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‘Felix, darling, so glad you could make it,’ she proclaimed in a genteel Southern accent, then air-kissed the gallerist before turning to Susie. ‘And this is?’
‘Susie Thomas,’ Felix announced, his surprise that she hadn’t recognised Susie evident in his voice. He indicated the woman, who was now resting her hand territorially on Felix’s arm: ‘Susie, Charlene Harrison.’
‘Of course, Susie Thomas, the sensationalist. Goodness, well, I hope you don’t find the exhibition too staid,’ Charlene retorted before Susie had a chance to speak.
‘Actually Goya’s one of my favourite painters,’ Susie ventured, smarting a little at the ‘sensationalist’ comment.
‘Bully for you.’
‘Charlene is one of the museum’s trustees and a collector in her own right,’ Felix explained.
‘Nothing after 1890, I’m afraid, so no Jackson, no Warhol and, thank God, no Cady Noland and no Susie Thomas, but you’re in good hands with Felix – he is the best and the baddest,’ she purred, stroking Felix’s arm. ‘So we have the portraits in one room and the miniature ivories in the other, the lithographs are upstairs – all of this work was made in the last years of Goya’s life when he was a political refugee living with compatriots in Bordeaux. So, an exciting insight into his final years, his failing health, his confrontation with his own mortality. The miniatures are particularly wonderful. And I cannot tell you the trouble we had coordinating this show – years of negotiation have gone into it. The French and the Spanish are not the easiest of people.’ She pulled him aside. ‘Felix, darling, I should warn you that dreadful woman Joanna Fleisch will probably arrive. Somehow the guest list escaped me this time. I am so sorry, Felix. She is so apt to be confrontational.’
‘No apologies needed, I can handle her… ’
Just then a man in his early forties bristling with self-importance, wearing a chequered suit, waistcoat and cravat more reminiscent of the Manhattan of the early 19th century, bustled his way through the crowd towards them.
‘Christ, all I need,’ Felix commented, realising he was cornered.
‘Good luck.’ Charlene disappeared into the crowd.
‘I thought you’d be here,’ the man said, confronting Felix.
‘Donald Voos, art historian; Susie Thomas, artist.’
‘Oh, right, the great white hope of Baum #2,’ the art historian cracked dismissively.
‘New watch, Donald?’ Felix remarked, noticing the mechanism as it caught the light. Proudly Donald held his wrist up.
‘Chopard L.U.C. 1963. I’ve been searching for years. She’s a real beauty.’
‘Donald collects watches. It’s a very expensive habit, even for an art critic who writes for TheNew York Times,’ Felix told Susie, then turned back to Donald. ‘I might be able to put you in the way of a Philippe Patek ’72. I found this great guy.’
The critic ignored the comment. ‘You’ve been screening my calls. We need to talk.’
‘Not now, Donald.’ Felix turned back to Susie. ‘Donald authenticates my Hoppers; he is the number-one authority on the Ashcan School, although he’d never tell you that. You should read his catalogue notes; they’re sublime.’
‘Oh, stop it, Felix. Why would a conceptual artist like Ms Thomas here want to read academic minutiae about a bunch of dead figurative painters?’ The art historian’s voice was low and whiny.
‘Because my own work is essentially figurative,’ Susie snapped back. ‘And I love Hopper.’
‘Really? I suspect the only Hopper you know involves a diner.’
‘Donald, play nice. Susie is my guest.’
‘Guest? You don’t have guests; you have either projects or conquests. The question is what will Ms Thomas turn out to be?’ At which the critic swung back to Susie. ‘If you’re lucky, darling, both. Felix is so terribly exciting, addictive even. He can lead you into some very dark places.’
‘I’ve already offered, but Susie’s got her own dark places,’ Felix joked while trying, unsuccessfully, to edge the artist away from the critic. Susie turned back to Donald.
‘I’m a grown-up, I can look after myself. But I do have a question. I’ve always wondered whether Hopper would have become famous if his wife hadn’t introduced him to watercolours? I mean if she hadn’t campaigned for his inclusion in that group show at Brooklyn Museum in 1923, he could have continued on until his death undiscovered. He was 41 and tot
ally under the radar until then. It’s like Jo promoted him and gave up her own career, and she was a good artist.’
‘Women artists always ask that question. Frankly, is it important? Edward Hopper would have discovered watercolours sooner or later, and the work is standout, so if it hadn’t been Jo it would have been someone else. Besides, if Jo Nivison was really going to have a serious career she would have been lauded by then, bearing in mind she was 40 herself. But hey, I’m not a feminist, and apparently neither was Jo Nivison when it came down to it,’ Donald retorted, then turned back to Felix. ‘I had a call from the Foundation, that Joanna Fleisch woman.’
‘Another time, if you don’t mind.’
‘She’s very insistent—’
