‘No,’ Hayley let out a breath. ‘And I wish I had.’ She caught herself quickly. ‘It’s meant to be good. Which is why I wanted us to come here.’ She squeezed Angel’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s get out of the cold, and I promise, if there’s anything resembling an unmade bed or the contents of someone’s bedpan, we’ll leave.’
‘What’s a bedpan?’
Now Hayley was here, she wasn’t sure what to do. There was a man in the first section of paintings that looked like he was in charge. Hayley couldn’t help but notice his tie didn’t entirely match with his shirt – spots and stripes had never been a thing. She sighed. She just needed to busy Angel with something. A painting with what looked like over a hundred small flowers on it gave her an idea.
‘Ooh, I’ve heard if someone correctly counts the number of flowers on that painting over there, there’s a prize,’ Hayley announced, pointing to the picture. This subterfuge was to keep her from getting caught up in this search too soon. It was for her own good. Anyway, what parent didn’t tell their child a white lie every now and then?
Angel’s eyes lit up. ‘What sort of prize?’
‘The chocolate kind,’ Hayley said.
‘Is there a time limit?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘That prize is mine,’ Angel said, striding towards the painting with victory written all over her face.
The second Angel had left her side, Hayley sidled up to the suited man a few yards away. As she got closer, she saw a lanyard around his neck stating he was Carl.
‘Good morning,’ Hayley greeted. ‘I’m wondering if you can help me.’ Her eyes darted to Angel, wanting to make sure she was fully occupied before she carried on. ‘I’m looking for a friend of mine. I called and I emailed a month ago but no one got back to me… because I’m sure you’re very busy.’ She paused, gathered herself. ‘He’s an artist. We’ve lost touch and I can’t seem to track him down online.’ She began to unzip her rucksack. ‘The last time we saw each other, he mentioned this gallery and I wondered if you might remember him or have a record of him if he’s exhibited here.’ Hayley pulled out a photograph. Usually kept in the ten-year diary, it was starting to look dated and was a little worn around the edges. ‘His name is Michel De Vos.’
Her heart was pumping like an overactive engine piston, driving the adrenaline around her body. Whatever this man said next was going to be make or break. She watched him observing the photograph, giving it his full attention, taking her and her request seriously.
‘I don’t recognise him, ma’am, and the name isn’t familiar to me,’ he finally replied.
Disappointment flooded through her but she held onto her breath and her resolve, not ready to give in to any emotion just yet. ‘Have you been here long? At this gallery, I mean. He may not have exhibited recently. Maybe someone else here recognises the name,’ she suggested.
He passed back the photograph. ‘I’ve been here almost twenty years now.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll email the other members of the gallery cooperative we’re connected with, see if any of them can help.’
‘Would you?’ Hayley exclaimed. ‘That would be brilliant.’ She looked to Angel, who was still staring at the flower painting, her mouth moving silently. She would buy her the biggest bar of Hershey’s she could find.
‘No problem. If you let me have your details.’
‘And, how long would that take exactly… to get an answer from the other galleries?’ The very last thing she wanted to sound like was someone searching for the one-night stand she’d had ten years ago. People weren’t willing to give out information if you reeked of desperation. But she needed a timeline. She only had a couple of weeks and every second counted.
‘I’ll email today,’ Carl assured kindly.
‘Thank you, that’s wonderful.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘Could you mark it urgent?’ she added.
Her email address and mobile phone number given to Carl, Hayley joined Angel in front of the painting.
‘Don’t speak! I’m almost done… almost done… 116, 117… 118 flowers!’ Angel gasped for breath and looked at Hayley.
‘Ooh so close. It was 123,’ Hayley responded.
‘What? No, it can’t be! I checked! I counted them twice!’
‘Maybe the artist lost count,’ Hayley suggested. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you cake at the Guggenheim.’
The Guggenheim, Upper East Side, Manhattan
It had taken Hayley almost twenty minutes to get Angel inside the building. The cylindrical white structure of the museum rose up from the street like the spiral inside a shell, so unlike everything built around it. Even to the untrained eye, it was a stunning building, clean, curved, giving a hint to the artistry held inside the walls.
Hayley hated to admit she was slightly more interested in the chestnuts being roasted over a barrel just outside. Despite eating a large bowl of pink maize for breakfast, she was still hungry and the cinnamon, spice and marzipan infused air everywhere was making her crave Christmas treats. Heavily iced fruit cake, mince pies, Terry’s Chocolate Orange. Would they find that in a bodega?
‘Did you know Solomon Guggenheim was a very successful businessman before he started collecting paintings?’ Angel’s eyes were still in the guidebook Hayley had had to purchase.
As they began to walk through the atrium, Hayley’s eyes were on the newspaper in her hands. Right now, thinking about the life history of Solomon Guggenheim and looking at paintings of odd shapes and sculptures you needed to turn your head upside down to understand wasn’t what she wanted to focus on. Half of her mind was still back in the New York Life Gallery; the other half was staring at a cheesy advertisement.
