Ashley stood transfixed. Invigorated. Inspired. Overwhelmed. Transported. Encompassed. The blue wrapped around in thick swirls. Impasto in places, thin and translucent in others. They were large. As large as the walls themselves. The crests of the waves, delicate and dangerous. The expanse of sea and sky, foreboding and liberating. She was in the water. She was under the water and at times gasping for air. It was if she was on Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa, yet abstract and personal. A kind of history was evident in the brush strokes. A memory of blue. A complex variety of hues. Aquamarine, turquoise, prussian, colbalt, indigo, azure, misty, cerulean, periwinkle, royal, robin’s egg, and all the other variations in between. Like a Rothko, the paintings held significance in deep places, a bit more representational like Anselm Kiefer and yet a series of canvas monoliths to rival Whistler and Picasso. Ashley was aware that the paintings were extremely important to art history and yet no one knew of them. Why?, she wondered. The pieces had numerous contemporary ideas and yet they were painted before the dawn of the twentieth century. They were masterpieces before their time and rendered Picasso’s revolutionary style and aesthetic as almost passé. They held the same importance as Manet, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Bonnard and Vulliard combined.
The private gallery of the Tate was eerily silent. In that space Ashley heard no traffic or outside noise. No hushed whispers of museum employees or the far off shuffle of museum patrons quietly moving from one room to another. After a moment the silence was broken as Chelsea, stepping lightly, wandered in and stood next to Ashley.
“How did the interview go?” Ashley whispered.
“Fine. Mr. Hirst is a gracious subject.” Chelsea replied.
“How are you?” Ashley continued.
“I, I actually feel great. Thank you---How are you?” Chelsea asked a little tentative.
“That soup was amazing.” Ashley replied and fixed her gaze on the canvases again.
“They’re…really…overwhelming.” Ashley said softly.
“Uh-huh…Do you realize that you have the same depth, the same gestural strokes?” Chelsea asked. “The same use of color?”
Ashley just nodded her head in silence taking in the expanse of the work. Chelsea walked over to the title card. It read, “Tempest, 1895 New York Harbor.”
“It’s the Irish Sea.” Ashley said.
“No. It’s New York Harbor, says here on the card.” Chelsea corrected.
“It’s the Irish Sea.” Ashley reiterated confidently. Chelsea pulled out her notepad and scribbled something in it.
“Why are these hidden from view? Why aren’t they public?”
“I don’t know.” Chelsea answered. “Maybe they’re too big to guard…Maybe they’ve had incidents where a patron tried to deface or destroy it.”
“No…There’s something in these paintings.” Ashley said as she tried hard to deconstruct them in her mind.
“Like what?” Chelsea asked.
“Something sacred.” Ashley said and it was as if she were in a trance, her eyes fixed on the movement of the water.
“Here’s something I bet you haven’t seen yet. Look at the horizon---or horizon line.” Chelsea directed. “What sets the sky from the ocean?”
“Looks like a slightly different shade of blue.” Ashley answered.
Chelsea shook her head and looked around. “Don’t let the guards see you, but get up as close as you can to the line.”
Ashley stood up on her tiptoes and moved within inches of the painting. There, about the width of a human hair was a fine, straight line painted in brilliant cadmium orange.
“It’s an optical illusion.” Chelsea said.
“It makes sense. They’re complimentary colors. I do that often when I paint. It’s a part of theory.” Ashley said matter-of-factly.
“When have you ever seen orange in the ocean?” Chelsea asked.
“At sunset.”
“Then why not paint a sunset. That’s not a sunset.” Chelsea said.
“Maybe it was ‘his’ sunset…or moonset or, or maybe it is what it is. An orange line.” Ashley replied. “Sometimes a painter makes marks just because it satisfies something.” She stopped and stared at the tiny straight edge. It pierced her thoughts with more questions than answers. “I want to know why they’re hidden from the public. These need to be studied and written about and taught in textbooks and on the web. There’s a chunk of information missing from that entire humanity.”
“I agree.” Chelsea said softly.
“Whom do I talk to?” Ashley queried.
“I guess the Rhys Estate.” Chelsea offered. “That’s what you told me when you found the old pictures at the Frick.” Ashley turned back to gaze at the paintings. Again something flickered across her face and she pulled the orange scarf from her pocket.
“Where’d you get that?” Chelsea asked a bit surprised.
“The Indian woman…at the restaurant. She made the soup.” Ashley replied. She studied the scarf and then analyzed the tiny painted line. They were amazingly close in color. They may have even been the same color at one time but age and dust had altered the hue on the canvases over the ages.
Chelsea reached for the scarf and as her fingers made contact there was something so comforting in the fabric that it made her inhale deeply. It was like recovering a long lost baby blanket. The sensation, the smell, the color all brought about a sense of peace and joy. Ashley still held onto one end of the scarf and she felt oddly peaceful in a foreign place. She felt as though she was riding horseback even though both feet were planted firmly on the ground.
“Do you feel a little woozy?” Ashley asked.
“Yeah. A little drunk, almost. Do you think it was the soup?” Chelsea replied.
“I don’t know…I don’t feel bad…or ill. Do you?” Ashley asked.
“No, not at all. I feel…wonderful.” Chelsea said and her eyes melted into softness. Ashley thought for a moment that Chelsea might kiss her right then but her eyes revealed a sense of restriction and propriety.
“We should get you to a doctor.” Ashley said breaking their silence. “You should be properly examined to see if you really are pregnant.” Chelsea nodded and they moved to the entrance of the grand exhibition space.
“Before we leave we should find out who the executor of the estate is.” Chelsea said. They made their way into the grand hall and through the atrium. A busty woman of about fifty wearing horn rimmed glasses from the sixties greeted them on their way out.
“I trust your experience with the Rhys paintings has been fruitful?” She said in an odd British accent remarkably similar to Julia Child.
“It was an absolute treat and will round out my article for the magazine, thank you.” Chelsea said sweetly. The woman smiled proudly.
“He is one of the best kept secrets in London. We’re very proud of him.” The woman replied.
“Who is the executor of his estate?” Chelsea inquired.
“Oh, my. Well, em…let me see now…I believe it is the Rhys’s granddaughter. Chelsea Thornton Rhys.” The woman answered. Chelsea’s mouth nearly fell to the ground.
“Does she live here in London?” Ashley asked.
“Yes, well, just on the outskirts of London in Essex. But she is ninety eight and residing in a very exclusive assisted living home. It’s very hard to see her. She does not take many appointments.” The woman said.
“Do you have the name of the residence?” Chelsea asked.
“In my office.” The woman said cheerfully as she waved them along with her hand.
“I’ll drive.” Ashley said as the rental car official handed her the key.
“Remember stay to the left.” The man said pleasantly.
“Y’all do it the other way around, don’t ya?” Ashley quipped in her southern drawl. The man stared at her blankly. “It’s all right. We’ll make do.” She added.
“You think we can just show up without an appointment? Seems like a waste of time and money.” Chelsea said.
“Never know until we try…Just feed me the directions from your iphone.” Ashley replied. She turned the key, shifted the mini and off they went.
As they walked down the corridor of the very exclusive residence they both knew that the woman they wanted an interview with was probably worth millions. She had most likely been presented to the queen or may have even been an acquaintance in her youth.
“May I help you?” A snobby woman dressed in heels and Gucci glasses asked from behind the curved concierge island.
“Are you the nurse in charge?” Ashley asked innocently and she could feel Chelsea’s elbow in her side.
“Whom do you wish to see?” The woman purred.
“I’m so sorry to bother you but my name is Chelsea Barrett and I recently paid a visit to the Rhys mausoleum in Green-wood cemetery in New York.” Chelsea began.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman interrupted.
“I have some information for Ms. Rhys.” Chelsea replied.
“If you do not have an appointment I’m afraid Ms. Rhys cannot see you.” The woman said and she turned away to resume her computer work.
“The bill for the perpetual care is overdue. Now I’m sure it is an oversight by her accountant but I thought I’d handle the matter myself.” Chelsea said. The woman did not reply or even acknowledge Chelsea’s presence.
“Excuse me?” Chelsea said as Ashley moved around the island slowly. “What if I do have an appointment.?”
“I know you do not. Please leave.” The woman said without ever turning.
“Oh my God, you’re on facebook!” Ashley squealed. The woman fumbled to clear her screen. “You were on facebook and it is 4:42 London time. Gawd, I bet your supervisor might want to log on to see what you’ve been doing.” Ashley said sweetly.
The woman jumped up. “I’m very sorry but if you do not have an appointment I cannot let you in.”
“I seem to recall that these places like to start serving dinner round about five, you know for the sun-downers.” Ashley said in her thick accent. The woman stood silent and sheepish. “Why I think it is right nice of you to invite us to dinner on your break in the cafeteria. Thank you so much! We’ll just wait over here for fifteen minutes while you write out the passes and make sure we’re legit.” Ashley grabbed Chelsea’s arm and they sat down in two huge puffy chairs decked out in toile.
“You…are brilliant.” Chelsea whispered.
“I just cannot abide rude people.” Ashley stated. “There’s just no excuse.” And she threaded her fingers thru Chelsea’s as they listened to big band music being piped through the building.
Delilah was her name. She quickly wrote out the building passes for both Ashley and Chelsea. Then cleared her throat. As she handed the stickers to the women she said, “The story is we went to school together in the states. I was the foreign exchange student.”
“You look way older than us.” Ashley said.
“I was the ‘foreign exchange’ student.” Delilah replied emphasizing each word. “I will conveniently excuse myself to go to the loo for five minutes. You will get the information you need. When I return I will escort you from the building. We all understand?” She said in a snotty tone. Ashley and Chelsea nodded and they sauntered down the long elegant hallway to dinner.
After ordering a shank of meat---beef roast, roasted potatoes, overcooked vegetables and Yorkshire pudding Ashley and Chelsea took in the atmosphere. Gentlemen dressed in fine suits, some in wheelchairs, others on walkers and still others with excellent mobility drifted in an out of the elegant cafeteria dressed to look like a posh restaurant complete with wait staff and busboys. Elderly women wore their finest gowns and jewelry as if competing in a pageant, their hair ‘done’ in-house by the beauty shop as part of the compound.
“I feel woefully underdressed.” Ashley whispered to Chelsea.
“You are.” Delilah said pointedly. “That’s why you’re my ‘American friends’.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ashley asked defensively.
“If you take offense by it then you must know.” Delilah said sweetly.
“Look. If you got something to say then say it ‘cause I won’t think twice about givin’ you a fat lip.” Ashley replied.
“Calm down.” Chelsea advised. “We’ll get what we need and then leave.”
At that moment an elderly woman was wheeled in and parked at a small table with another grand dame and gentleman. The waiters hustled by quickly and brought out their evening meal, complete with fine china, the most stunning silverware and pomp and circumstance to rival the Queen’s supper.
“That is Ms. Rhys.” Delilah whispered. “She will look about the room for me, wave and then continue her meal. After she waves I shall excuse myself. Please be brief and then get the hell out of my building.” She smiled. The old woman took in the room and when her eyes rested on Delilah she smiled kindly and waved as predicted. But something caught her attention and she gazed at Ashley for sometime. Her eyes registering recognition and confusion. Then she looked over and saw Chelsea and something made sense in her history. Her napkin fell to the floor as did some of her silverware. A waiter rushed to her table to inquire what the matter was.
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