Page 11 of All I Want for Christmas

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 theback. 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. Didshelook 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 ofHer 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.

‘Wonderfulnews 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.

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