by Amy M. Reade
When I returned with a tea tray, Seamus and Felix were in the studio, talking like old friends. Seamus had pulled up another stool and both men were perched on their seats at the counter. Seamus was talking about his techniques and his pricing and Felix had pulled out a phone and was searching for possible exhibition dates. I tended to the customers while Seamus and Felix chatted.
“We get a lot of collectors who are interested in the type of art you create,” Felix was saying. “I’ve been promising them an exhibition soon, so when I stumbled upon some of your paintings last weekend, I knew your work was just what I’ve been looking for.”
“I’d be happy to do a show any time you want,” Seamus said.
“Normally it isn’t done like this, as I’m sure you know. Usually there’s a long lead time before an exhibit, but when I heard about you I just had to get the ball rolling. I’d like it to be as soon as possible. It looks like you have plenty of paintings in your inventory.”
They talked awhile longer and Felix left after promising to have his assistant contact Seamus to set up a date for the exhibition. Of course it would require Seamus to stay in London for a couple weeks during the exhibit, and probably meant several shorter trips before then. Felix explained that he liked to get artists closely involved in the exhibition setup.
After Felix left, the shop and the gallery were empty for the first time all day. Seamus gave a whoop of excitement and drew me into his arms, swinging me around in a circle like a doll.
“This calls for a celebration!” he said with a laugh. “We’re going out to dinner to the fanciest place we can find! Go get dressed!”
He waited in the studio until closing time, then he hurried to change into a suit and tie and we left for dinner. We ate at a seafood restaurant several villages away, one we’d heard of but had not had a chance to visit. We always said we’d wait for a special occasion, and this was a very special occasion—Seamus’s paintings were going to be shown in one of the most well-regarded galleries in Europe.
Just two days later, Felix’s assistant called with a few dates for Seamus to choose from. He chose the date closest to the summer solstice. That was less than three months away, so he needed to clear his schedule, have several new paintings ready to go to London, and have a solid idea of how he envisioned the exhibit’s physical space. Felix invited Seamus down to London as his personal guest, to tour the gallery and “get a feel” for the place, as Felix put it. It was just a two-night stay, round-trip on the train, so we felt it would be best if I stayed to mind the shop and gallery while Seamus went to the big city. He left the following week.
I missed him while he was gone. Callum and Eilidh invited me for dinner the night he left, but the next night I ate a bowl of porridge by myself in front of the television after triple-checking that the door was locked. As I got ready for bed I wondered if Alice was spending every day in the same manner, missing her husband and being alone. She had certainly seemed forlorn and lost while she was in the Highlands.
Seamus was full of excitement and ideas when he returned. Felix had spent time with him each day, he said, and Felix’s personal assistant, a man named Peter, had been exceptionally helpful by providing photos and ideas from past exhibits.
“Wait’ll you see it, Sylvie. You’ll be staggered at the gallery. It’s huge. And the space for my exhibit is three rooms. One is going to be painted stark white, one in a blue the color of Cauld Loch, and one in a dark brown. Paintings will hang from the ceiling and the walls. Just wait until you see it,” he repeated. His eyes gleamed with excitement.
I was thrilled for him, but I knew my wedding vows would be put to the test in the coming weeks—my job, my career, was going to take a back seat to Seamus’s art. He would be spending countless hours in the studio, perfecting paintings he had already started, creating more, and getting still more ready to be shipped to the Lundenburg Gallery. He was in a constant state of high energy, and I must confess it started to get on my nerves.
The weeks went by without any further information about Florian’s death. We had expected the police to come to a conclusion about the accident and, hopefully, to arrest someone for Florian’s killing. Seamus and I seldom talked about it, but Alice was never far from my mind and I thought about the accident a great deal. One night I brought up the subject at dinner.
“Do you think it would be frowned upon if we rang up the police and asked them what happened to Florian’s case?”
Seamus put his fork down long enough to stare at me. “After all we went through for the sake of that man, I would think you’d never want to hear his name again.”
“But don’t you wonder what happened? Someone was responsible for his death. Don’t you worry that that person is still around?”
“No, but now that you put it that way, I suppose I’ll have a hard time getting to sleep tonight,” he replied with a smirk.
“Doesn’t it bother you that the person who caused the accident has gotten away with murder?”
“If it would help you put Florian’s death in the past, then I think you should ring up the constable and ask about the status of the case.”
The next morning I did just as Seamus suggested. The constable didn’t have much new information to report, except to say that the investigation was no longer being handled by the village police.
“Who’s handling it now?” I asked.
“Scotland Yard.”
“Scotland Yard?!” I repeated.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid I can’t help you any more than that.”
After I hung up I went in search of Seamus. I found him in the studio, looking sideways at a painting he had done of the Cairngorms, a spectacular mountain range in the eastern Highlands and one of Scotland’s natural treasures.
“That’s one of my favorites,” I said, walking into the room.
“I don’t know,” he mused. “I’m not sure if I should include it in the exhibit.”
“You definitely should,” I advised. “I talked to the constable. Florian’s case has been taken over by Scotland Yard. Can you believe it?”
Seamus ran his hand down the length of his beard. I couldn’t tell if he was paying attention to me or not.
“Mmm?”
“Would you listen to me?” I demanded, my voice rising in volume. “I said that Florian’s case is being investigated by Scotland Yard.”
He looked at me and blinked once. “Why?”
“The constable couldn’t give me any more information.”
“That’s odd,” Seamus remarked.
“Do you think I should contact someone at Scotland Yard?”
Now I had his full attention.
“Absolutely not!” he roared. “Leave it well enough alone! It’s none of our business, so just let it go,” he added belligerently.
I poked my index finger into his chest. “Don’t talk to me that way again, Seamus. I’m warning you.”
“You asked for my opinion.”
“I didn’t ask you to yell your opinion. I’m trying to have a discussion with you and all you’re interested in is your work. I’m getting tired of it.”
“Sylvie, you know this is very important to me. To both of us. Can you just let me work in peace for a bit and we can talk later?”
I spun on my heel and stalked out of the room, fuming. How dare he talk to me like that?
I sat down at the desk in the shop, waiting for the first customers of the day to arrive. My fingers tapped on the desk relentlessly, a staccato non-rhythm. I was furious, and a headache had started to spread behind my eyes. That selfish, pig-headed scunner. I can’t wait until he’s in London for two weeks.
One hour and a dozen customers later, the pain in my head was so bad I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. The overhead lights seared into my vision, making it difficult to help anyone who came through the door. Reluctantly, I asked Seamus to mind the shop while I went to lie down. He took over for me, but not happily. I didn’t care.
Several hours later I woke up in my darkened bedroom, wondering what time it was. My headache seemed to have lessened, so I stood up slowly and checked outside. Still daylight. I went to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea, hoping the caffeine would help dispel the remainder of the pain in my head. I peeked into the studio, where Seamus was painting. I opened the door quietly. “No customers?” I asked.
He spun around. I had surprised him. “Och, I put up the closed sign so I could get some work done.”
“I’m feeling a bit better, so I’ll open up again and stay until dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that.” He looked down at the paintbrush in his hands. “Sylvie, I’m sorry about earlier. I’m just nervous about this gallery exhibit, that’s all. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
I walked over to him and put my hand on his arm. “I know you’re nervous. I want to help you, not be a hindrance. But I just wanted your opinion about something that’s important to me, and I didn’t expect you to blow up like that.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“I can’t quite hear you,” I said with a smile.
“Yes, you can. Now you’re just being a pest,” he said, using his free arm to pull me into a hug. “Am I forgiven?”
“Yes. But don’t ever talk to me that way again,” I warned, wagging a finger at him.
“I won’t. Did I cause that headache?”
“Yes. But it’s getting better, and now that you’ve apologized properly, it’ll probably get better even faster.” I went to the shop and turned the closed sign to “open.” “Now get back to work so you can take the evening off,” I called to him.
That night at dinner he opened a bottle of wine for us to share. My headache was gone and he was in a conciliatory mood after our argument. He poured me a glass and clinked his against mine. “What do you want to do whilst we’re in London?”
I pondered for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ll only have a day or two, so I’ll have to choose carefully.”
Seamus looked at me in surprise. “What do you mean, you’ll only have a day or two? You’ll be there the whole time.”
“What?! How can we leave the shop and gallery for two weeks?”
“We’ll put Eilidh in charge. She can tend to things whilst we’re gone. I need you with me in London, Sylvie.”
“Why?”
“For moral support. And because you’re my wife and I want you to be where I am.” He reached out and ran his finger down my cheek.
“But putting Eilidh in charge? She’s not the brightest bunny in the forest, if you know what I mean. She might just give away everything whilst we’re gone.”
“We’ll check on her every day. We can call her anytime and she can call us anytime if she has any problems or questions. And we’ll pay her, of course. That’s got to be a help to them.”
“You have this all figured out, don’t you?”
“I do, love. I want you to come to London with me. For the whole time.”
So I was headed to one of Europe’s most glamorous cities with Seamus. As much as I loved the Highlands, I couldn’t wait to see what London had in store for the Carmichaels.
CHAPTER 7
As the date of the exhibit grew closer, Seamus and I were busy getting things ready for the show and getting our business in order. I spent extra time framing photos, making canvas prints, and ordering extra business cards so Eilidh could hand them out to customers.
Seamus was a firecracker of nerves, easy to anger and quick to forget it as he prepared for the exhibit. He traveled twice more to London before we left for the opening, both quick overnights to assess the progress of the exhibit plans and speak in person with Peter, who was handling arrangements very capably. Eilidh came to the shop several times to learn how to use the cash register, how to handle credit cards, and what to do when an online order came in. I showed her where inventory was kept so she could keep the walls covered in art if anything was sold.
When the day arrived to leave for London, Seamus and I were ready. Eilidh came over early in the morning to take her place behind the counter and bid us goodbye.
Seamus and I had argued, of course, over how to travel down to London. I suggested we drive and take two days to enjoy the sights between the Highlands and the south of England. Seamus disagreed, saying he couldn’t stand to wait. In the end we took the train to London in one long day. I was thankful Seamus won the argument—I couldn’t have borne his edginess another minute, and a second day on the road would have sent me straight ’round the bend.
We arrived in London before twilight. It was two nights before the solstice, so fingers of sunlight cast lingering rays of pink and orange warmth along the streets of London until after nine o’clock. I wanted something to eat as soon as we put our bags in the hotel, but Seamus insisted upon visiting Lundenburg Gallery first.
The gallery was closed to customers when we knocked on the glass door, but Felix let us in and greeted us warmly. He introduced me to Peter, who was busy snapping photos of Seamus’s work. The paintings, he said, would be prominently displayed on the Lundenburg website. The paintings we had shipped hung from the walls and the ceiling across three rooms, and I walked through the spaces by myself while Seamus and Felix talked in Felix’s office. The rooms were cold and quiet. Peter had gone to the front desk to pull up his photos on the computer.
I tried to gaze at the paintings through the eyes of a guest. They were striking and beautiful, there was no doubt. I felt a swell of pride for my husband and his talent for sharing his vision with a paintbrush and canvas.
He came looking for me just a bit later. “Well? What do you think?”
I walked over to him and put my arms around his chest. “I think it’s perfect. I’m so proud of you.” He kissed the top of my head and took my hand. “Ready for dinner? Felix wants to take us out.”
The conversation at dinner, as I should have known, was focused on the work that needed to be done before the show and the clients that Seamus would be expected to coddle at the opening. There were more such clients than paintings.
The following morning, Seamus helped at the gallery while I took a walk. I had only been to London a couple times. It was a long distance from my childhood home in Dumfries, and we didn’t have the money for holidays when I was young. This trip was an experience that I might never repeat, so I wanted to explore every cranny before it was time to return to the Highlands.
I started out not in search of Big Ben or Westminster Abbey, but of the Getty Images Gallery. I could see the more well-known tourist attractions over the next two weeks. As a photographer, I was interested in seeing what one of the world’s largest photography galleries was like on the inside. It was renowned for its collection of photos dating back to the mid-eighteen hundreds and for its five-story industrial space. Armed with my mobile phone’s GPS, I took the Tube to Oxford Circus and walked up Oxford Street until I came to Winsley. From there I turned left onto Eastcastle Street and found the gallery on an unassuming corner, looking like any other glass-front establishment in an old redbrick building.
But when I went inside, I was greeted with a soaring, gorgeous space filled with pictures displayed in creative and unique ways. Whatever other plans I had for the day evaporated as I wandered through the rooms of photographs, in awe of the camera’s abilities and of each photographer’s vision and imagination. I forgot to eat lunch, I was so engrossed in the exhibits. It wasn’t until Seamus texted me that I remembered I was supposed to meet him for an early dinner.
We met near the Lundenburg at a small restaurant, where we swapped stories about our days and where, Seamus said, Felix would be meeting us for coffee after dinner. I knew I wouldn’t have much time alone with Seamus over the next two weeks, so I enjoyed our dinner together. I promised to take him to the Getty Gallery before we left for home.
Felix arrived as we were finishing a dessert of fruit and cream. He kissed my hand before he sat down, apologizing for taking up so much of Seam
us’s time. Then he turned to Seamus. “My friend, I’ve received a rather disturbing visit from Scotland Yard.”
I was immediately on alert. Scotland Yard? What did they want with Felix? And why was he mentioning it to Seamus?
Seamus set his fork down, fixing Felix with a wondering stare. “Care to share with us?” he asked.
“I rather think so,” Felix replied. “It was about you.”
“Me?!” Seamus asked, his eyes bulging. “What about me?”
“It seems Scotland Yard heard about your exhibit at the Lundenburg and had some questions for me about my dealings with you.”
“What did they want to know?”
“They asked if I was familiar with a certain painting by William Leighton Leitch. They wanted to know if I had seen that particular painting when I was in your shop.”
“Obviously not, since I sold it before I met you,” Seamus replied.
“Was there something peculiar about the painting?”
Seamus shrugged. “I didn’t think so, besides the fact that it was painted by a Scottish master. It wasn’t even in good shape when I sold it. Torn, faded. I got a nice price for it because of the identity of the artist.”
“So why is Scotland Yard asking me about it?”
Seamus recounted the story of Florian’s purchase and all the mysterious events that followed. “Sylvie and I have been interviewed by the local police, but we don’t know anything. They suspected that I arranged to steal the painting back so I could sell it again upon Florian’s death.”
I could do nothing but gape, still astonished by the news that Scotland Yard knew of Seamus’s whereabouts and wanted information about him.
“Did they have any other questions about Seamus or the painting?” I asked Felix.
“They wanted to know where Seamus is staying, and so of course I had to tell them.”
“They probably knew it already, since I’ve used my credit card at the hotel,” Seamus told him.
Felix nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. I don’t know how any of this might affect the opening at the Lundenburg, but it just may be good for business. Who knows?” He grinned, albeit with a worried look in his eyes. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?”