Mia had forgotten all about the artwork from Hope’s House. She’d intended to keep one piece, but had sent it in to be reframed, and had asked for an appraisal on the rest.
‘I thought one of my colleagues had already called you, but the piece you’re retaining is ready for collection.’
‘Great, I’ll grab it tomorrow.’ She was quite looking forward to having the painting back so that she could hang it in her living room.
‘Mia, the signature has been cross-checked to ensure it isn’t of significance, and we’ve found a record of another painting being sold by the same artist in France. The signature was very faint, but just for your records, and in case it means anything to you, the name of the artist is Hope Berenson.’
Mia was silent. Her aunt had painted all the pieces hanging in the house?
‘Mia?’
‘I’m sorry, I just…’ She swallowed, hardly able to believe it. ‘That was my great-aunt’s name. I had no idea she was the artist.’
‘I was worried you’d be disappointed that they weren’t worth anything, but at least you have a nice connection to each piece. Let me know if you’d like to change your mind about selling the rest of the collection. There’s no hurry.’
They chatted for a little longer before saying goodbye, and when she’d ended the call, Mia burst out laughing. She couldn’t believe it. The painting of Hope’s, the one she’d retrieved from the wall in the entrance of her house before it had been demolished because she’d loved it so much, and the other pieces she’d taken, weren’t just any old pieces of art. They had all been painted by Hope.
She closed her eyes, seeing the painting in her mind.Maybe this is where my love of art comes from. Perhaps she and Hope had more in common than she’d realised, and perhaps this wasthe part of her story that she’d been supposed to discover. There was so much she still didn’t know—about how an artist became a bootlegger in France before fleeing to England and creating a completely different life for herself. But maybe she wasn’t supposed to uncover everything.
Because now she understood. Hope had been an artist first, and all the drawings Mia had found in her diary and notebook had been a part of this. It probably explained her creativity in making the boxes as well, and was maybe the reason why she’d been involved in the green fairy drink, too. It was her people, her fellow artists, who’d fuelled the love of absinthe. So there was a link to connect the different parts of her life.
I wish we could have had longer, Hope. I wish you were here so that I could ask you all the questions I have, so that your work and your legacy weren’t such a mystery. So that I could honour you and make sure that everyone knew who you were.
But knowing that Hope had come to London alone, that she’d forged ahead with such ambitious plans despite the tragedies and hardships she’d faced, that she’d been an artist no one had discovered, only made Mia more determined to throw herself into her own work. If her aunt could be so brave, then she could, too. They’d both faced heartache that was impossible to describe, but there was nothing Mia could do to change her past. But what she could do was focus on the future and build the life she knew she deserved.
Invite him. She groaned and padded through her apartment to get a drink, her hand trembling as she reached for the glass. There was nothing she wanted more than to invite Joe to come to her exhibition, and part of her believed that he would if she asked him, but wouldn’t it make things harder? They’d parted amicably, but seeing him would only remind her of what she couldn’t have. Of how much she wished things could have beendifferent, or that they’d met at a corner bar in London instead of in a different country.
She shook her head, draining the glass of water and going back to her living room floor to pore over the photographs she had spread out; photographs that would form her exhibition in only a few weeks. Mia closed her eyes and imagined them blown up and hanging throughout the gallery, gracing the light-filled space, and it was impossible not to recall the memories that came with them. But she was ready. She had to be ready. It was time to tell part of Hope’s story, and the stories of the descendants of some of the women who’d passed through her house.
It’s now or never, remember?
And if not now, then she might not ever summon the courage to do it again.
36
TWO MONTHS LATER
Mia had never been so nervous. Not when she’d stood in the lawyer’s office and addressed the seven women to tell them about the boxes left behind by their great-grandmothers, and not when she’d walked into that bar and asked for Joe on her arrival in Paris. This time, her creativity and her heart were on the line, and it was terrifying.
Her hand shook as she held the cue card she’d prepared, as she looked at the small crowd that was gathered, silent and waiting for her. But as she opened her mouth and struggled to find the words, there was a movement beside her and she looked up to see Ella standing next to her. Ella quietly slipped her hand into Mia’s, their palms pressed together and their fingers linked. And then she looked to her left and saw her mother, her smile telling Mia that everything was going to be okay.
‘You can do this. Just breathe,’ her friend murmured. ‘We’re all here for you.’
Mia cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the touch of Ella’s hand and taking strength from her warm skin pressed to hers. And just like that, she slipped the card into her pocket and decided not to read what she’d rehearsed.
Ella was right; everyone was here for her, and she was going to speak from the heart.
‘When my great-aunt Hope died, she left behind more than one mystery. I’ve often wondered how different things might have been if my family had spent more time with her before she passed, or if I’d asked her more questions. But I’ve come to understand that everything about the last few years has happened for a reason,’ Mia said, smiling as Ella squeezed her hand and encouraged her to keep going. ‘I’ve come to realise that the seven women who received little wooden boxes hidden by my aunt for all those years might not have come into my life if any one thing about Hope’s life or passing had been other than what it was, and I’m so very grateful to have met you all. We might never fully understand why those boxes remained hidden,’ she said, looking at the women gathered in the front row, at the way they all smiled back at her, ‘but I’m so fortunate to count you all as friends.’
Mia slowly let go of Ella’s hand and gestured to the first portrait. They were each placed on easels, displayed through the foyer of the gallery, and tears pricked her eyes as she looked at them. It had been a long time since she’d seen her work displayed, and she still couldn’t quite believe that she’d pulled it off.
‘Some of you will be wondering about the significance of these portraits in this room, and why they’re not for sale. But the truth is that these photographs represent something very personal to me and to some very special women. There would be no opening tonight without them, because without them I wouldn’t have found my way back to the woman, the creative, I am today. So I would like to thank Ella, Georgia and Charlotte, Claudia, Lily, Blake and Rose, for giving me permission to share their stories with you tonight.’
There was a gentle burst of applause, and Mia caught her breath again and faced the audience. ‘However, the collection I have on display in the main gallery tonight has been a long time coming. They’re photographs taken many years ago from an extraordinary trip I took to Canada to capture wildlife, and I would like to announce that a share of the proceeds from all sales will go to Refuge, a charity that my great-aunt Hope was passionate about. Because without her, I simply wouldn’t be here at all.’
As the crowd began to murmur, Mia felt a hand in hers again, and before she knew it, Ella was hugging her and telling her how proud she was of her.
‘There was so much more I could have said, so much more?—’
