April Snow (Dana McGarry Series Book 2)

by Lynn Steward

  “It sounds like the convention is keeping you pretty busy,” Dana said. “Would you like me to pick up Uncle John’s cigars at Sautter’s? It’s a few blocks from the Lansdowne.”

  “That would be a lifesaver,” Phoebe said. “I have two days of seminars on using something called a stent to open up clogged arteries instead of always resorting to bypass surgery. It would be a non-invasive procedure, but most cardiologists think it’s still years away.” Phoebe suddenly burst out laughing. “And here I am, bringing my father cigars, which is the last thing a cardiologist should do.”

  The two women finished lunch, Phoebe heading to the convention for afternoon lectures, and Dana returning to the Lansdowne Club, where she finished unpacking.

  Dana sipped afternoon tea while paging through a book of poems she’d found lying on the end table by the sofa, her thoughts returning to her display of emotion that morning. Brett had indeed been quickly and surgically excised from her life, perhaps too quickly, and yet she had received no judgments about the decision to do so from her parents. She was aware, of course, that Virginia had always been a bit leery of Brett, even at the very beginning of their courtship. As for her father, he was quite unflappable and had reminded Dana that things always work out in the end, which was a part of his lifelong, homespun philosophy that she found so comforting. And yet Dana couldn’t shake the realization that Brett, despite all of his shortcomings, was a man she’d loved for over eight years. Should she have given him another chance? After all, the marriage hadn’t been all bad. The visit to the chapel, she concluded, had reminded her of Catholic dogma regarding marriage: it was indissoluble. Mount Street Gardens, the chapel, the brass panels—they’d brought to mind her many years with the Sisters of the Sacred Heart, causing her to second guess her decision.

  Leafing through the slightly-worn pages—she thought that older books had such character—she saw Wordsworth’s “Ode on Intimations of Immortality.” It was one of her favorite poems. She especially liked the lines towards the end.

  Though nothing can bring back the hour

  Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;

  We will grieve not, rather find

  Strength in what remains behind;

  In the primal sympathy

  Which having been must ever be;

  In the soothing thoughts that spring

  Out of human suffering;

  In the faith that looks through death,

  In years that bring the philosophic mind.

  The sentiment was essentially that of her father, who had a “philosophic mind” when it came to handling disappointment. There had been good times in the marriage, but some things were beyond repair, and Dana had indeed retained strength in what remained behind, which was a full life that included friendships and opportunity. Dana realized how important this trip was—far more than a break from her daily routine or an enjoyable shopping spree. On her own, she could privately mourn her marriage and process her emotions, opening her mind and heart for whatever lay ahead. She was at peace again, ready for the rest of her stay in London. Still, she wondered if Father Macaulay would share her perspective. The priest had emanated kindness and understanding in the brief minutes she’d been in his presence, and now, feeling stronger, she decided to visit him again before she left London. He’d demonstrated genuine concern, and she wanted to hear his soothing voice one more time.

  Chapter Two

  After a good night’s sleep, Dana arrived at Fortnum & Mason, located at 181 Piccadilly, at eight o’clock in the morning. An hourly tribute to the founders begun in 1951, the four-foot models of William Fortnum and Hugh Mason emerged from the turquoise and gold clock and bowed to each other with punctual civility as the carillon bells sounded eight times. Dana was seated in the Buttery, an intimate dining room on the mezzanine level. She ordered coffee and a croissant and began reading the Times when her thoughts drifted to the shifting tide of events at B. Altman since January. While she had experienced great success with the teen makeup section and the Teen Advisory Board, new challenges had presented themselves almost immediately, and she’d found herself at odds—not for the first time—with Helen Kavanagh, the former junior buyer.

  Struggles were unavoidable in everyone’s career, but Dana felt like progress was achieved at a pace of two steps forward and one step back. In January, Helen’s junior department had been broken up, and she became the divisional manager, overseeing women’s sportswear and dresses as well as juniors. In turn, Dana had stepped up to the position of junior accessories buyer. For Helen, however, her new job, while a promotion, no longer had power or status thanks to the arrival of Dawn Mello two years earlier. Mello filled the newly-created position of vice president and fashion director and had been hand-picked for the task by Ira Neimark, who was hired to make B. Altman more competitive in mainstream retailing, thus updating its stodgy image. Dawn was solely responsible for charting the store’s fashion direction, approving new lines and making buying decisions that were influenced by her extensive European travels to scout for new trends. With twenty-five years of buying experience, Helen resented reporting to Dawn and was now angry that she had no control of her staff’s merchandise choices, leaving her with boring budgets and operational issues.

  In the months following Helen’s promotion, Dana enjoyed a good working relationship with Dawn, who wholeheartedly approved of Dana’s suggestion to build a small free-standing accessories “store” in the junior department. Dawn had challenged the buyers to think of creative ways to compete with boutique-mania thriving all over the city, from Madison to Third Avenue, and she especially liked Dana’s idea to market the proposed accessory section, called “Nantucket,” with merchandise popular on Nantucket Island: handmade lightship bags decorated with scrimshaw pieces, colorful ribbon belts, and canvas duffle bags from Marblehead, Massachusetts. Dawn not only gave Dana the green light but approved an expensive build-out to replicate cedar shingle houses on the island, custom-designed by Mark Senger, president of Senger Display Company, B. Altman’s vendor for holiday windows and major store renovations. Helen went directly to Dawn, asking her to halt the project or defer the cost to the store, but she was overruled. Dawn thought the Nantucket concept had potential for growth and believed that Helen should be responsible for the expense because her department would ultimately benefit from the new brand. Dana had found herself in the middle of a power play between two formidable women, and she was an easy target for Helen’s misery. Her exciting new job had once again become nothing more than a game of politics.

  Dana lingered over breakfast until the store officially opened so she could buy a few favorite items for her room at the Lansdowne, ginger and lemon tea and ginger chocolates, before dashing next door into Hatchards Bookshop. She had almost an hour before the lecture on portrait miniatures, and enough time to browse the tables and shelves, picking out several titles, and a lovely edition on eighteenth and nineteenth century portrait miniatures that would be the perfect complement for the upcoming lecture.

  She purchased the books cradled in her arms and took a short taxi ride to the historic Hertford House on Manchester Square, where the Wallace Collection was located. The small museum had been established in 1897 from the private collection acquired by Sir Richard Wallace and the third and fourth Marquesses of Hertford. Wallace’s widow had bequeathed the entire collection to Great Britain on the condition that admission would always remain free to the general public. The collection included European paintings, portrait miniatures, sculpture, eighteenth century French furniture, Sevres and Meissen porcelain, and Oriental and European arms and armor. Despite its many renovations over the years, the Wallace Collection still had the graciousness of a private town mansion of the period.

  Dana immediately went to the Sixteenth Century Gallery on the main floor where twenty chairs had been arranged. Just as the lecture was about to begin, Dana seated herself next to a slim young woman who, although conservatively dressed in a tweed skirt
and sweater, wore large antique Art Nouveau silver jewelry. The woman had thick, wavy hair parted softly in the middle and pulled behind her head in a bun. Her large brown eyes were attentive and aimed at the front of the gallery except for a brief moment when she turned slightly towards Dana and smiled.

  The lecture began, and Dana focused her attention on the speaker, a balding English gentleman in his sixties named Basil Trivett. He wore a dark gray suit and a burgundy foulard bow tie, with half spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He spoke slowly and distinctly, as he explained that miniature portraits first appeared in illuminated manuscripts painstakingly produced by hand in the High Middle Ages. By the early sixteenth century, portrait miniatures were used by royalty at French and English courts and were painted in watercolor on stretched vellum parchment or enamel. The first glimpse Henry VIII received of his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, was courtesy of court painter and miniaturist Hans Holbein. King Henry carried images of some of his wives in lockets before they lost his favor—or their lives.

  In 1768, artists in London established the Royal Academy of Arts, with miniatures displayed at its annual exhibition. When photography was introduced in 1839, however, miniature portraits were eclipsed by the accurate likenesses produced by early cameras. A revival occurred in 1896 when the Royal Society of Miniature Painters was founded. Trivett concluded by explaining that miniatures were still highly prized by art patrons and were quite collectible. A question and answer session ensued, during which the woman next to Dana asked several questions that clearly demonstrated her superior knowledge of miniatures

  When the lecture concluded, Dana turned to the demure woman and said, “Your questions were as interesting as the lecture, particularly your inquiry on the British colonial period, which I love.” She paused. “Pardon me—my name is Dana McGarry. Would you care to join me for lunch in the courtyard? “

  “I’m Abby Kempf,” the woman said, extending a small, frail hand. Her head was slightly lowered even though she looked Dana in the eyes as she spoke. “Yes, I’d be happy to join you. It’s a beautiful day.”

  During the first few minutes of their lunch, Abby spoke quietly, expounding on Trivett’s facts about miniatures to include stories about their history in France and Germany. Dana was overwhelmed by Abby’s continued display of artistic knowledge, but at times she was distracted by the intensity she brought to the subject. Dana was more than a bit curious about her passion for the miniatures.

  “Are you a collector?” Dana asked.

  “No, but I do have three enamel miniatures, one by Henry Bone. They were wedding gifts from my mother-in-law.” Abby explained that she’d majored in art history at Sarah Lawrence, spending her senior year in Florence and remaining there an additional two years after graduation. She had then interned for a year at Sotheby’s in London.

  “I don’t enjoy a nine-to-five routine,” Abby said with a shy smile, “so I share my knowledge and passion by giving art lectures in England and the U.S. I book my travel schedule around the lectures.”

  “Then you must know Rosamond Bernier,” Dana said enthusiastically. “I attend all her lectures at the Met. We were introduced last year, and she invited me to her after-party at Café des Artistes. A beautiful lady and so gifted.”

  “She and my parents have mutual friends in Peapack, New Jersey, and we’ve spoken at summer parties. When she heard I was putting together slide presentations, she was very generous and gave me invaluable advice. She’s exceptional.”

  “Are you from Peapack?” Dana asked.

  “No,” Abby replied. “From nearby Bernardsville.”

  “I grew up on Long Island,” Dana said, “although I’ve been living in Manhattan since I graduated from college.”

  “I have a flat in London, but I consider Manhattan my home,” Abby said. “I’ll be traveling most of the summer before returning to New York in the fall.”

  Dana and Abby exchanged phone numbers, and Abby once again grew more reserved as she stood to leave.

  “I hope we’ll visit in New York,” Dana said. “It’s been a lovely lunch.”

  Abby merely nodded, smiled, and left.

  Dana had thoroughly enjoyed both the lecture and the lunch, although she sensed a very mysterious air surrounding Abby Kempf. It was also strange that, aside from a brief reference to her mother-in-law, there was no mention of her husband or marriage. Well, strange or not, Dana was grateful to be in the company of someone who didn’t ask personal questions. She looked forward to seeing her again.

  While Dana had listened to Basil Trivett’s words intently, her thoughts had occasionally drifted to her new Nantucket boutique and how she would merchandise it. After all, Helen had to approve her budget since the department would carry junior accessories. In spite of Helen’s brusque manner, business would go on. Dana had no doubt that the concept would be successful and, as soon as it was, that Helen would come around.

  Chapter Three

  Brett McGarry strode down the corridors of Davis, Konen and Wright, which was located at 80 Broad Street in the heart of New York City’s financial district. He was currently trying a case in San Francisco and made it back to the East Coast once or twice a month to check on other cases and put out any fires that had flared up in his absence. His chief client at present was the owner of a building in Manhattan, a building that had caused considerable health problems to employees due to the presence of asbestos in the walls and ceilings. The owner was suing the construction company, but in December the judge ordered a change in jurisdiction since the builder’s pertinent files had been found, upon discovery, to be located at his main office in San Francisco. Brett’s lover and fellow litigator, Janice Conlon, had remained on the West Coast to handle various trial motions.

  Brett stepped into his office, smiled, and took a deep breath as he sat in his familiar chair, his hands rubbing its brown leather arms as if to remind himself of their feel. His office had been his second home even before Dana had discovered his affair and filed for divorce. Brett settled back in the chair and looked at his well-appointed office. Nothing had been changed or moved in the past four months, and even the pictures of Dana remained untouched. He wondered what Janice would have thought if she’d returned to New York to see the photographs of Brett’s soon-to-be-ex-wife still prominently displayed in his office. He was certain she would be displeased since she had encouraged him—and rightly so—to move on with his life, to live and breathe a little. According to Janice, his life had become stuffy and predictable, an assessment he had begrudgingly agreed with in the long run. Still, leaving the pictures had been strategic inasmuch as doing so conveyed to his colleagues and the managing partner of the firm that he was indeed grief-stricken over the separation, thus deflecting any suspicions of his affair with Janice.

  Brett sighed deeply as he ran his fingers through thick brown hair parted on the side. His clandestine relationship with Janice had been exciting but also draining due to the necessity of monitoring his every word and action when around his colleagues. To alleviate the tension, he’d doubled his exercise regimen, adding daily runs with Janice. He had square shoulders, a strong jaw, and worked out at the New York Athletic Club when he wasn’t traveling.

  Brett stood and paced around his office, looking at family pictures depicting the stages of his eight-year marriage. Had the affair been worth it? He’d been ambitious to make partner, and it had cost him dearly. It was a tragedy, of course, but Dana had failed to understand the demands of his job, his need to advance. If one was just marking time at a prestigious Wall Street law firm, it was considered by the partners to be a waste of talent. The biggest and best firms looked for hungry sharks, men and women who were aggressive and pursued their careers with tenacity. No, Dana had never fully understood how important it was for him to go the extra mile in order to maintain their New York lifestyle.

  Or so he had convinced himself. In his heart, he knew she had been the quintessence of patience, giving him abundant understanding
over the years, always forgiving his inattentiveness in order to preserve the marriage. It was who she was, and her religious faith had only reinforced her determination to make the relationship work. Dana had even bought his lame excuses when his eye began to linger more and more on the seductive Conlon. Deep down, he knew he couldn’t blame Dana.

  But it had all worked out for the best, hadn’t it? He had avoided all but the most cursory questions from his colleagues, and the delicious and sexy Janice was an amazingly irreverent and iconoclastic woman, not to mention a voracious lover. In fact, she was even more extroverted in her native California, where she’d spent her college and law school years absorbing the freewheeling lifestyle of the coast.

  “To the business at hand,” Brett said aloud as he returned to his chair. He’d been summoned back to New York by managing partner Richard Patterson because Jack Hartlen, CEO of Hartlen Response, hadn’t joined a consortium of oil companies proposed by Davis, Konen and Wright to act as first responders to the increasing number of oil spills in the world’s oceans. Hartlen Response possessed cutting edge technology that was considered to be the gold standard in repairing ecological disasters before they could affect wildlife or thousands of miles of coastland along the eastern seaboard. Jack and his father Ralph, CEO of Hartlen Oil in Houston, had originally shied away from signing the consortium proposal put forward by the firm because it was waiting for patents on its equipment to clear. Brett had pointed out that it could take years for the patents to be issued, during which time other oil companies might develop their own response technology. It was a persuasive argument, but it hadn’t won over the powerful and wealthy Hartlens of Texas, who had recently opened an office in New York. Brett had succeeded in putting the younger Hartlen on the defensive, however, when he’d discovered that Jack was having an affair with Dana’s gay friend, Andrew Ricci. Jack’s wife Patti was a grant manager for the Altman Foundation, and Brett knew that Patti and her in-laws would have been shocked and devastated to learn of Jack’s infidelity and sexual orientation. Jack had therefore been quite chastened and pliable when Brett had seen him and Andrew engaged in a lovers’ quarrel at the Sugar Plum Ball the previous December. Shaken, Jack had promised to join the consortium, but he had apparently balked in the intervening months. Richard Patterson was getting anxious, and Brett, who had been made partner on the strength of bringing Hartlen Response into the fold, was nervous as well. His reputation was on the line, and Brett feared that Jack was making him look foolish, not the way a new partner wanted to be perceived.