Mariah Stewart - On Sunset Beach

“I’m really, really, sorry, sweetie.”

“I know you are, and I appreciate that, El.” Carly took a deep breath to push back against the huge lump that was forming in the middle of her throat. Ellie obviously felt terrible and the last thing Carly wanted was to make her friend feel even worse. But she had to be honest. “I’m not going to lie, El. I had that exhibit space planned out and have lived and breathed those paintings. I’ve studied them and I know every inch of Carolina’s work by heart. I’ve imagined the articles in the Times and the New Yorker and the Washington Post and every influential art magazine that exists. But I understand the position you’re in. I’m really disappointed, but I’ll get over it.”

“Not for a while, you won’t. I know you.”

“Yeah, it’ll take a while,” Carly admitted. “When do I have to have them back to St. Dennis?”

“I’m not sure. I’m hoping you’ll continue to work on the biography.”

“Of course. That will still be the prelude to the exhibit I’ll have.”

“I can’t thank you enough for understanding. You don’t know how much I hated making this phone call, but they want to include the gallery opening in the holiday tour this year.”

“Wait, Ellie—they can’t just slap these things up on a wall.” Carly was appalled at the thought. “The temperature has to be regulated, the lighting has to be just right so that the works are shown to their best advantage, but also so that the paint isn’t damaged. And they should be grouped a certain way. I’ve given a lot of thought to this over the past week.” All of Carly’s plans came out in a rush of concern. “I’m still trying to decide how best to display them, though I’m leaning toward grouping them chronologically, so that when you look at Carolina’s entire body of work, you can see how she evolved and grew as an artist. And there should be a catalog—I was working on that. Title of the work, year she painted it, any comments she may have made in her journals about it. Like in her journals she talked about the process of specific paintings, what inspired her, what she was thinking …”

“There’s been no consideration given to any of that,” Ellie said, “but you’re right. If they’re going to do this, it’s going to have to be done in a professional manner.” She paused as if thinking. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m going to tell the council that the exhibit is a go but only if they agree to let you take over and that what you say is the way it’s going to be.”

“Wait. What?”

“You were already planning the perfect exhibit of these works. Why can’t you do it here?”

“Because my gallery is in New York?”

“Carly, this way you can still be the one to introduce Carolina’s works. When the exhibit here is over, you can move them to New York, but you’ll still have been the one to present them first. Everyone will be happy.” When Carly didn’t respond, Ellie asked, “What are you thinking?”

“What if they say no, that they don’t want an outsider involved?”

“Then they don’t get the paintings. Carolina’s work stays with you. They’re too important.”

“You could make some enemies there in town, you know.”

“Blood is thicker than water.”

“We’re not related,” Carly reminded her. “There is no ‘blood.’ It’s all water.”

“A technicality.” Ellie laughed, as Carly had intended. “We might as well be blood. Look, they’re my paintings and I can do whatever I want with them. But I have to be honest, I do love the idea of having them introduced to the world right here in St. Dennis. It’s where Carolina lived and worked and raised her family. A lot of her subject matter was right here in town. Some things are gone—like the lighthouse—but other landmarks are still here. The town square, that tiny church on Old St. Mary’s Church Road, some of the homes that she painted.”

“Look, maybe you could approach them this way. Say that you aren’t sure that the conditions in the mansion are suitable for a display of this size and importance, so you need to determine exactly what the conditions are. If there’s too much moisture in the air, the paintings could be damaged. Too hot, too dry, too cold—”

“I get it,” Ellie told her. “If I can get them to agree to hire you—”

“They can’t afford me. Which is okay, I’ll donate my time as long as the exhibit has my name on it.” Thoughts buzzed around inside her head and she began to think out loud. “Maybe it could work. Maybe. Understand that the way the art world perceives the exhibit will have a direct effect on the value of the paintings when you are ready to sell them.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now and I’m going to call the mayor and the president of the town council—”

“And security. There’s going to have to be real security—”

“Really, I’m hanging up—”

“Ellie, wait. If I could make a suggestion.”

“Certainly.”

“If I were you,” Carly began cautiously, “I’d ask them to call a special meeting to discuss this. Tell them you’ve thought it over and that you consulted with a pro. You know the paintings are very valuable and you are concerned about the security and the integrity of these works. If they are at all interested, tell them I’d like to make a trip down there to assess the conditions.”

“They’ll be interested when I tell them they don’t get the paintings until you’re on board.”

“And tell them up front that if the conditions aren’t right and the works can’t be shown properly—”

“Then the paintings stay in New York. The more we’ve talked, the less comfortable I am with the thought of handing over a fortune in artwork to people who have no idea what they’re doing.”

“Probably not the best way to present your case to them.”

Ellie laughed. “I’m hanging up now. I have calls to make. Thank you for your input. I knew you’d know what to do.”

The call disconnected and Carly placed the phone on her desk. It made her crazy to think that Carolina’s paintings would be shown anywhere other than Summit Galleries. This exhibit was all she’d thought about for weeks. Still … if she had control, if she were still calling the shots and debuting the works, did it matter where they were shown as long as her name was connected with the exhibit?

She grabbed her phone and sent Ellie a quick email:

Ellie, tell these people that you want to keep the existence of Carolina’s paintings hush-hush until a big splashy announcement can be made. It’s too much to hope that it could be kept a secret, but try to make them understand and appreciate the value of silence. Tell them that the greater the surprise, the bigger the news will be—that you want to bring as much positive attention to St. Dennis as possible. Then call me the minute you have something to tell!

She hit send and then sat back and prayed that the powers that be in St. Dennis had enough sense to know that what Ellie was proposing was the best way—the only way—to introduce the world to Carolina Ellis.

Over the next thirty-six hours, Carly jumped every time the phone rang or pinged with an incoming email. When Ellie finally called, she was bubbling over with news.

“You would have been so proud of me,” Ellie told Carly. “I was so cool. So collected. So professional. So—”

“Right. I’m sure you were. Now what happened?”

“Well, first I went over the things we discussed. You know, temperature, moisture in the air, security, that stuff. No one knew anything about any of that. So I said that I’d already discussed the situation with the owner of a very prestigious New York gallery and that I couldn’t possibly let my family’s legacy be put in jeopardy unless the conditions in the mansion were right.”