The seven rings, p.38
The Seven Rings, page 38
“How could I mind? That’s who we are, right, Son?”
“That’s just who we are.”
It took time, and more time, as Sonya was fussier about placement than either the artist or Kevin.
“I’d thought to intersperse seascapes, still lifes, the landscapes, and so on.”
“So had I.” Lips pursed, Cleo watched Sonya hang another. “But she’s right, Kevin. There’s a flow to it this way. I’d worried grouping like this would be boring, too much the same.”
“You don’t do boring,” Sonya said, and stepped back. “And you never paint the same thing twice. There’s always different movement or light or focus. These? The studies of Poole’s Bay from different angles, the individual buildings like the old school—and future museum? They tell a story. Just like the lighthouse studies, your floral work.”
She scanned the result, nodded. “Okay, seascapes, marina, the man and boy sailing.”
She pointed. “Let’s start there.”
Cleo smiled at Kevin. “She’s right again.”
When they finished, Cleo took a turn behind the wheel, and a satisfied Sonya settled back.
“You’d have done it the way I did. You’d have seen the flow.”
“Maybe, but I didn’t have to. I could just have fun with it.”
“Aren’t you even a little nervous?”
“I’m really not. This is icing, Son. It’s just delicious icing. I’m going to put on something boho, I think, do some glam makeup, and have nothing but a good time. If anything sells, that’s the sprinkles on the icing.”
“I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy a lot of sprinkles.”
* * *
When they arrived at the manor, they were surprised to see Owen’s truck and Trey’s car.
“I didn’t think they’d be this early. We’ve got more than two hours.”
“I hope they brought food, or don’t expect me to throw anything together beyond some stir-fry. I need about half of what we’ve got to get my boho on.”
Cleo pulled into the garage, turned off the truck, then nodded in satisfaction. “If we need to drive this thing during the winter, we’ve got it.”
“I used to think of it as just a big bastard. Now it’s a big, beautiful bastard.”
The dogs ran around to greet them. Pye more sashayed, then noting who’d arrived, just wound her way toward the front door.
When they went inside, Clover hit it with “The Boys Are Back in Town.”
“Since you’re going boho, I’m going for a contrast—simple, subtle,” Sonya said as they walked through the house toward the kitchen. “Boots?”
“Definitely.”
“Me, too. I can be sorry summer’s done, but never sorry when that means boots.”
Sonya sniffed the air. “Smell that?”
“I do. Something’s cooking.”
When they stepped into the kitchen, they found Owen at the stove, Trey at the island.
“Men at work,” Sonya declared.
“We figured you didn’t have time to cook, so we decided to.” Trey pushed off the stool to kiss her. “Or he’s cooking. I’m chopping.”
“It’s pasta with that vodka sauce. I’ve got it down.” Owen stepped back as Cleo leaned over the pot.
“Looks like you do. Thoughtful.” She kissed him. “Thank you.”
“How’d the load-in go?”
“Smooth, thanks to Sonya’s good eye. Any activity?”
“A couple of doors slamming when I got here,” Trey told her. “By the time Owen came in, nothing.”
While Sonya fed the pets, Cleo set the table.
Teamwork, Sonya thought. The four of them had that down, too.
They settled down to salad, pasta, and red wine.
“You should know Ace has made some serious progress on the museum project.”
“I do know.” Sonya scooped up some penne. “We’ve been emailing. We’ve got an architect and an engineer on board. Once they’ve drafted plans, designs, we take that to the village council, and go through that process. Then hold a community meeting where fingers will be crossed that people like the idea, and the design.”
“The idea, they’ll go for it,” Owen said as he ate. “Agreeing on the design, expect some back-and-forth. But? You’ve got an Ace in your pocket.”
“Sonya should design the signage. You paid attention,” Cleo added to Owen and tapped a finger on the side of her plate.
“To you, Lafayette? It’s hard not to. And you’re right about the signage.”
“I don’t want to push in.”
“You wouldn’t be,” Trey said quickly. “It’s what you do. They’ll need a website, social pages, the works. I know Ace assumes you’ll take that on.”
“I would. I will if the town leaders agree. Ace and I have already talked about building a site to follow the remodeling, and help generate fundraising. But one step at a time.”
“Now you sound like the lawyer.”
Sonya laughed at Owen. “He must be rubbing off. Ace told me he and Paula will be there tonight.”
“He wouldn’t miss it. My mom and dad, too. And depending, Anna and Seth and Fiona at least want to drop by.”
“Gonna have a packed house.” Owen went back for seconds. “A lot of the Pooles will show. A lot of buzz about the artist lady up at the manor.”
“Then I’d better not disappoint them.”
“You’ve made a place in the community, you and Sonya. It counts.” Trey lifted his glass to both of them. “Some will come to support that, and Kevin, and some will come out of curiosity—and for free wine and finger food. Either way, you’ll have a crowd.”
“More sprinkles. She’s not nervous,” Sonya explained. “The show’s icing, and sales are sprinkles.”
Trey polished off his pasta. “You may end up in a sugar coma before it’s done.”
After dinner, they went up to change. Sonya came out of the shower to find her dark green dress—cowl-neck, long sleeves—laid out and paired with her black stacked-heel boots.
“You must’ve heard me, and this is perfect. I honestly wonder what I did without you, Molly.”
The bedroom fire simmered low, and as she dressed, Clover boosted her ego with Roy Orbison’s “Oh, Pretty Woman.”
“I feel that way, too. Now, Cleo? She’ll be just ravishing. I don’t have to hope she shines tonight because she will. But I admit it, I’m nervous. Art’s so personal, and hers is so much a part of who she is. I just want everyone to love it.”
She studied herself in the mirror. She’d given her hair some curl for what she thought of as a touch of festive, added her braided hoop earrings. And she’d wrapped Clover’s beads around her wrist as a bracelet for that emotional connection.
“Job done. I’ll go check on Cleo.”
She walked down the hall, knocked. “It’s Sonya.”
“Come on in. About done.”
Cleo’s fire simmered as well as she stood, putting on her earrings—long dangles with multiple strands of crystals.
“All right. Nail. Hit. Head.”
Cleo gave her head a little shake, watched the crystals catch the lamplight. “I think so. Molly and I consulted, and I think we hit the mark.”
Curving patterns of old gold and silver covered the copper field of the dress with its swinging mid-calf skirt. Soft boots in the same copper hue laced to under the hem. In addition to the black tourmaline, she’d added silver chains.
The tones made her skin glow against the wild glory of her hair.
“And you?” Cleo turned toward her. “Perfect. The ladies of the manor are styling tonight.”
Doors slammed, the doorbell bonged. The window glass shook.
“Oh, up your butt with a cactus,” Sonya snapped, and made Cleo laugh like a loon. “It’s your night.” Reaching out, she hooked her arm with Cleo’s. “She’s not spoiling a second of it.”
Cleo grabbed her purse off the bed as they headed out.
Trey and Owen rose from their seats in the parlor as they came down.
Owen shook his head. “Talk about hot babes.”
“Poole’s Bay may not be ready for the pair of you.”
“They’ll have to get ready.” Sonya took Trey’s hand. “’Cause here we come.”
She bent to scrub at whatever pet came to hand. “We should be home by ten, maybe ten-thirty. Be good.”
* * *
The lights of Bay Arts shined, and through the display window, Sonya saw people milling. Several more gathered outside, chatting in the cool autumn air.
“We’re early, as planned, but there are already people inside.”
“I’m going to drop you off. I’ll find a place to park.”
“It’s a lot of icing,” Owen commented as he got out, reached a hand for Cleo’s.
“Who doesn’t love icing? Marcia, good to see you.”
And in her Cleo way, she began to mingle.
“She’s great at this,” Sonya murmured.
“Go be her wingman. I’ll find you.”
Though she doubted Cleo needed a wingman, she gave Trey a quick kiss, then slid out.
When they made their way inside, Linda, Kevin’s assistant manager, hurried over. “I’m glad you came early. Some came earlier. You’ve already sold a painting.”
“Really?”
“Sailing Pals. The wife/mom of the father and son on the sailboat came in with a couple of friends. Saw it. Recognized them and the boat. Sold!”
“Sprinkles!
Cleo laughed. “Is she still here? I’d love to meet her.”
“She is. I’ll take you over.”
“Go,” Owen told her. “We’ll hang for Trey. She’ll have them eating out of her hand,” he added to Sonya when Cleo went with Linda.
“She will. And it’s natural, genuine. I think I’m more excited than she is.”
“How about I get you a plastic cup of what’s bound to be cheap, crappy wine?”
“I’ll take it. I actually know some of these people.”
“Go, do the small-talk thing. I suck at it, which is also natural and genuine.”
She sipped crappy wine, made small talk. Eventually she reconnected with Trey, then his family.
“We can’t stay long.” Seth had the baby in a pack on his chest.
“We really can’t, but we wanted to at least come by. It’s wonderful. It just looks wonderful. Congratulations, Cleo.”
“Thanks. So does she, look wonderful.”
Owen tipped his head down toward Fiona’s. “Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum. Somebody has to say it.”
“And you would.” Corrine shook her head with a smile. “I ran into Clarice a minute ago. She’s down that way. I think you’ve got a sale, Cleo. The painting you must have done from an old photo of Poole Shipbuilders. One before they expanded.”
“I didn’t see that.”
“You don’t see everything,” Cleo told Owen. “Collin had several photos from the late eighteen hundreds.”
“Show me. Sorry,” he added when he grabbed her hand and pulled her away.
“I’d say it’s lucky for Clarice she got there first.” Ace beamed at the groups of people. “This is what we like to see, isn’t it, my own darling?”
“It is. And speaking of sales, Ace, I’ve found my anniversary present. That series there. The hydrangea, the wisteria, and the lily. I have just the place for them.”
“So she always says, and she’s never wrong. Let’s go find whoever’s dealing with the dealing.”
“And I’ve got my eye on another.”
Surprised, Corrine turned to Deuce. “You do?”
“I do. I know you’re the one who picks out art and so on, but I asked Kevin to hold one until I showed you.”
“No time like the present. Excuse us, this is a moment.”
“He showed me earlier. It’s the cove,” Trey said. “He proposed to her there.”
“Pirate’s Cove.” Sonya just sighed. “That’s so romantic.”
“Want some more crappy wine?” Trey asked her.
“No, I really don’t. I’m basking.”
Sonya basked. Cleo socialized and talked art. Kevin, a little wild-eyed, grinned like a crazy man.
As the crowd began to thin out, Bree shot in like a bullet.
“Kitchen just closed. I’ve gotta get back, but I wasn’t missing this. Manny said we should get something for our place. Tell me what I should get.”
“Oh, Bree, you need to pick your own art. It’s—”
“Bullshit.” She just grabbed Sonya’s arm. “What the hell do I know? Show me stuff.”
Sonya did her best, and found herself surprised when Bree fixed on a dreamy watercolor of the bay. A single boat, bright white with red sails, glided toward the horizon.
“It makes me feel calm. It’s hard to make me feel calm, but this does. I want this. I like how the sun’s coming through the clouds, like God fingers or whatever. Yeah, it makes me feel calm. Thanks. I’m getting it.”
She shot off.
“I did absolutely nothing,” Sonya murmured. “But glad to help.”
“Talking to yourself?”
Sonya turned, laughed when she saw Maddy. “I do that.”
“Me, too. Sonya, this is Hector, my partner in all things.”
He looked like Willie Nelson, braid and all, and cupped her hand in both of his. “So glad to meet you. Maddy showed me pictures of the pieces she’s redoing for you. You’re a smart woman. History and heritage.”
“And I’m going to get in touch tomorrow, probably, as Hector and our kids voted with you on a new website.”
“You won’t be sorry.”
“That’s what I hear, so I figure you’re as talented in your way as Cleo is in hers.”
“We never miss an art show,” Hector put in. “But this one? Total wow factor.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
At the end of the evening, it became clear many agreed.
“Lucky thirteen.” Kevin loosened his red bow tie. “Thirteen sold just tonight, and there’s a lot of interest in several more. Cleo, it’s the most successful fine art opening we’ve ever had.”
“It’s the most successful show I’ve ever had. You did an amazing job.”
He gripped her hands. “You have to promise me to do another.”
“I’d love to. Maybe next fall.”
“Perfect.” Now he kissed both her hands, left, then right. “I can’t thank you enough. And remember, anytime you have something you want displayed? We’re here.”
“You’re my man, Kevin.”
“The car’s a few blocks down,” Trey told them as they left. “I’ll go get it, pick you up.”
“I could use the walk.” Cleo looked at Sonya.
“Absolutely. It got seriously crowded in there for a while. The air feels great. Thirteen paintings!” Sonya pumped fists in the air. “And he’s counting the series of three Paula wanted as one, so actually fifteen. That’s a lot of sprinkles.”
“Well, you have to consider Trey’s parents, Owen’s cousin—”
“She beat me to it. I’m bitter.”
“Bree,” Cleo continued, “all bought— Who am I kidding? I crushed it! I’d do a cartwheel, but—”
“You can do a cartwheel?”
Both Cleo and Sonya sent Owen pitying looks. “Of course I can do a cartwheel.”
“Prove it.”
“You want me to do a cartwheel, here, on the sidewalk? On High Street?”
He shrugged. “Unless you’re too dainty for that. Or can’t do one.”
“Dainty? Them’s fighting words.”
Cleo handed Sonya her purse, shook back her hair. She shot Owen one last smug look, then did not one but two cartwheels on the sidewalk, on High Street.
A couple coming out of the Lobster Cage applauded.
Dusting off her hands, Cleo took a bow.
“Can you do that?” Trey wondered.
“Yes, but not in this dress.” Ridiculously happy, Sonya smiled at him. “I’ll show you later.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
On her Saturday hunt through basement storage, Sonya ignored the ringing bell, and found a treasure.
“Look at this!” She held up a framed photo she’d unearthed from a broken dresser drawer. “It’s the staff, house staff. A lot of house staff. Oh, this woman, this man? That’s Hobson and Grimes. The head housekeeper, the head butler!”
Cleo reached her first, peered down. “That’s … twenty-three people. I don’t see Molly, so before or after.”
“Take it out,” Trey suggested. “Look on the back. They may have dated it.”
“Let’s hope.”
Owen took a multi-tool out of his pocket. “Let’s see it. Old frame, backing’s wired down.”
“It needs a new one. I can—”
“It’s a good frame.” He continued to work. “Just needs cleaning up.”
He pulled out the backing. On the back of the picture, they found not only the date, but a carefully written list of names.
“January 10, 1933. So after Lissy, before Patricia married Michael Poole Jr. Yes! Mildred Hobson, James Grimes. Look, Cleo, there’s an Eleanor Gruder listed. I wonder if it’s our Eleanor.”
Lynyrd Skynyrd rocked “You Got That Right” from Sonya’s phone.
“Seated row, third from the left.”
Easing the photo out, Sonya scanned across the front row of staff. “There she is! She looks well into her sixties, maybe into her seventies. It’s a really formal shot, so they’re all a little stiff. But she looks happy. They all do, really.”
“I wonder how long she worked here.”
“I Saw Her Standing There” replaced Lynyrd Skynyrd.
“The Beatles say she was just seventeen.” Owen grinned. “Clover’s quick, man. She’s a rocket.”
“All those years in service here,” Sonya murmured. “I think the Pooles were good people to work for. We’ll clean up the frame. It’ll go in the gallery.”
Owen crouched down to examine the drawer. “I can fix this. Hell, Trey, you could fix this.”
“Sounds like damning with faint praise to me. It looks like a nice piece, though.”
