by Anna Larner
“Were hoping?”
“We may have to scale down our plans due to limited resources and all that.”
“That’s a shame.”
“I won’t be beaten though—I’ll come up with something.”
“Good for you.”
“And you’d be amazed at how the community rallies round when you reach out to them.” Molly pointed across to a far wall of faces filling the entire space that stretched from the ground to the first floor. One hundred photographs of Leicester citizens young and old, from all nations and all creeds, looked back at them, smiling.
“Wow,” Georgina said, her mouth falling slightly open. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before.”
Molly stole another glance at Georgina’s hand still resting on the banister. If she moved her little finger just an inch…
“One of the things I respect about my father’s city is its diversity,” Georgina said, her focus flitting from one face to another.
Did she say her father’s city? But didn’t she grow up here? Why would she distance herself like that? It’s none of your business. “We invited local people to welcome visitors to the museum with a smile,” Molly said, her heart swelling with pride at the memory. “I called it A Hundred Smiles. You know, I just put a notice in the foyer and invited people to join in. I didn’t think many people would sign up. We had nearly one hundred people wanting to participate. It was truly awesome. There are three walls of photos in different areas of the museum. One of the walls…”
“One of the walls?” Georgina gently repeated.
“Well, one of the walls is at the entrance of the new annex.” She had to raise the subject of the Wright room with her. This was the time, Evelyn had said, hadn’t she? She could do this. Molly took a deep breath.
“That’s exciting,” Georgina said with a nod. “It’s good to see the museum developing. Wait, is that…?” Georgina stood motionless staring out at the faces.
Molly gripped the banister. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell her. Nothing about this moment felt right.
“Fran? Yes,” Molly said. “To be honest it was nearly ninety-nine smiles and one grimace. I could only get her to smile by reminding her of one of the lunchtime concerts we hosted here where the pianist turned up late. We had to improvise, and by we, I mean me and Fran. I’d only been at the museum a week, and I found myself playing an impromptu variation of ‘Chopsticks,’ with Fran as my co-pianist. I think it’s fair to say Fran and I bonded that day, and really everyone was disappointed when the concert pianist eventually turned up.”
Georgina’s smile tipped over to become laughter. “I’m sorry to have missed it.”
“Happy to re-enact for you anytime—just ask.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” As Georgina turned to continue climbing the stairs, she said, “You seem to have a very person-centred view of your work.”
“Person-centred? I guess so. No, I definitely have.”
“And does that philosophy of approach extend to the whole museum?”
“Uh-huh. Absolutely.” Molly guided Georgina towards her office with Evelyn’s suite of rooms at a safe distance at the other end of the corridor. As they reached her office Molly stopped. “Okay, so I share my office with Fran, and we like to work on an intimate level.”
“By that Molly means this room’s bloody small,” Fran said through the door propped open with a replica of an Aztec artefact. The erection of the tribal figure symbolizing fertility was as it happened a very useful door stop. “Please come in. And don’t expect to sit,” Fran said, with a welcome that lacked, well, a welcome.
“After you,” Molly said cheerily.
“Thank you. Hello, Fran,” Georgina said. “Good to see you again.”
“Likewise. How are you holding up? I imagine settling your father’s estate is about as enjoyable as a tooth extraction without anaesthetic.”
Georgina nodded. “That’s pretty accurate.”
“Well, shout if we can help,” Fran said. “As you can see, our door’s always open.”
Molly suppressed a giggle and lifted a pile of paper wallets from her chair and gestured for Georgina to take a seat. “I’m sorry our office is a bit full at the moment. The objects we work with are kept in the storeroom as a rule. Now and then pieces stay with us here temporarily, like Josephine.”
“She’s here?” Georgina asked, her tone reminding Molly of the reaction of someone to the unexpected arrival of a loved one.
“She’s still with the conservator.” Molly tried to clear leg space for their guest. “He’s working on her as we speak.”
“And Edith’s inscription?” Georgina asked, her voice tight with concern. “What will he do with that?”
Molly rested her hand lightly on Georgina’s arm. “Don’t worry. The inscription will be left untouched and protected again by the backing board and the glazed frame, just as it has been. Her message was not intended for us, after all. I have those photos of it which I can send you.”
“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”
Molly followed Georgina’s gaze as it flitted around the room. What was Georgina thinking? Had she been expecting a vast suite of lab-like offices dedicated to the pursuit of excellence in their craft?
Molly always thought of their office as an Aladdin’s cave of wonder. A dressing up box with period costumes spilling out lay in one corner. A stuffed cat striking an alarming pouncing pose and adorned with a feather hat sat on the radiator that never worked. A haphazard collection of empty frames and mounts rested against a wide chest with thin drawers for paper objects to be laid flat in. Reference books, catalogues, and A4 lever arch folders balanced, defying all laws of gravity, on top of a filing cabinet, and a poster identifying every type of museum pest adorned the only wall space. Molly could only hope Georgina’s expression of surprise was in fact childlike wonder.
Was this the time to tell Georgina that the museum would be returning the painting and that they had done all they could do? Yes. It was time. Molly took a deep breath. “So—”
“I’ve been—”
Georgina and Molly tried to speak at once.
“Oops,” Molly said. “You go first.”
“I’ve been thinking about the painting. To be honest, I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.” Georgina gave a slight shake of her head. “In particular about what you said in our first meeting—that the painting didn’t seem to fit traditional works commissioned by a man for his wife to be. In this case, William for Josephine.”
“Yes, that’s right. I remember.” Molly perched a hip on her desk.
Georgina continued in earnest. “And then when we found the note from Edith, I began to wonder whether there was a possibility that the painting was not just a gift from Edith but that she actually painted it.”
Fran turned her chair in towards them.
Molly looked at Fran. “I don’t suppose you can recall if Edith painted, or perhaps if your volunteer mentioned that she’d noticed anything, I don’t know, remotely craft related in her research?”
Fran frowned in what was clearly a painful act of remembering. “I seem to have a half memory of a scrapbook listed.”
“There’s a scrapbook?” Molly reached for her notebook.
“Yes. In the records office. I presume it’s still there. I don’t recall mention of either Josephine or Edith as artists though.”
“I appreciate I’m speculating,” Georgina said, an air of defeat in her voice.
Molly shook her head. “It’s definitely possible that Edith painted as a hobby. In fact, come to think of it, at this time watercolour was becoming popular with amateur artists. ”
“So where do we go from here?” Georgina asked, looking intently at Molly. “Is there any way we can find out?”
Molly looked into Georgina’s eyes. She cleared her throat. “We could go to the records office.”
“Great.” Georgina was smiling broadly. “I could make this time next week.”
Molly nodded. “Yep.”
“Nope.” Fran turned back to her work. “The records office is closed on a Friday.”
Georgina said quickly, “This Monday then?” She opened her phone scrolling through to her diary. “Mid-morning? This gives me time to make some calls and get things going at work. And then I’ll go back to London after our meeting. So, ten thirty? Would that fit?”
“Monday?” Tricky. Oh, what the hell. “Yes, that could fit. Shall we meet in the foyer?”
“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you both for your time.” Georgina stood and carefully picked her way through the clutter to leave. She turned at the door and said, “I wanted to say that I really appreciate the distraction that working on this is giving me.”
“I can imagine. It’s our pleasure, Georgina,” Fran said, glancing at Molly.
“Gosh, yes. Absolutely,” Molly said, standing. “I’m looking forward to Monday already.”
“Me too. Goodbye, both.” And with that Georgina was gone.
Me too? Fran was staring at her. “What?”
Fran turned away back to her work. “Nothing.”
Never had nothing sounded less like nothing.
* * *
Molly had successfully managed to avoid Evelyn in the first hour or so of Monday morning. Not that it had been easy. She had been forced to hide in the loo at the sound of Evelyn’s stiletto heels clipping their way just round the corner towards her.
And now Molly sat on the same bench with the same knot in her stomach. This time, however, her nerves had less to do with the imminent arrival of Georgina and far more to do with Evelyn catching her just off on a lovely trip to the records office. It didn’t help that they would be going in Daisy May who was unable to leave or arrive anywhere without causing a stir.
Molly took a shifty glance around the foyer. Fred was trying to explain something to a visitor. By Fred’s animated hand gestures, the visitor was either hard of hearing or unacquainted with his Birmingham accent. Just beyond the foyer in the gift shop, a child and mother were locked in a battle of wills over a plastic dinosaur. It was clear that no one was remotely interested in Molly or her illicit meeting. Okay, this is good.
With every question the beautiful watercolour posed, Molly felt more determined that if there was a chance that Edith had painted the portrait, then she deserved surely to have her name associated with it. It was a matter of right. The omission of Edith, not only from the painting’s provenance but by all accounts from history itself, Molly knew in her heart should be corrected. Was this the occasion to put into practice Fran’s advice, to achieve what you believed was right but that still delivered for the powers that be? Should she find the moment the trip to the records office would afford to mention the Wright room? It felt wrong—a duplicitous breach of trust. And Molly wanted Georgina to trust her, she wanted—
“You seem deep in thought,” Georgina said, with an amused smile.
Molly stood to her feet in surprise. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t see you arrive. I was just, you know, caught up in thinking about…the portrait.”
How did Georgina manage to always look so hot? She was dressed in black tailored trousers combined with a fine charcoal-grey polo neck jumper. Her coat rested over her arm in an effortlessly casual way. It took all of Molly’s reserve not to run her hand along Georgina’s arm to touch what she guessed was the softest of cashmere wool.
“Shall we go?” Georgina gestured for Molly to lead the way.
“Yes.” Molly cast a final glance to the top of the empty staircase, half expecting Evelyn to suddenly appear, apparition-like. She held her breath all the way out of the museum. She looked across the square to where Daisy May waited patiently, if not discreetly, with her yellow paint shining out rather than blending in. Molly could only hope that Evelyn hadn’t chosen this moment to admire the view from her office window. “Okay, so, about my car, Daisy May—”
“Daisy May?” Georgina looked across at Molly and smiled. “That’s cute.”
Cute? Was she flirting? Of course she’s not flirting. “Yes. I inherited her from my gran. Needless to say, she’s super precious to me. She is cute, absolutely, but also rather elderly and I think at times a little oversensitive maybe. When I first inherited her, I took a night course in beginner’s mechanics to care for her. Looking back, that was such a smart move.”
“She breaks down a lot?” Georgina asked, looking at the bright yellow Mini in front of her.
Molly dug in her bag for her car keys. “Let’s put it this way—over the years she has earned herself the not very flattering nickname Daisy May Start, Daisy May Not.”
Georgina laughed. “She’s very cool. She suits you.”
Molly’s heart surged with the compliment. For if she was not mistaken, Georgina had just in a roundabout way told her she was cool. At least that’s what it felt like. “Thank you. Although you may want to reserve your compliments when you hear that we have only a fifty-fifty chance that she will start, and if she does start only a fifty-fifty chance that we’ll make it all the way there. And”—Molly opened the passenger door—“if we make it there, only a fifty-fifty chance that we’ll make it back.”
“Goodness.”
Molly climbed in next to Georgina who was finding it difficult to settle as she tried to find a place for her legs.
“Sorry.” Molly wiped condensation from the windscreen. “I would suggest we move the seat back but then—”
“There would only be a fifty-fifty chance it would move,” Georgina said, smiling.
“Yes,” Molly giggled. “You’re close. I was going to say that the last time I attempted to adjust the passenger seat was when Fran complained. For some reason the lever, yes, that one by your leg, adjusts just the seat back. Fran spent half an hour lying completely flat.”
Georgina burst out laughing. Catching her breath she said, “You’re not joking, are you?”
“Nope. So maybe rest your legs to the side.” Molly accidentally checked she was in neutral gear with Georgina’s knee. “Oh God, sorry, I didn’t mean to. So that’s not going to work—”
Georgina laughed again. “It’s fine, Molly. Let’s go.”
“Okay, fingers crossed. Daisy May, we have an important guest. No antics.” Daisy May started first time and, to her credit, made it to the records office with only one kangaroo hill start.
Chapter Nine
The records office, housed in a red brick former junior school on the edge of the city, was not Molly’s most favourite go-to destination. It was such a tense and serious environment. It certainly didn’t feel like the kind of place where you’d excitedly discover things. It felt more the kind of place where things were left behind, destined to be stored away and forgotten.
Molly watched as the receptionist wrote in immaculate handwriting the key words of Molly’s request on to a slip of paper.
“Edith…Hewitt…Abolitionist,” the receptionist said, as if deliberating over every letter.
“Yes, that’s right.” Molly suppressed the urge to ask Can we hurry, please. She looked at her watch. If she was to stand a chance to make it back without her absence being noticed and in time for Georgina to catch her train to London, then she figured they had less than an hour with Edith’s archive. She glanced across to Georgina who was standing in the reception lounge typing on her phone. Molly could only imagine how busy Georgina was and how every minute of her time had a financial cost, and here was Molly spending her time with what felt like reckless abandon. She dreaded to think of the bill she might send Evelyn. Should she have rung ahead and had everything waiting for them? Bugger.
“Through the door on the left. Hand this slip to the assistant who will bring your material to you. No bags, no coats, no photos, and all phones on mute.”
Georgina approached the reception desk and with a smile asked, “Are we being let in?”
“Almost. We’re not allowed coats and bags. Just the stationery we need.” Molly slipped off her coat, and
to her surprise, Georgina took it from her and handed their coats to the woman at reception. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I tend to travel light. I find it’s easier that way. Although that’s only thanks to technology. But the downside of being connected is that it’s hard to disconnect. So thanks for today. I meant what I said Friday—it’s a relief to have a distraction.”
Molly basked in Georgina’s warm and appreciative smile. “That’s okay, and thanks for keeping me company again.”
“My pleasure. I hope Edith’s archive will have the answers for us.”
Molly followed Georgina’s gaze to the door that led to the reading room. “Yes, me too.”
They found a table at the back which looked out towards the reception and the tall shelves filled with books and folders. The sweeping burr of the photocopier broke the silence in the otherwise deathly quiet room.
“It feels like I’m about to take an exam,” Georgina said.
Molly whispered, “Yes, it’s a bit formal isn’t it? Oh, wait, here he comes.”
A tall thin man, whose jumper matched the washed-out pallor of someone who needed more sun, rested three slim bound volumes onto the table.
“I’m sorry,” Molly lifted a volume and glanced inside at the collection of handwritten verses. “But is this all there is?”
“This is everything that came up under your search terms.”
Molly’s heart sank. “But are you sure you didn’t come across a scrapbook or something like that?”
The man shook his head. “Like I said, this is everything.”
“Okay, well, thanks anyway.” The man walked away. Fran was right. Either Edith had pretty much been overlooked, or at best miscatalogued and absorbed within Josephine’s archive. Molly looked at her watch. There was no time to request Josephine’s archives. She felt utterly sick at the thought that she had brought Georgina here for no reason. A pleasant distraction was one thing, but a complete waste of time was another, surely.