‘They expected to get it and I won’t blame them for that,’ she said. ‘Anyway, Mom and Suzanne kinda clicked, which was nice. Plus she’s invited me back to Spain, and she’ll visit the States later in the year. She worked in San Francisco for a while, you know. Just think – I might even have bumped into her in the street and not known who she was. I do feel like she’s family to me. Which was definitely worth it, because I didn’t have anyone before.’
‘I think she would’ve been quite happy for you to have the house.’
‘Perhaps. But Donald and Gareth wouldn’t and that would’ve widened the split between them. It’s not right that the three of them should resent each other. Anyhow, Gareth and Lisette’s marriage is under huge stress, and if they’d lost the case I think it would have been a hammer blow for them. As it is … well, I have my fingers crossed. If everyone comes out intact, it’s definitely been worth it.’
‘You care that much?’
‘I think I do,’ she said.
‘You’re amazing,’ said Ryan.
‘Don’t say that – with your accent I believe every single thing you say.’
He laughed. ‘So what’s next for you, Abbey Andersen?’
‘Well, you know about my burgeoning nail artist career, and hopefully I’ll make a success of that. But I plan to do other things too. As well as travelling more, I want to get back into painting again. I know I’ll never be world famous, but that’s not important. It makes me happy.’ She told him of her idea to paint snow-covered Californian landmarks and he nodded his approval.
‘I’d like to keep in touch with you too,’ he said. ‘I mean, I know it’s difficult for it to become anything more than it is now, with the distance between us and everything. But if we can stay friends … I’d like that.’
‘Me too,’ said Abbey. ‘Besides, maybe you’ll be sent to the States again sometime.’
‘Sadly, I doubt it. You were my coolest ever assignment.’
‘Perhaps you can come on vacation. Visit me.’
‘Definitely. I’d like to trek down to Los Montesinos one day. See where your mom lives.’
‘I’m sure she’d like that too. Anyway, it’s easy to stay friends no matter where you are in the world these days.’
‘Which is a really good thing,’ he said. ‘Now that I’ve found an American cailín, I’m in no rush to let her go.’
He took them to the airport the next morning and he kissed Abbey goodbye, another gentle meeting of their lips, in full view of Ellen.
‘You like him?’ she said when they were sitting in the lounge.
‘Sure I do. But we’re only talking about being friends. Anything else is expecting too much.’ Nevertheless, Abbey was reliving the kiss, thinking that she’d felt more from the pressure of Ryan’s lips than she ever had with Cobey, and wondering how soon it would be before she saw him again.
‘I’ll pray,’ said Ellen, which made Abbey give her an extra hard hug.
She hugged her extra hard the following day too, when Ellen, now dressed again in her coffee-coloured skirt and white blouse, checked in for her San Diego flight.
‘It was great having you back,’ Abbey told her.
‘It was good to be back.’ Ellen sighed. ‘I know now why they make us go through so much before making our vows. And why we rarely leave the monastery. It’s hard to say goodbye to the people you love. Especially knowing that you won’t see them or talk to them for a long time.’
‘But you love the sisters,’ said Abbey. ‘And you have this thing going with God …’
Ellen smiled. ‘I know. But it’s not the same as loving your own daughter. The last few days were full-on, though. We couldn’t live like that all the time.’
‘No, we couldn’t,’ agreed Abbey. ‘All the same – if you ever want to leave … not that I’m trying to influence you at all …’
‘I’ll ask for guidance,’ said Ellen. ‘That I do the right thing for the right reason. Like you did.’
‘Oh, you prayed for that to happen, did you?’
‘Not a bit,’ said Ellen. ‘Only that you’d be comfortable with the choices you made. Which I hope you are.’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Abbey. ‘And I want you to be too. So if prayer means you come up with something new – we can work that out. I can’t help sensing, though, that you’ll feel like you’re at home again when you get back to Los Montesinos.’
‘I like that you’re not trying to pressure me one way or the other,’ said Ellen.
‘Nobody could pressure you, Mom,’ said Abbey. ‘Same as nobody pressured me either. We’re strong women, both of us.’
They hugged again. And then Ellen picked up her bag and walked through the gate to board her flight home.
Chapter 39
A couple of weeks later, Solí and Vanessa came to Abbey’s apartment for a nail-care evening. Her friends brought food and wine and she did their nails in return. It was the first opportunity she’d had to fill them in fully on the details of her visit to Ireland.
‘So, bottom line is you got nothing out of it, but you don’t care because your career as a nail technician – or should I say artist – is romping along, you’ve more than doubled your earnings over the last month, you won another prize in a competition, and you’ve got a great rental on the apartment from Pete,’ said Vanessa as she looked at her vibrant red nails, each now adorned with a tiny diamanté stone. ‘I applaud your generosity, but, quite frankly, I think you’re off your head. You should have stuffed them for whatever you could.’
‘And I’m not sure that your bonus long-distance relationship with the hunky lawyer is adequate compensation,’ added Solí, whose own nail art was a funky design in green and gold.
‘Oh, look, I still ask myself from time to time if I did the right thing,’ admitted Abbey. ‘But deep down I think I did. Besides, it’s nice to have some sort of family in the background, no matter how far away they are. I’m keeping in touch with them and I’ll be visiting Suzanne before she opens her hotel to give advice on the nail bar. I’m looking at some exclusive designs for her.’
‘So all’s well that ends well,’ said Vanessa. ‘Except that you’re not a millionairess and you could have been.’
‘Which would have been nice,’ agreed Abbey. ‘But I’m doing so much better than I was, and that’s worth more to me than anything.’
‘Was it totally weird?’ asked Solí. ‘Going into court. Seeing all those judges and stuff in wigs – I mean, wigs!’
‘They’re not obligatory,’ said Abbey. ‘The judge in our court didn’t have one. Not that I can remember much about it, because I was in a complete spin at the time. But you’re right, that whole part of it was weird. Other parts, like spending time with my mom, weren’t.’
‘She’s still at the monastery?’
‘Yes,’ replied Abbey. ‘Despite her minor wobble, I think she’ll stay there. Going to Ireland took her out of her comfort zone, but I honestly think that Los Montesinos is home for her.’
‘You always swore that you’d had enough travelling, and yet you ended up flitting across the Atlantic twice and you intend to do it again – both to visit Suzanne and to go to the Nailympics,’ Vanessa pointed out. ‘So she could change too.’
‘Possibly.’ Abbey grinned. ‘I’m not holding out for that, though. Anyway, right now I’m happy with my lot. At least I will be after you pour me another of those excellent mojitos.’
‘Coming right up,’ said Vanessa.
The three girls clinked their glasses together. Vanessa started to tell the other two about her new boss at the bank (all talk, no action), while Solí reminded them that they had to come to the exhibition of landscapes that the gallery was putting on soon, and which included three of Solí’s own works.
‘Of course we’re coming,’ said Abbey. ‘I think it’s great that they’re finally recognising your talent.’
‘One day we’ll include paintings by you,’ said Solí. ‘You need to build up a body of w
ork.’
‘I’ll never be as good as you, but I’ve been experimenting.’ Abbey crossed the room and brought back a canvas to show her friend. ‘Snow on Alcatraz.’
‘Oh Abbey, it’s amazing!’ Solí looked at the almost monochrome painting, in which Abbey had depicted high drifts of snow against the starkness of the prison building. ‘It’s really unusual.’
‘I got the idea in Dublin,’ Abbey explained. ‘I want to pick out Californian landmarks and paint them in the snow.’
‘Maybe this will be your exhibition.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not,’ said Abbey. ‘I can always try selling some down at the Pier, see how it goes.’
‘Well, show them to me when you’ve got them done. Although you should put them on your walls. They’re still remarkably bare.’ Solí looked around the apartment.
‘I know. I know. I keep meaning to do some more home decorating, but I guess I was a bit reticent about it until the whole Irish situation was resolved. And the situation with Pete, too.’
‘He’s OK with letting this place to you?’ asked Vanessa.
‘Yes, it’s all worked out perfectly. He has other properties in town, you know, so it’s all being looked after by the rental company now. Which I’m happy about. Keeps it on a business footing, although to be fair to Pete, he’s giving me a slam-dunk deal on the rental, even though I told him I didn’t want any favours.’
‘He’s a great guy,’ said Vanessa.
‘I’m lucky to have him in my life,’ agreed Abbey. She turned slightly. ‘What are you doing, Solí?’
Her friend was looking through the other paintings that Abbey had left in the corner of the room.
‘Oh, checking on your old work too. But this isn’t one of yours, is it?’ She held up the painting that Lisette and Zoey had given her. Abbey had taken it out of the rather ornate and old-fashioned gilt frame it had been in because it would have been far too much trouble to bring it home that way. So now it was loose among the rest of her paintings.
‘God, no.’ She explained the gift from the Fitzpatrick women. ‘I took it because they were clearly so guilty about having raided his safe that they needed me to accept something.’
‘It was in his office?’ Solí was studying it as she spoke.
‘It’s odd that they picked it for me,’ said Abbey. ‘The wall was completely covered in photos and prints and paintings. But that one caught my eye when I was giving him CPR. I kept looking at it, telling Fred to be strong like the rock. And I felt comforted by it too. I like the way the sunlight hits the stone. Reminds me of Alcatraz. Made me feel at home.’
‘Did they say anything about it?’ asked Solí.
‘Like what?’ By now, Abbey detected an undercurrent in her friend’s voice.
‘Where he got it?’
‘No.’
‘It’s just …’ Solí’s eyes were narrowed as she looked even more closely at it. ‘It’s not in the greatest condition, I guess. But you know we studied Irish art in college?’
‘Hey, one class,’ Abbey reminded her. ‘And the only painter I remember was Francis Bacon, because we used to have similar ones in the Geary Street gallery. Probably half the reason I stopped working there – they used to freak me out so much.’
‘Not the sort of thing you want hanging at the end of your bed,’ agreed Solí. ‘This is different. Not a Bacon, sadly, because they go for millions these days.’
‘D’you recognise the painter?’ asked Abbey.
‘I think so,’ replied Solí. ‘I think this was painted by Jack Yeats.’
Abbey frowned. ‘Jack Yeats? The Jack Yeats? The brother of that Irish poet?’
‘W. B. Yeats was the poet, Jack was the painter,’ Solí reminded her. ‘Look at the brushwork here. And here. And …’ she grinned as she indicated the corner of the painting, ‘there is, of course, the signature.’
Abbey examined the painting. ‘I didn’t recognise it as a Yeats on the wall,’ she said doubtfully. ‘But then, I probably wouldn’t. D’you really think it’s him?’
‘It could be,’ said Solí. ‘Certainly worth checking out.’
‘Is it valuable?’ asked Vanessa.
‘That depends,’ replied Solí. ‘Some of his paintings have sold for forty or fifty thousand.’
‘Seriously?’ Abbey was impressed.
‘But one of them went for over a million.’
Abbey and Vanessa stared at her.
‘It was a much bigger painting, and in the height of a craze, so …’ Solí shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t get my hopes up, but you might still get a reasonable five-figure sum for this, Abbey. Maybe even a bit more if it’s a good day.’
‘Oh my God!’ Vanessa looked at Abbey, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘You could be rich after all.’
Abbey continued to stare at the painting, at the sea and the rock that had reminded her of home. She didn’t say a word. There were none to express the tangled emotions that were running through her.
She called Lisette and asked if there had been a special reason why she and Zoey had chosen that particular painting to give her.
‘No,’ Lisette had replied. ‘It was one he liked and so we thought it would be a bit more meaningful for you. He said that his father had been given it instead of payment by a friend of his back in the nineteen thirties. His father was a farmhand, from Sligo,’ Lisette added.
‘Was he given any more?’ asked Abbey.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Lisette. ‘We’re going through Fred’s things now.’
‘Well go through them carefully,’ Abbey told her. ‘Because this painting might be valuable, and perhaps there are others.’
Lisette and Zoey immediately engaged an expert to look at Fred’s pictures, but there were no more Yeatses among them, although he reckoned that some of the paintings by lesser-known artists could fetch a few thousand euros.
‘I guess you might feel a bit sore about giving me this one,’ said Abbey, when Lisette rang her with the news.
‘To be truthful, Donald and Gareth were furious when they found out,’ confessed Lisette. ‘But Abbey, you gave us back so much, you deserve it. They’ll come round eventually, I hope.’
‘Are things still difficult between you and Gareth?’ asked Abbey.
‘It’s hard for everybody,’ replied Lisette. ‘Donald is trying to put a deal together so that he can buy the house. He wants it and so does Zoey. But it all depends on him selling his own and – well, Gareth and I need our money quickly, so there are still some obstacles to overcome. On the plus side, Zoey went shopping with Karen and Sorcha the other day and nearly melted Donald’s credit card. But he was so pleased that they’d been out together that he didn’t say a word. Gar and I seem to be getting back on track with each other again, too. He’s actually … he’s a bit ashamed of how manic he was about everything, which is why I’m pretty sure he’s not going to want to pursue the issue of the painting. So hopefully we can work things out in the end. And at least we’re not being pressurised by Suzanne. She emailed me the other day. She thinks the hotel will be open ahead of schedule.’
‘I know, she emailed me too,’ said Abbey. ‘And I’m sure everything will work out for you guys.’
‘Funny thing – I’ve talked to Suzanne more in the last few weeks than in all the years I’ve been married to Gareth. She’s good fun, has a different perspective to the boys. It’s refreshing. Zoey and I have become really firm friends too, which I never would’ve thought.’
‘Perhaps one day we can all get together again,’ said Abbey. ‘In Fred’s house. With everything sorted.’
‘I’m afraid that could be a few years away yet,’ said Lisette. ‘At least as far as Don and Gar are concerned. But it would be nice if the female members of the family could meet up again. Maybe your mother could come too?’
Abbey wasn’t sure. She hadn’t spoken to Ellen since she’d returned to Los Montesinos, and although she knew that her mother hadn’t yet made her final profession, she c
ouldn’t help feeling that she had settled back quite happily into the community of sisters. But for the first time in her life, she didn’t resent it. She wanted Ellen to be happy and content no matter where she was. Because the truth was that she was happy and content herself. Suddenly her life seemed to be moving along on an even keel. She was enjoying her work, her social life was good, and she didn’t have the nagging feeling that there was something missing any more. Cobey Missen had gone to LA, hoping to take part in a reality TV show. He hadn’t tried to reach her before he left and Abbey was relieved that he’d gone. Although if he’d hung round a little longer, she thought, the whole thing might have started again, because he’d have found out about the painting, and knowing him, he’d have been ready to advise her on how to maximise her cut from that too.
Part of Abbey wanted to keep Fred’s painting, but the idea of having something of potential value in her apartment worried her. Besides, a painting by a famous artist needed to be kept in a more controlled environment, with a steady temperature, to maintain it in good condition. Admittedly Fred’s study hadn’t been ideal, but Abbey felt it had been better than anything she could provide. So in the end, she decided that selling it was the best thing to do. She had to admit that her motives weren’t entirely down to the fact that she wanted what was best for the painting. The idea of a tidy five-figure sum was an appealing one too.
She’d been to lots of auctions, particularly when she’d worked part time at the gallery, but she’d never been a seller at one before. Not a run-of-the-mill seller either – at today’s auction, taking place in New York, the main interest was the painting titled Sligo Rock by Jack Yeats. As she sat in her seat and waited for it to come under the hammer, she read the catalogue description over and over again.
Sligo Rock, painted in or around 1930, is loosely impressionist while conveying an enduring strength. It is a signature work by a much-loved Irish artist.
Pete had pointed to the words ‘signature work’ and murmured that they should add another few thousand dollars to the price. ‘I was so mad at you when you passed up that house,’ he said. ‘And I’m still mad because there’s no way this painting can make up for it. But at least you struck lucky with it. At least they didn’t give you one of the photos of the old cars.’
Things We Never Say Page 41