“Lots of fodder for your book, I imagine.” Roberta Summit was almost as fascinated by the Carolina Ellis story as her daughter. “I can’t wait for you to finish Carolina’s biography. Remember, you did promise that I could be your beta-reader.”
“Yes, but I need you to be brutally honest.”
“Not to worry. What kind of an editor would I be if I only told you what I thought you wanted to hear?”
Carly paused momentarily. Should she tell her mother that she’d hired a professional editor for her book, one who was already hard at work on the first half of the manuscript? Perhaps not. Roberta was so pleased at the opportunity to be helpful, to contribute to her daughter’s work. Carly decided to keep that fact to herself.
“I can email you the first half and you can let me know what you think of it so far, if you like.”
“Yes. Please. I can’t wait to read it.”
Carly opened her computer and attached the file to an email, which she addressed to her mother.
“It’s on its way, Mom. I want this book to be fabulous and to generate a ton of interest in Carolina so that when I open my exhibit, people will stand in line for the opportunity to see her work.” Carly straightened her spine to get the kinks out, then walked to the window. Outside all was dark. When, she wondered, had day turned to evening?
“The art world will be turned on its head when you announce what you’ve found. These paintings will create an absolutely deafening roar,” Roberta assured her. “After all, no one has any idea that these works even exist.”
“Every time I think about that, my brain threatens to explode. I can barely sit still long enough to write sometimes.”
“I can only imagine what it’s like to have made a find like this, and to have it all to yourself. Bless Ellie for trusting you enough to turn the entire project over to you, no strings. Of course, you were a good friend to her throughout all her troubles.”
“We’ve been best friends since sixth grade,” Carly reminded her mother. “The fact that her father was a crook is no reflection on her.”
“I absolutely agree, and you know we love Ellie. But the fact of the matter is that you stood by her when everyone else she knew walked away.”
“That’s what best friends do. Ellie’s at a very happy place in her life right now. Engaged to Cameron, living in that wonderful old house in St. Dennis—and she’s learned a whole new skill set from Cameron. She can strip wallpaper and sling a hammer with the best of them now.”
“Whoever would have thought that the daughter of a Wall Street giant and one of the world’s first supermodels would end up working as a carpenter in some little bayside town on the Chesapeake?” Roberta mused.
“I know, right? But she’s doing exactly what she wants to do. If you could see how happy she is, you’d understand.”
“I’d love to see her and meet this wonderful man of hers.”
“Cam’s the best. Maybe you can visit sometime when I go to St. Dennis. And not to worry about that little bayside town. It’s quite the place. You should look it up on the Web,” Carly suggested.
“I think I’ll do exactly that. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”
“So when will you be home?” Carly asked.
“Your father still has some business here in Portland,” Roberta told her. “He’s personally been supervising the design of the new plant Summit Industries is building. You know how he is about the safety of his employees.”
“I do know. Everyone should be held to his standards.” Patrick Summit was well known for his progressive efforts in plant safety and employee welfare.
“How’s everything back in Connecticut?”
“Everything’s good. I appreciate you letting me move all those paintings into your house.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s your family home. You—and your paintings—are welcome anytime. Stay as long as you like.”
“Normally I would stay at my own place, but your security here is so superior to what I have at the town house. I think the paintings are safer here.”
“No need to explain. Though it does have me wondering just how good the security at your town house really is …”
They chatted for a few more minutes before Roberta said, “I should let you get back to your work. I know you’re eager to finish your book and start putting your exhibit together.”
“I know exactly where every painting will go. Well, at least until I change my mind again.”
“You’re still planning on debuting the collection in your New York gallery?”
“Absolutely. New York is the hub of the art world. I can’t imagine doing this anywhere else.”
“What about the other galleries? Who’s minding the store while you’re so focused on this one artist?”
“You know I have great people working for me. Enrico is running New York, Helena is running Boston, and Colby has Chicago under control. London is still closed temporarily while they’re making the repairs from that storm last month, but I’m seriously considering selling my interests in London and Istanbul. I’ve had long-standing offers on both, and I think it’s time to divest.”
“Are you sure that you want to close yourself off from the European market?” Ellie could hear the frown in her mother’s voice.
“I won’t be. Isabella is capable of handling London on her own. Though she’s made me an offer for my half, and I’m strongly considering it.”
“Do you need the money?”
“I need the time more than the money. As much as it pains me to admit it, I’ve realized that I’ve spread myself too thin. I’m finding that my focus is beginning to narrow—I’m more interested in providing a showcase for women artists. Besides, I don’t feel that I need to prove myself anymore, not the way I did when I purchased those venues. I’ve made my name.”
“That you have. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. Well, good luck with it all. I see your email is here. I’m hanging up so I can start reading immediately.”
“Let me know what you think as soon as you’ve finished it. Love you. Love to Dad.”
Carly stood and stretched after disconnecting the call. An unexpected yawn brought on an inner debate over whether or not to make a cup of coffee. Caffeine at this hour could keep her awake till dawn. On the other hand, she reasoned, she’d probably be reading till the wee hours anyway. She made the coffee and carried the mug back to her desk, then settled in and resumed reading.
She was halfway through one of Carolina’s journals when she came across a loose piece of folded paper. Curious, she unfolded it, read it, then reread it, then read it again.
“Holy shit. Could this even be possible?”
Her heart beating faster, her hands shaking, she reached for the phone and speed-dialed Ellie’s number.
“Ellie, there are more,” she said breathlessly when her friend answered. “She says there are more.”
Ellie laughed. “Who said there’s more of what?”
“Carolina. She made a list—”
“Whoa. Slow down. Take a deep breath and start over.”
Carly inhaled sharply, exhaled, then repeated the process.
“I’m reading one of the journals you just sent. She—Carolina—is talking about how her husband will not let her sell any of her paintings. At one point she was thinking maybe she should do away with him, but I digress. Anyway, she kept on painting and years later found herself with all of these canvases, so guess what she did?”
“She put them in the attic, where we found them.”
“Wrong. Those were apparently the ones she kept for herself.” Carly forced another breath. “When she found herself with stacks of paintings, she began giving them away.”
“She gave her paintings away?”