Chapter Four
‘Tonight’s not going to be possible, sorry. I have a work thing I can’t get out of.’
She checked the time. Seven twenty? The day had run away from her and it showed no sign of slowing down yet.
‘Do academics have evening work things? Surely the libraries are closed?’
‘Ha-ha. I’ve actually got to attend a fancy drinks reception.’
Did she have her lip liner in her bag? she wondered, rifling through the side pockets.
‘Skip it. Live a little.’
‘Can’t. Important people I have to meet for a special project I’m working on.’
‘How about afterwards?’
‘No idea when I’ll be out.’
She stared at her fingernails: clean, but unshaped and matt. There’d been no time for a manicure.
‘I’ve been to my fair share of fancy work events. They don’t exactly kick off. You’ll be done by ten. We could still meet for a drink after.’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe.’
‘Do you always play so hard to get?’
She sighed. She didn’t have time for a full-blown conversation right now.
‘No, just wary of making plans I can’t keep.’
‘I’m prepared to take the risk of a no-show...Besides, you’ll be all dressed up, won’t you? Shame to waste that effort on people you work with.’
She smiled. Female gaze.
‘Well, that is true.’
She stared at her reflection in the dressing-room mirror. Like her old clubbing dress, this one was black and strapless – but it was cut from velvet, not jersey, and had an ivory satin bandeau across the top. It didn’t show too much boob or back, but how short was too short? she wondered, feeling the skater’s hem graze her fingertips. It was expensive – far more than she wanted to spend on a last-minute purchase for work – and she wondered if Freja would go halves on it with her. Plus, if they shared the dress between them, she could get some new shoes too.
‘Where’s the party?’
‘At the National Gallery.’
‘That is fancy. How will I recognize you? What will you be wearing?’
She deliberated a moment, then took a photo of her reflection. ‘This.’
‘Wow!’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll definitely be waiting for you outside.’
‘No. I’m working. If I’m late...’
‘Then I’ll keep waiting, don’t worry about it. Gtg but I’ll see you later.’
He clicked off before she could argue out of it.
Darcey stared at the text exchange. She’d been on the app for all of half a day and already she had a date. Erik was determined, she’d give him that. Was that what made him so successful? He was decisive, a go-getter; she’d messaged to say she couldn’t see him and somehow he’d converted it into a win. He’d outpaced his competition by a country mile.
She clicked on Aksel the Vet’s latest message. He’d responded quite soon after Erik, but whereas the property developer had launched straight into action, Aksel had struck up conversation. They’d had a brief text exchange before her seminar as she waited for her students to arrive – nothing exciting and certainly not flirty, just the sort of small talk she always hated at dinner parties. Information-gathering exercises rather than genuine connections.
‘Have you ever visited South America?’
Darcy rolled her eyes, feeling herself prickle at the innocuous question. She resented this charade of courtesy, pretending to care about one another’s lives when invariably they both knew things between them would end the same way: once he’d got what he wanted he’d either cheat, ghost her or tell her he wasn’t ready for something serious. Well, neither was she. This project was going to take all her focus in the coming weeks and she didn’t have time to waste on chasing a fairy-tale myth. She would play the men at their own game: take what she needed and reserve her emotional energy for work alone.
She typed quickly.
‘Trekked Patagonia in my gap year. Machu Picchu too. Amazing. Would love to go back.’
That was a lie. It was a matter of once and done, as far as she was concerned. There were too many other places to see in the world to spend time retracing her own steps, but if it moved them along...Besides, men said what they thought women wanted to hear all the time.
‘I was thinking of visiting Stockholm in the next few weeks. Any recommendations?’
It was the perfect cue for him to offer to show her around himself. A dirty weekend away with a hot vet with soulful eyes instead of her ex would be all the closure she needed.
Max the Lawyer hadn’t responded. Was he too busy even to match, or was she just not his type? She prickled at the thought of being overlooked by him. There was no doubt he could have his pick –
She put the phone down, forcing herself not to dwell on the thoughts of a man she had never even met. Right now, he didn’t know she existed.
She looked back at her reflection with a sigh. Did she look appropriate for tonight’s grandees? Sexy enough for Erik? It would have to be one or the other; she couldn’t oblige both. She twisted her hair up into a loose chignon and stood on tiptoe. It definitely needed heels.
She texted her flatmate.
‘Want to go halves on this? You’ll need something fancy if Loverboy’s going to be taking you out.’
Freja’s response was almost instantaneous. ‘Love it! Done!’
Time!
She caught herself losing track again and unzipped the dress, throwing her clothes back on. The store would be closing soon and the shoe department was on the next floor up and the drinks reception was starting in ten minutes...
‘Shit-shit-shit,’ she hissed to herself, trying to get her arm through the inside-out sleeve of her jumper. She’d have to do her make-up and get changed in the toilets; a cab would only take ten minutes from here, so that should mean she’d arrive only fashionably late. And by then, hopefully, after Otto and anyone else she might know had arrived there.
A notification sounded, and she glanced at her phone as she threw the dress over her shoulder and darted out of the changing room.
‘Nightcap tonight?’
It was from Max the Lawyer. Talk of the devil!
She stopped dead in her tracks, feeling a jolt of euphoria that he had liked what he saw on her profile after all. Darcy had to admit, Freja had done a sterling job of pulling together the most flattering photos of her.
Darcy read the two words swimming before her. It was hardly a seduction, more of a proposition. No ‘Have you been to South America?’ from him; not even the ‘Hello’ Erik had managed, and she remembered the arrogance she’d read in his eyes. That air of self-importance. He was playing true to the form set up in his bio. No games here, at least.
Still, it felt nice to have a little win, and she sent back her own two-word reply – ‘Busy, sorry’ – before sliding the phone back into her bag with a sense of satisfaction and heading for the stairs.
Her new heels clicked on the limestone floor as she walked through the old galleries, in stark counterpoint to this afternoon’s hurried, rubbery squeak. She was a different creature entirely now, her work clothes stuffed into the backpack she had handed over in the cloakroom, her limbs bare, long hair pulled back in a bun instead of a ponytail, a red lip replacing flushed cheeks.
Men in dinner jackets walked past, their eyes travelling over her in silent appraisal as they spoke in low voices. It was well past eight – significantly later than she had hoped, but getting an Uber had proved tricky. The entire city was out tonight, it appeared, the first Christmas parties beginning to swing.
She walked through the Street of Sculptures, a contemporary glass-framed space that connected the original eighteenth-century gallery building to the uber-modern extension at the back. The reception was being held in the double-height events area, set down below a dramatic sweep of steps. It was like being in a Greek temple, everything white, vaulted and pristine, and she stood for a moment, taking in the scene playing out before her: waiters waltzing through the crowd with trays of flutes, guest mingling with apparent ease. The sense of money in the room was distinctive, like a nectar she could taste, a weight like gold. A string quartet was playing in front of the vast glass wall and for a moment Darcy wondered how this scene looked from the outside, as passers-by stared in from the park. Did she look like she fit in here? Could anyone tell this was a brand-new dress and that her shoes still had their stickers on the soles?
She saw Margit Kinberg in conversation with a group of men nearby but Darcy didn’t feel sufficiently well acquainted with her to walk up to her. She scanned the room, trying not to show her growing alarm that she didn’t recognize anyone, then felt herself sink with relief as she found Otto by the steps. His bald head was distinctive even in a room full of seventy-year-olds. Carefully, she picked her way down the stairs and through the crowd towards him. He was standing with a grey-haired woman in a gold jacquard suit and a portly man in glasses.
‘Good evening,’ Darcy said, catching his eye as she approached, but it seemed to take him a moment before he registered her.
‘Darcy,’ he said with surprise. ‘I was beginning to wonder if I’d missed you.’
‘Trouble getting a taxi,’ she smiled.
‘...Have you met Mr and Mrs Albert Salling?’
Salling? She recognized the name from a brass plaque in the university buildings.
Otto addressed his companions. ‘Darcy Cotterell is one of our PhD students, on secondment for a year from the Courtauld in London. We’re very lucky to have her in the department. Formidable researcher. She’s a great asset to the team.’
‘PhD, eh?’ Albert Salling said, taking her hand and holding it lightly. ‘Soon to be Professor Cotterell, then?’
‘That’s the plan, although I’ve a way to go yet.’
‘What is your field of study?’ Mrs Salling asked. There was a sapphire bracelet dangling from her skinny wrist.
‘Well, I’ve a particular interest in re-examining the output of female artists at the turn of the last century. So many were just ignored or allowed to fall into obsolescence. I’m trying to shine a light into those dark corners.’
‘How very current.’
Otto nodded. ‘Darcy is especially interested in the contradictions inherent in Danish art at that time when the Modern Breakthrough was espousing the rights of women – but it was men talking on their behalf.’
‘Well,’ Mrs Salling laughed lightly. ‘That’s certainly always been the case in our family.’
‘She has also been appointed as the lead researcher for the new Trier portrait,’ Otto said smoothly. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard about the discovery of the painting – on the B-side of Her Children , if you will?’
‘Indeed. Who could have missed it?’ Mr Salling replied. ‘It turned tonight into a very hot ticket. Will we be hearing more about it this evening? Margit looks like the cat that got the cream.’
‘She does, doesn’t she?’ Otto agreed. ‘But no, there’s really nothing more to see or tell at this point. The conservation team have got their work cut out trying to free the portrait.’
‘Have you had any luck yet?’ Mr Salling asked Darcy.
‘Well, today was only Day One—’
‘Ah, Otto – there you are.’ A manicured hand rested on Otto’s shoulder as Margit Kinberg herself came to join them, her cool smile rising like a moon behind him. ‘Albert. Valerie. How are you?’
Kisses on cheeks were exchanged with the Sallings. Old friends. Warm smiles. Otto swapped a glance with Darcy, as if reminding her of their conversation earlier.
‘ Wonderful news on the discovery,’ Valerie Salling enthused.
‘Isn’t it? We’re delighted.’
‘I’m sure. What a thrill!’
Darcy smiled. They all sounded like proud grandparents.
‘We shall definitely have to make sure we’re back from the Bahamas for the opening night now,’ Albert Salling said. ‘What more do you know about it?’
Darcy felt her smile become fixed as the conversation retraced its steps. This was going to be a long evening. A waiter came up, seeing she had no drink, and she took a glass gratefully, resisting the urge to down it. The smile on Otto’s face had become fixed too and she wondered how many of these he had to attend, schmoozing the great and the good in the pursuit of donations and sponsorships. This was the reality, though – art had always been a rich man’s passion, and the deep pockets of people like the Sallings were an essential part of the scene.
Their small group opened up again as another unit of people wandered over to them and Otto was stirred from his inertia.
‘Helle,’ he said, drawing himself up. ‘The very person I hoped to see tonight. I have here the researcher I was telling you about, Darcy Cotterell. Darcy, this is Helle Foss – COO at the Madsen Foundation.’
‘A pleasure,’ Darcy said quickly, shaking hands with a diminutive woman in grey silk and pearls.
There was a pause before Helle Foss replied, ‘You’re very young.’
‘Lively brain, Helle,’ Otto said smoothly. ‘She makes connections quickly, researches thoroughly. Certainly one of the best minds I’ve come across.’
Darcy tried to mask her surprise. If that was true, it was the first she’d heard of it from him.
‘Indeed. Well, there’s a lot resting on your lively brain, Ms Cotterell.’
Margit and the Sallings were deep in conversation about the Venice Biennale, but Darcy saw Margit’s head turn ever so slightly in their direction and knew she wasn’t oblivious to the exchange.
Darcy smiled. ‘I feel honoured to have been tasked with such a great responsibility. I’m taking it very seriously.’
‘As you should. You’re English?’
She was taken aback by the older woman’s aloof manner. ‘Yes.’
‘You speak Danish very well.’ Helle Foss blinked slowly, scrutinizing her through beady eyes. Darcy couldn’t tell whether the woman didn’t like her because she was foreign or because she was dressed up. Did it undermine her professional credentials to look attractive too? Should she have covered her shoulders? Worn a longer skirt?
‘Thank you. My mother’s from here so we grew up bilingual, and of course it meant I was exposed to Danish art and culture from a very young age. It’s why I chose to pursue my PhD here.’
‘I see. Well, it’s reassuring to know that you have some emotional investment in the project.’
‘I do.’
‘And can you do it? Can you identify her?’
‘Yes, if I have access to the archives I need. Johan Trier is the key figure to investigate at this stage.’
‘Then the Madsen Foundation is entirely at your disposal. Have you met Viggo?’
‘Not ye—’
‘Rask!’ Foss tossed the call over her shoulder, and a man standing in the next group along turned. He was Darcy’s height, five foot six, with a thick grey beard, and unlike almost every other person in the room, he had genuinely friendly eyes.
Instinctively, Darcy smiled, but as Rask shuffled towards them, her gaze caught on another man who had been standing beside him. He was close to her own age – far closer than anyone else here – and so handsome, it came as a shock. Her smile died on her lips as their eyes locked.
Was that...?
‘Good evening,’ said Viggo Rask, coming to a stop in front of Darcy and drawing her attention away. He had a slight stoop, and was looking at her with open curiosity.
‘Viggo, this is the young academic who will be leading the research into the identity of the woman in the Trier portrait,’ Helle Foss said.
‘Darcy Cotterell,’ Darcy said, holding out her hand. She was acutely aware of the younger man’s gaze still upon her.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Professor.’
‘Oh, I’m not a professor – not yet,’ she said quickly, her eyes flitting in Otto’s direction. He didn’t stir.
‘Otto called me earlier. I understand we’re going to be seeing quite a lot of one another, you and I, in the coming weeks.’
‘Yes, it appears so.’
‘Viggo was the apprentice to the archivist who personally catalogued all our artefacts when the Foundation was established in 1961,’ Foss said. ‘Whatever you are looking for, he can find it for you.’
Darcy smiled and nodded. She just wished she knew what she was looking for. ‘Brilliant, thank you. I thought I’d make a start with you tomorrow?’
‘I’m there from seven,’ Viggo replied.
‘Seven? Wow, okay.’ Darcy still slept like a teenager and mornings were merciless to her. Getting to the library for nine felt like an accomplishment.
‘Once you get to my age, sleep becomes more a succession of quiet interludes than full-blown oblivion,’ he said, seeming to read her mind.
Darcy smiled, feeling relieved that he, not the formidable Foss, would be her principal point of contact. She looked up again to find the younger man still openly staring as his group carried on their conversation around him. She felt a hard buzz of static as their eyes met again across the room, excitement rippling through her at this unexpected flirtation. It was the last thing she had been expecting from this evening. Was she blushing? She wasn’t used to such obvious interest.
Reluctantly, she faced her companions again, reminding herself she was here to work.
‘How’s Lauge getting on?’ Viggo was asking.
‘They’ve made a start.’ Otto shrugged. ‘He’s not thrilled by the time pressures. You know Lauge.’
‘Indeed I do,’ Viggo chuckled. ‘I’ve seen how long it takes that man to finish a beer.’
Everyone chuckled with him, even Darcy, though her mind was not remotely on the conservation.
‘And where are you intending to start your investigations, Miss Cotterell?’ Viggo asked, turning his attention to her again.
‘Well, until we can capture a higher-resolution image of the portrait and take a clearer look at her face, I think my time is best spent investigating Trier in the few years before Her Children – identifying his social circle, his movements, that sort of thing.’
‘We have a great many of his letters and diaries, which may prove helpful – preparatory sketches and the like.’
‘That sounds ideal. I can’t wait to get started. It’s going to be a fascinating challenge,’ she said, glancing back in the direction of the handsome stranger – but he had gone.
Disappointment filled her at his sudden, glaring absence, and she scanned the room in search of him. The spark of excitement he had brought to the evening had lifted her momentarily, but now she found herself crashing back down to earth.
‘I assume there have been no similarly exciting new discoveries at the Madsen Collection?’ Otto was asking Helle.
‘Any more hidden paintings, you mean? Sadly not. We’re putting them all under the scanner to double check, but what are the chances?’
‘Well, if he did it once, why not again?’ Otto said in a reasonable tone, but Darcy caught the look on his face as he spoke and recognized the rivalry that flowed between them.
The conversation drifted onto other topics and Darcy found herself discussing the record recently set at Christie’s for a pair of Canalettos and the shift in the general art market from public auctions to private sales. People drifted in and out of their bubble, names exchanged and pleasantries passed, and the minutes began to slide past. Her glass was regularly refreshed, though she took only the barest of sips. When Viggo unapologetically checked the time on his old wristwatch, she was surprised to see it was almost ten.
‘Well, it’s time for this old man to get to his bed. It’s been a pleasure, all,’ he said to the group collectively, taking his leave. ‘And I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms Cotterell.’
‘Darcy, please.’
‘Darcy,’ he nodded.
She watched him go, feeling relief that she’d got through the evening successfully. Small talk wasn’t her forte; she wasn’t a political player. She liked a small social circle and meaningful interaction, but work demands increasingly meant that sometimes she had to step out of her comfort zone – as tonight.
‘I should head off too. I need a clear head for hitting the ground running tomorrow,’ she said to Otto, and he nodded his approval of her departure. She looked at Helle Foss. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you.’
‘Ms Cotterell,’ Foss nodded.
‘As you’re going to be at the Madsen for the rest of the week, let’s regroup in my office on Monday, our usual time,’ Otto said. This meant nine thirty, over coffee. He took his coffee, like his art, very seriously and wouldn’t dream of drinking from the vending machine. It was Ida who had given Darcy the details of his favourite coffee shop and how he liked it, and they now had a routine in which she would bring their coffees on the way in to the meeting.
‘Great.’ She was aware of eyes upon her as she ascended the steps and headed towards the Sculpture Street. The reception was beginning to break up, and a few people were already wandering around the statues as they slowly meandered towards the exit.
‘Darcy Cotterell.’
Turning her head in surprise, she saw the handsome stranger sitting on one of the benches between the statues. He put his phone away and got up, walking towards her with the same steady expression he’d worn downstairs.
‘Yes.’ She swallowed, trying not to betray the effect he had on her as he approached. It was like waiting for a tiger to come out from the trees, his confidence seeming to strip her of hers. ‘Have we met?’ she asked, seeing how he slipped his hand into his trouser pocket. His suit was expensive; well cut, and he moved with a self-assured manner. Was he another rich patron? Used to owning everything he wanted?
‘Not yet.’ He stopped in front of her. Even though she wore heels, he was several inches taller than her. ‘You were very popular this evening.’
‘I wouldn’t have said so,’ she demurred.
‘I would. These things are usually like death. You brought the average age down by at least twenty years.’
‘As did you.’ He couldn’t be more than a few years older than her.
He shrugged, holding the eye contact, and she felt the tension between them tighten. On the one hand, it felt odd that they were talking as though they were picking up a conversation that had been interrupted. On the other, it didn’t feel strange at all. ‘Leaving?’
‘Yes.’ But she wished she wasn’t.
‘I’ll walk you out.’
She wished he wouldn’t. Suddenly she wanted to stay.
‘...So what brought you here this evening?’ she asked as they fell into step, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back so that a blush of goosebumps bloomed over her arms.
‘Business.’
She swallowed. There was always a distinction to be made between those who did business and those who merely worked. ‘And what is it you do?’
There was a pause. ‘I push paper around at Madsen Holdings.’
She glanced at him in surprise, catching an excellent view of his profile. His bone structure was admirable – heavy dark brows, hooded blue eyes, a fleshy mouth. But for his pale skin and dirty blond hair, he could have been Greek.
‘Oh! I was just talking to—’
‘Helle and Viggo. Yes, I saw.’ A smirk twitched on his lips. ‘I’m afraid she hates you.’
Darcy was shocked at his bluntness. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because you’re young and beautiful and clever, and she’s only ever been one of those things.’
‘Young?’
‘No, clever.’ He caught her eye with a sly look. ‘I swear she was born sixty years old.’
Darcy gave a sudden laugh and he looked pleased by it.
‘Anyway, she’ll get over it. She’ll have to, seeing as you’re going to be a regular visitor now.’
She frowned, hating being on the back foot like this. ‘How is it you know so much about me?’
They were walking through the old galleries now: dark-painted rooms with glass roofs, the historic masterpieces moodily lit, uniformed security guards standing at their posts. Her heels tapped on the stone floor, steady and regular.
‘Like I said, you were popular this evening. Everyone’s talking about the new find and that’s put you in the spotlight. All eyes are on you. Daunted?’
She swallowed. ‘Yes.’
She hadn’t intended to be honest; the admission had just fallen from her, and she felt the pressure of his hand increase on her back slightly. ‘You’ll do it.’
For reasons she couldn’t explain, his confidence seemed to reassure her.
They walked in silence for several moments and she wondered what was coming next. Because if he led her straight to his car, she would get into it. There was something about him that tore down her usual reserves. A current that ran between them, threatening to pull her feet out from under her.
She didn’t believe in love at first sight, but lust...That she could go with.
Her heart began to pound in anticipation of his next move. He had clearly been waiting for her, and his body language broadcast the illusion that they were together. They walked over to the cloakroom desk and she handed over her ticket. While the attendant disappeared to get her coat and backpack, she turned to look straight at him, only to find he was already watching her.
‘Are you going to tell me your name?’
‘Do I need to?’ He blinked slowly. ‘When you already know.’
She felt the heat come into her cheeks as confirmation was given. So it was him. She hadn’t been entirely sure. She looked back at him, recognizing that cocksure stare that had antagonized her on screen. She had sensed arrogance and it had riled her, and yet, in his presence, it came off differently. Confidence, self-assurance...‘Max the Lawyer?’
He smiled, bemused at the title.
At what point, she wondered, had he recognized her? Almost immediately – as for her? – or had it only come as her name had carried on the crowd? ‘But you said you work at Madsen Holdings.’
‘Yes. I’m a corporate lawyer there.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh,’ he echoed, his gaze falling to her lips. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit and she found she didn’t care. In fact, she liked his directness. It was everything Lars – evasive, non-committal, deceitful – hadn’t been.
‘Miss?’
The moment was broken by the attendant coming back with her coat and bag. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, looking away from Max.
‘Want some help with that?’ he asked, as she looped her jacket – the turquoise puffa she wore for running – over her arm. His eyebrow arched fractionally at the sight of it. It was an incongruous pairing with her cocktail dress but little did he know how her day had unravelled. She had been on the fly since her lunch with Freja.
‘No, thanks...I ran in this morning,’ she said, by way of explanation of the coat.
He nodded. ‘Still, it’s cold outside and you’re not wearing very much.’ His gaze fell to the sweep of her bare shoulders before coming back to her again.
‘It’s fine, I’ll catch a cab,’ she said, heading for the doors but already waiting – hoping – for his next suggestion to share a car with him.
It came.
‘Or we could get that nightcap – now you’re no longer busy.’ He held her gaze and she remembered her abrupt response to his equally short message. Perhaps they were as bad as each other?
The door was opened by one of the porters. ‘Good night,’ the man said as they passed out onto the steps. Immediately the northern chill asserted itself and she shivered.
‘Here.’ He went to shrug off his jacket. Gentlemanly. Seductive.
‘Darcy!’
The voice rang out from somewhere in the darkness and she looked down to see a man standing beside a taxi, waving at her.
Oh, God. She had completely forgotten. She looked back at Max, but in that single moment, his jacket had already been shrugged back onto his shoulders.
‘But you’re still busy, I see.’ He held her gaze for a moment and she saw frustration, irritation even, in his eyes.
‘I...’ She couldn’t think of what to say. She wanted to tell him it was nothing, that she’d never even met that man before, that she didn’t want him – not over Max. She wanted to tell Erik to sling his hook, but Max was already stepping back and reaching for his phone, a distant smile on his lips.
‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Darcy. Have a nice night.’
She watched him turn and go down the steps, his phone against his ear.
It all happened so fast. One minute she was in his orbit, the next, flung out with dizzying speed.
‘Kristina?’ His voice was low, already distant, but she swore she heard him say the name as he headed towards a waiting black car, a driver opening the glossy passenger door as he neared. In the next instant he had disappeared inside, gone from her sight, and she felt again as she had when he had left the party earlier: deflated, as if the sun had been plucked from the sky.
‘Darcy!’ Erik called, waving frantically again as the car pulled away into the night. ‘Over here!’
‘Fuck,’ Darcy said under her breath, shrugging on the running jacket after all and heading down the steps towards her dreaded date.