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“It was 2008,” Mrs. Walden said. “All my children had left the nest, and I needed something to do with my time.”
Rose thought,It’s not like you raised them, anyway. Nannies did. Maids did.
“How many children do you have?” Rose asked.
“Four.”
Rose remembered their gorgeous faces back in 1993. She remembered how Evie had crawled into bed with her and immediately fallen asleep. Her heart ached tobe needed like that.I was never allowed to have my own.
They continued making light chitchat about her children, about her grandchildren, about Mr. Walden and his numerous companies. It wasn’t till later that Rose could reroute the conversation back to the foundation.
“And how do you raise money for your foundation?” Rose asked.
Mrs. Walden puffed her cheeks. “That’s a difficult thing indeed. It’s hard to pull money out of wealthy people’s pocketbooks. But funny you should ask. We have an event this Friday. We’re auctioning off works of art to the elite members of Manhattan society. The money will, of course, go toward the foundation. And it will pay the caterers and the bartenders and the party planners and so on.” Mrs. Walden spoke quickly, whipping her hand in a circle.
Rose remembered that last night they’d spent together when Mrs. Walden had said,You’ll never belong.A shiver went down her spine.
“Would it be possible for me to see the pieces being sold in the auction?” Rose asked. “As an artist, I’m always so curious about what’s selling well and what people are making. I like to keep tabs on industry trends.”
“Darling, I can’t let you see any of them,” Mrs. Walden said. “They’re all locked away until Friday.”
Rose’s heart sank. She’d imagined being able to see her sculpture today. She’d probably been foolish to hope for that.
“Can I see my portrait yet?” Mrs. Walden said suddenly.
Rose hadn’t anticipated this, but she fixed an easy smile on her face and said, “Sure. Like I said before, I’llneed another few hours after you leave to finish. But it should be done by tomorrow.”
Mrs. Walden got up and breezed across the room, a strange expression fixed to her face. Rose wondered if she was ready to rip Rose’s painting to shreds.
But instead, Mrs. Walden stood pin-straight and looked at Rose’s painting for a full five minutes without speaking. The air in the room was taut. Rose was too frightened to look at Mrs. Walden.
“It really is something,” Mrs. Walden finally said.
Rose filled her lungs, searching for sarcasm in her voice. But Mrs. Walden’s eyes were aglow. It was clear she’d never seen herself the way Rose had painted her: glowing, youthful, queen-like.
Mrs. Walden clasped her hands together. It looked as though she wanted to jump up and down. “I absolutely must show it off at the party on Friday!”
Rose’s heart nearly burst.This was all a part of the plan.Mrs. Walden had walked right in.
“That can be arranged, I think,” Rose said, sounding tentative. “The MOMA won’t need it for another couple of weeks.”
Mrs. Walden waved her hand from side to side. “If they make a fuss, let me know. I can make some calls.”
Rose’s heart swelled. She needed to make one last request. “How can someone attend the party? Does one require an invitation?”
Mrs. Walden’s smile could have lit up a dark ocean. “Darling, I want to invite you myself. Here.” Mrs. Walden ruffled through her purse to find an invitation for the event, which she slipped into Rose’s hand. “I’ll put you in contact with my assistant so you can bring the painting the day before the event. Make sure to wearsomething ravishing. You must do something about those bags under your eyes. And make sure to bring a handsome date. Someone in a tuxedo. These are the elites of Manhattan, darling. You want to appear as though you fit in.”
Rose maintained a bright smile, one she hoped saidthis is the happiest day of my life.
Then she said, “I can’t wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rose and Sean spent all afternoon preparing for the fundraiser that Friday. Sean hadn’t had a tuxedo—not even somewhere tucked away in Nantucket—which had required a shopping trip and a last-minute purchase, one that had made Sean’s eyes bug out of his head. Rose understood. Sean’s yearly wage wasn’t much to write home about. But Rose hadn’t come from wealth, and she had an incredible amount of respect for people like Sean. People who’d given their all to their communities. People who didn’t save their cash just to prove they had a lot of it.
Rose bought a gown because she wanted to look pristine—just in case Oren was a guest. She had a hunch he would be. But she wasn’t sure how much she could trust her gut.
Her gut had been wrong before, after all.
