by Anna Larner
She went into the sitting room. “Think. You last saw it here. It’s got to be somewhere—surely the removal men wouldn’t have taken it?” A growing panic filled her chest at the thought of having lost Molly’s corkscrew. She scanned the empty room, lifting through the remaining post piled on the floor by the fireplace. A glint of metal half covered by the curtains caught her eye.
“There you are.” Georgina deftly opened the wine and filled the glass to its brim and drank down the contents in one. She immediately refilled it and slumped into the beanbag. She held Molly’s corkscrew, closing her fingers tight around its metal wings with her thumb pressed against the curl of its cork-piercing beak.
Molly. Fran’s words had ignited all thoughts of Molly to burn ever brighter in Georgina’s mind. She could remember every detail of that first magical evening with Molly here in the sitting room, lying on the throw together looking up into the sparkling light of the chandelier. It was the beginning of things that had led to London and to their first kiss and Molly’s arms around her and her soft warm body pressed into hers.
Molly had opened up Georgina’s heart, letting light flood into its dark chambers and urging warm blood to flow, melting the sharp crystals of sadness that had lined every artery.
She took another large slug of wine, its spicy heat smoking out sense and reason from anger and pride.
Fran was adamant that Molly hadn’t used her or betrayed her trust. So why on earth had Georgina imagined she had? Had she allowed her anger to cloud her judgement? Had fury bent and twisted the truth to its own warped design?
How could she be so stupid? For wasn’t she the one who instigated everything and not Molly? She shivered as the heat of anger dissipated and the cold truth seeped in. She’d been as intrigued as Molly to want to continue to research Josephine’s portrait and pushed to uncover its buried history. So why was she surprised when Molly defended the painting’s story and pleaded for it not to be buried again and for it to be told in the space they had created together? No wonder Molly couldn’t understand, and no wonder her confusion prompted her to leave. And then she blamed her for leaving and punished her with unforgivable silence, forcing an apology Molly hadn’t needed to make but made anyway for the sake of them. For them.
Georgina felt tears of guilt and regret sting. Molly hadn’t used her. She had just cared, not only about the painting, but about Georgina herself. Fran was right and Georgina couldn’t have felt more wrong.
She sat forward hugging at her knees. Molly would never forgive her. It was too late. She had ruined things and lost the most beautiful woman she could ever have hoped to meet.
Georgina looked up to the ceiling at the glinting chandelier. She closed her eyes and the fading shapes of glistening glass imprinted on her eyelids. I can’t lose her. There must be something I can do. As she opened her eyes and dropped her gaze from the ceiling, she caught sight of the empty wall opposite. She stared at the dust outlines made by the absent paintings and at the darker blocks of paint protected behind them for all those years. They were safe now together, hanging in the Wright room. But they weren’t all together were they? Georgina looked out to the hallway that led to the kitchen that led to Edith’s painting.
Could it be the answer? It was certainly at the heart of everything wasn’t it? It would have to be something more though than the display of the portrait in the Wright room. It was too obvious. In any case it might seem too little too late. But what then? Georgina sighed heavily and picked up the corkscrew in her hand once more.
“How do I show her, Penguin, how much I care?”
This was Molly Goode after all, and nothing shining or superficial would truly impress her. The possibility of an idea suggested itself like a whisper in her ear. What had upset Molly the most? It was the thought that Edith had been forgotten by her loved ones and by history. What could she do to correct this? If she could solve that question, then maybe it would mean a chance for them. Even if she could come up with a plan, she’d have to take on Evelyn. But she would do that. She would do anything for Molly. Was this a glimmer of hope?
Chapter Twenty-seven
The bottle of wine had helped Georgina sleep, although it was less helpful in the morning as she squinted at the low winter sun beaming brightly in through Evelyn’s office window.
Georgina stood for a moment looking out at the square and at the empty space where Daisy May would wait for Molly. A raggedy man was sitting on Molly’s bench talking to something or someone or nothing or no one, except maybe the occasional pigeon who pecked around his feet. She looked across to her father’s house standing empty with its proud exterior buffeted by the occasional swirl of dust and drifting litter. Everything looked so desolate. Winter had never felt so bleak.
“Georgina. Thank you so much for calling by.” Evelyn bustled in a little breathless, with her pink cheeks matching her flushed neck.
“Good morning.” Georgina shook Evelyn’s hand. “Would you mind if I lowered this?” Without waiting for a reply she lowered the blind and cast the room in ominous shade.
Evelyn switched on a light. “Not at all. Please make yourself at home.” Evelyn hung up her coat and stroked her hair and clothes into place.
It was eight thirty and Georgina had clearly caught Evelyn off guard. “I’m sorry for arriving unannounced.” Georgina wasn’t sorry—she wasn’t sorry at all. Evelyn was on the back foot and that was precisely where Georgina intended to keep her.
“No, think nothing of it. Please take a seat.” Evelyn settled herself behind her desk and gave a little sigh as if grateful for the protection it offered. “Our door is always open for you, Georgina, anytime. Thank you, Marianne.”
Marianne placed a tray of coffee and biscuits on the table. Evelyn poured them coffee from the cafetière. If she was not mistaken, Evelyn’s hand was shaking slightly.
“Before we go any further”—Evelyn placed a hand against her chest, whether as a gesture of sincerity or in an attempt to calm her heart Georgina couldn’t tell—“I must apologize for the unfortunate confusion at the opening of the Wright room. I trust you have had a chance to read my note of apology and explanation I included in your Christmas card from the museum?”
“I haven’t checked my post.” Georgina took a guarded sip of her coffee. She’d seen that the museum had sent her a Christmas card, care of her father’s address. She’d been using it unopened as a drinks mat.
Evelyn double blinked. “Well I do hope, that is, I trust, that you will forgive this unfortunate”—Evelyn seemed to hold the next word in her mouth as if sucking on a boiled sweet—“misjudgement on our part and accept our sincere apology for any upset we have caused.”
Georgina thought that she might have to painfully extract an apology and was surprised when one came so easily. “Thank you for your apology, Evelyn, which I accept.”
Evelyn visibly relaxed. “That’s a wonderful relief.”
“I do, however, seek your reassurance with regards to Molly Goode.” Georgina’s tone was measured to rest uneasily somewhere between furious and calm.
Evelyn rearranged herself in her chair. “Molly?”
“Yes. I understand she has been suspended.”
“That’s right. There are a number of reasons—”
“I’m not interested in the reasons. I am interested in her immediate reinstatement.”
“May I say I’m a little confused, Georgina. You gave the impression that Molly had misled you in some way. I considered this to be a breach of trust which we will not tolerate at the museum. As a key stakeholder we greatly value your support—”
“And I have greatly valued Molly’s. I now have a better understanding of Molly’s part in matters, and whilst I understand your confusion, I would greatly appreciate her reinstatement.”
Evelyn leaned forward and took a considered sip of coffee. She looked at Georgina with her eyes levelled to hers. “I wonder if this might be an occasion for the museum to seek a little…clarity from yourself as
to our relationship with the Wright Foundation, as you see it going forward. Understandably I found your parting words the other night a little disturbing. Notwithstanding my part in that, of course.”
Was Evelyn using Molly’s reinstatement as leverage for what she wanted? “Of course. And yes, I agree. This is indeed the perfect moment to establish some clarity. So let me define for you what the Wright Foundation will be looking for in terms of funding applications going forward. We will want to see museums adhering to their stated aims and delivering upon them.”
Evelyn gave a cautious nod. “That sounds entirely reasonable.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Georgina opened her iPad and retrieved a saved document. “I see that the museum has stated aims which include prioritizing local histories and the acquisition and display of objects which reveal society’s progress.”
Evelyn gave a fidgety, “That’s right.”
“I think there is an excellent opportunity here for the museum to show the Wright Foundation in tangible terms that they intend to deliver on their aims.”
Evelyn had shifted forward to the edge of her seat. “In tangible terms?”
“Let me put it this way—I would be greatly impressed to see Edith Hewitt’s painting of Josephine Brancaster displayed as part of February’s LGBT history month. And I would be equally reassured to find the display remains in place throughout March to become part of the celebrations for women’s history month. The life of Edith Hewitt is a local history that has not been fully explored before and fits the remit very well. I feel sure this is something both Molly and Fran would be pleased to work on.”
Evelyn tilted her head and looked at Georgina, studying her with the care of someone who intended to remember every detail. “LGBT history month?”
Georgina held her gaze. “Yes.”
“No.”
“May I ask, why not?”
“You may. February is too soon to put together a display of any merit. Even March is asking too much, but then I suppose it will please Fran, who has been hovering like a hornet in my ear about a local focus for women’s history month.” Evelyn wafted her hand at her ear as if she could hear the soft hum of the hornet still.
“Surely meeting the February deadline would only require the ready assistance of the records office to lend the necessary objects?”
“What is required remains to be seen. And the narrative, the emphasis of the display would be…?”
“The whole life of Edith Hewitt. Her work and her personal life.”
“I see. And you are insistent upon this?”
“Yes. Very much so. This and something else.”
Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “Something else?”
“The Wright Foundation would be interested to sponsor a project to explore the collections for other similar hidden histories. Obviously for the matter of neglected histories to be dealt with properly, the root cause must also be addressed.” Evelyn raised her pen. Georgina ignored her and continued, “I understand the problem lies primarily at the point of entry with the cataloguing of the objects. Sensitive contextual data such as sexuality, gender, race, and religion are not required to be recorded and are being lost.”
“You seem very well informed.” Evelyn’s tone implied not that I need to ask by whom.
“I make it my business to understand things properly.”
“Well, please rest assured that as an accredited museum we meet all the sector standards in this regard. Furthermore I’m sure you appreciate we do not set the standards, we follow them.”
“I would have thought this museum would prefer to set best practice rather than merely follow it. Or am I mistaken?”
Evelyn’s knuckles grew ever whiter as her grip on her pen tightened. “It goes without saying that this museum regards itself as a leading institution—”
“Excellent. Then I can expect to see the museum leading the way by specifying sexuality, gender, race, and religion as compulsory primary fields in your database.”
Evelyn let out a pained sigh. “If only the delivery of your expectations was as straight forward as we would like. Sadly in many respects our hands are tied, for to redesign at will our generic museum database with its prescribed fields and controlling term lists is…” Evelyn waved her hand in the air searching no doubt for a phrase to match her expression of many shades of agony.
“Completely possible?”
“Well, in theory—”
“Great. And rest assured that the Wright Foundation looks forward to happily untying your hands and supporting this museum to make the theoretical entirely practicable. And may I add, I am surprised to find that you allow your curatorial vision to be constrained by the limitations of a computer database.” Georgina folded her arms.
“One moment. I just need…” Evelyn stood and went to the blinds, lifting them before sliding a window open slightly. She stood for a moment in the thin cold slice of breeze.
Georgina shivered as the winter air chilled her skin.
Evelyn turned around with her expression newly cooled and her demeanour calmed as she leaned against the windowsill, and the blinds lightly knocked against the glass. “Georgina, I must say how much I admire the direction the foundation is moving in. It is very commendable.”
Where was this going? “Thank you.”
“But I would like to clarify that not every project the museum needs to undertake will have a local or minority community focus.”
“And I understand that,” Georgina said. “But let me clarify in turn to say the foundation is more likely to want to work with a museum on the more, shall we say, prestigious applications, if they are making a genuine effort towards meeting the needs and raising the visibility of a diverse audience.”
“I can assure you that the last thing the museum wishes to do is alienate any audience member.”
“That’s good to hear. So we are agreed on the points discussed.”
“I didn’t say that.” Evelyn returned to her seat, tucking her chair firmly under her desk. “Look”—she held her palms up in front of her—“let me think about everything you have highlighted. Why don’t we meet again in the new year. Molly will have returned to work by then—”
“Today.”
“Pardon?”
“I want Molly reinstated today.”
“Today? May I say I am struggling to digest the long list of your requests.”
“Why? Surely I have simply offered to fund your museum and to help the museum meet its aims. I am also correcting an earlier error with regard to Molly.”
Evelyn sat back in her chair. “The best I can do is promise to think about it.”
Georgina stood. “No, I would have thought the best you can do is to put into motion my requests today. Thank you for your time. I’ll see myself out.”
“Georgina.”
Georgina turned back.
With a surprisingly gentle tone, Evelyn said, “Not that I need to say this, but neither of us knows how Molly feels at the moment, and I have come to understand neither do we know what she will do.”
Georgina’s cheeks tingled at the inference of Evelyn’s observation. “Yes. I understand that point.”
“The thing is, Georgina—and I mention this not to be cruel but because I greatly appreciate your continued support—I told Molly to have nothing more to do with you. She didn’t…I’m afraid she didn’t put up much resistance.”
Georgina felt her heart contract and ache. “Thank you, Evelyn.”
Georgina left with the heartbreaking sense that no wiser word had been spoken by more wily a fox.
* * *
“Hello, Molly!”
“Hi, Fred. Happy Christmas! Can’t stop!”
Molly ran across the foyer and up the stairs. She then raced down the corridor to her office. “Have you heard?”
Fran nodded and grinned. “Welcome back, Molly Goode.”
Molly gave Fran a big hug. “Evelyn rang me an hour ago. Do you think she’s banged her
head? Reinstating me early is one thing, but I mean, to tell Edith’s story for LGBT history month? Next she’ll be suggesting we hang a rainbow flag outside the museum for the whole of February.” Molly paused. “Oh, maybe we could ask about that?”
“Maybe we should be thankful for the amazing gesture and take a breath and ask ourselves if this sounds like an Evelyn decision.”
Molly shook her head and perched her hip on Fran’s desk. “It sounds nothing like an Evelyn…” Molly paused. In the excitement of being reinstated and with her first task lined up for after the Christmas break to prepare suggestions for a display based on Edith’s life, she had simply overlooked the blindingly obvious. “If Evelyn has asked me to be involved, then does that mean art is involved? You don’t think…?”
Fran reached behind her and lifted Edith’s painting to rest on her desk. “I was asked to collect it half an hour ago. I’d only dropped it off with Georgina yesterday. Such toing and froing, this poor thing and I have travelled further than Michael Palin’s sandals.”
“I don’t understand—why would she?”
Fran smiled affectionately. “For such a bright and talented woman, you can be really quite stupid.”
“Rude. So, what, this was your idea and you persuaded her when you saw her yesterday?”
Fran shook her head. “Granted, I was rather frank with Georgina and put her straight about you. And I did get the impression she might ask for your reinstatement. I honestly didn’t expect all this, though.”
Molly spoke her thoughts aloud. “She’s the reason I have my job back and that Edith’s painting will feature in a display?”
Fran nodded. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that girl might have fallen in love with you.” Fran turned back to continue her work.
Love? Molly’s heart missed a beat. “You think she loves me?”
