On Sunset Beach (2 page)

“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?”

“I thought that would get your attention.”

“Seriously?
She gave them away?
Who’d she give them to?”

“I guess her family, her friends. She made a list. It fell out of the journal I was reading.” Carly unfolded the paper. “Stop me if you recognize any of these names …”

She started reading the list aloud. Ellie stopped her only once.

“That last name was Sinclair? I know Grace Sinclair. You’ve met her, I think,” Ellie said. “Actually, I’ve seen that painting—well, a painting—in the lobby at the Inn at Sinclair’s Point.”

“Carolina gave several paintings to someone with that last name. I can’t read the first name, though.”

“Could be someone related to Grace’s husband. His family has been in St. Dennis for a really long time. I can ask her.”

“Could you maybe ask her if she knows any of the other names? I can scan the list and email it to you.”

“Sure.”

“Great. I’d love to track down these paintings.”

“And then what?”

“What?”

“What if you’re able to track some of them down? What then?”

“Well, first I’ll see if I can buy them. If not, I’ll see if we can borrow them for the exhibit in my gallery. I think once people see how much Carolina’s work can fetch, they might give serious consideration to selling.”

“Maybe.” Ellie sounded thoughtful. “But don’t be surprised if some might want to hold on to them if the paintings have been in their family for a long time. Then again, don’t be surprised if some of them have disappeared over the years. You know, if they were thought to be of no real value back then, some of those paintings might not still be around.”

“I guess we’ll just have to let that play out. First, we have to figure out who these people are and then determine if they still have the paintings.”

“I’ll do my best. I’ll be seeing Grace soon. We’re both on a committee to decide what to do about the Enright property.”

“What’s the Enright property?”

“Curtis Enright recently signed over the title of his home to the town, and everyone in St. Dennis is all abuzz about it. He set up a trust for maintenance and taxes, so it isn’t going to cost the town anything. He wants it used as an arts center.”

“Great idea. Every town should have one.”

“It would be awesome,” Ellie agreed. “I’ll show Grace your list when I see her next Tuesday, see if she knows anyone on it or has any thoughts on where some of the paintings might be.”

Carly felt a nip of disappointment. “Not till next week? I was hoping for something a little sooner.”

“Can’t do it. Grace’s son is coming back from Africa
tomorrow. Or maybe it was today.” Ellie paused. “Anyway, he’s been away for a couple of years and has quit the … I forget whether he was in the Peace Corps or something else. UN Peacekeeper maybe? Whatever. Grace has been over the moon about him coming home, so this week’s meeting has been moved to next week. Besides, don’t you have something else to do? A book to write? A gallery or four to run?”

“All of that, yes. Fortunately, I have very competent staffs in the galleries, and the exhibits that are currently running were set up before I got distracted by your great-great-grandmother and her glorious hidden stash of art. So I’m really concentrating on the book mostly. I’m almost finished, but I don’t want to rush it. I want it to be good and I want it to be accurate. I want Carolina’s spirit to show through.”

“Sounds like you’re getting to know the old girl quite well.”

“I really feel as if I am. The more I read, the more I think she was a very modern woman trapped in an archaic world.”

“Nice subtitle.”

“Hmm.” Carly wrote down her words in the margin of her notebook before she forgot them. “Maybe. Thanks for the idea.”

“Don’t mention it. Gotta run. Got an early date with the alarm clock. Send me your list whenever, and I’ll see what I can dig up for you.”

The ink on Carolina’s list was faded and hard to read, so Carly photocopied it then scanned it into her computer. She enlarged and darkened the text before sending it to Ellie, who probably hadn’t expected to receive it that quickly. But Carly was compelled to get
that phase of the project moving, lest it weigh on her mind until it was in Ellie’s hands. The job done, she sat back at her desk and picked up the journal.

“So, let’s see what other surprises you have in store for me, Carolina.” Carly rested her feet on the desk and crossed her ankles. “What other secrets have you been hiding for the past hundred or so years …”

Working on the effects of caffeine, Carly read for several more hours before falling asleep at the desk. When she finally awoke, every part of her body was cramped. Upon standing, she found her left leg numb from having sat with it under her for all that time. She stretched and flexed until she could walk without stumbling.

Through the French doors of the study, she could see the first pale colors of dawn. She unlocked the doors and stepped out onto the patio. The air was still, heavy with humidity, and saturated with the heady fragrance of honeysuckle mingled with rose. She inhaled deeply, then walked on bare feet to the edge of the stone wall that surrounded the patio. The only sound was the waterfall that overlooked the pool. She lowered herself onto one of the lounge chairs and leaned back to watch the stars as their last light flickered before disappearing with the dawn. Tired but still buzzed, in her mind she arranged, then rearranged Carolina’s paintings on the walls of her Manhattan gallery for what was probably the fiftieth time.

While she’d earlier professed to her mother that she no longer felt a need to prove herself, in her heart, Carly knew that wasn’t quite true. She was well aware that many in the art world considered her a lightweight, a wannabe player with deep pockets behind her. Armed
with her degrees and her parents’ money, she’d boldly opened the gallery in Tribeca when she was twenty-five years old, but she’d heard the talk then, and sometimes she still heard a whisper here and there. Her petite size and long blond hair had given rise to a host of snarky comments about “Alice in Wonderland using her daddy’s money to take on the big boys.”

It had taken several years before she’d been taken seriously, but these days, there didn’t seem to be as much comment on her appearance as there once had been. She’d worked hard to establish relationships with artists whom she considered up-and-comers, treating them as important long before they became relevant, and, in doing so, had a long list of now-prominent artists who would deal only with her. She had not been unaware of the presence of other gallery owners at the last of her several openings. The word on the street was that Carly Summit had a knack for finding and cultivating the artists who would become the next big thing. Her reputation was flawless, yet she knew that more than one rival turned green with envy every time she announced a new showing for an artist they’d hoped to exhibit.

“Well, tough,” she muttered. She’d earned her good name the hard way. Yes, her parents had fronted the money for her galleries—she’d never tried to deny that—but she’d paid them back in full. She was pretty sure that there were some who still believed that Patrick and Roberta still wrote the checks, but there was nothing Carly could do about that. Still, her success and her reputation aside, she sometimes felt that she had to work her butt off to prove that she was the real deal.

Which was why, she acknowledged, Carolina Ellis now dominated her days and nights. Once Carly announced her find and her plans to introduce the long-hidden paintings to the public, no one would ever again be able to question her legitimacy.

It had taken her a long time to admit that bankrolling the European galleries had been part of her efforts to be taken seriously—a longer time still to recognize that many in the international art world viewed her actions as those of an amateur, someone with more money than good sense, a desperate attempt to make a big splash in that very big pool. While she’d done well with those investments, it was time to focus on her real passion—American women artists of the past century. Carolina Ellis would be the first of what Carly hoped would be a long line of fine women painters whose works would be displayed and brought to prominence by Summit Galleries.

She yawned, closed her eyes, and with visions of long walls filled with glorious art dancing in her head, slept until midmorning.

Chapter 2