“I do.”
“You’ve captured her very essence.”
It took a second for it to resonate with him that the woman was referring to the city of Richmond as a woman. Funny, he’d never considered it very feminine.
“I love what you’ve done with this landscape over here,” the woman went on. “Among all the buildings and hustle bustle of the city now, Richmond still holds on to that old-world charm if you know where to look.”
“Exactly.” He looked toward the painting she was talking about. “That particular painting hung in my apartment for ages. It always felt too personal to display anywhere. I had to fill a spot in a show when I was first starting out and included it on a whim. Bess Blackwell bought it the minute she laid eyes on it.”
“I can see why.” She motioned to the host. “Is that painting for sale? I’d very much like to purchase it tonight.” She swung her finger toward the door and instructed her husband to take care of it.
Whitney walked over to another painting. A countryside landscape with a horse in the distance. “This is my second favorite. The meadow looks so lush. I want to run through it.”
The woman nodded with approval. “Do you ride, dear?”
“Used to. With my uncle. He has a farm on the outskirts of Richmond.”
“Well, you know this gallery sits in the middle of a huge horse farm. Over the years, some notable race horses have been bred here.”
Matthew nodded. “It’s true. Barney Blackwell and his wife, Bess, have been in the horse industry way before Bess found her love of the arts. Bess was a very special lady. The lineage of the horses from here still has quite a following as I understand it.”
“Mostly excellent, retired horses end up here, living out their days like million-dollar lawn ornaments,” she said. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s really lovely that Barney takes them in. I tell him all the time that he’s giving all the profit right back to the horses.”
“There are worse things to spend money on,” Whitney said.
“He’s my brother. I can talk about him and get away with it,” she said. “And Matthew, he sings your praises, young man. My sister-in-law was quite taken with your work. I remember when you did the Secretariat mural at the Virginia State Fairgrounds. People still admire that one.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I didn’t catch your name,” Matthew said.
“Katherine Grace, and my slow-moving husband is Harold.” She glanced around as if looking for him. “Isn’t the fairgrounds where Barney and Bess first met you? It is, isn’t it?”
“I believe so.” He turned to Whitney. “Barney opened the gallery in honor of his wife. She was one of my first serious collectors. The pieces that are marked not for sale are all part of her collection.”
Barney’s sister liked to own the conversation. “Bess had such a good eye for art, and my brother adored everything about Bess. He lives and breathes the love he knows she would’ve had for all of this.”
“That’s so romantic,” Whitney said.
Harold came back with a woman who walked over to the painting that Katherine Grace coveted, placing a red dot on the embossed artist card next to it, and then three on the series.
Katherine Grace clapped her hands. “It’s mine. I love them all.”
“Thank you,” Matthew said.
“Would you sign the card for me?”
“It would be my privilege. Of course.”
Whitney stood by the picture of the girl on the horse when he walked back over after Katherine and Harold left.
“You like that one?” he asked her.
“I do. It reminds me of the best days of my life with my favorite uncle.”
“Touching a memory in someone’s heart, that’s special. I’m glad you like it.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“That makes two of us,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s funny how sometimes things come to me. I don’t know if they are memories or made up, but they are very real in my mind when I’m working.”
