this evening, art is truly celebrated as the past and present come together to remind us of the wonder of art throughout the decades and, indeed, generations. Please do not hesitate to ask questions as you enjoy the works on display.”
Without missing a beat, Evelyn added, “And please do take a moment to browse our gift shop and let us tempt you to a little something as a memento of your evening or as the perfect Christmas gift.” Georgina’s stomach turned over at the sound of Evelyn’s voice. “So we welcome you,” Evelyn said, “to the Wright Community Room and Gallery.”
Applause followed, soon to be replaced by the hushed deliberations of public scrutiny.
“Georgina?”
Georgina turned round at Molly’s voice and the feel of her hand on her back.
“I didn’t think she’d come. I’m so sorry,” Molly said.
“You knew she’d been invited?”
