The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,12

her. Late thirties or early forties, she reckoned. She tapped the keyboard again.

‘As you’re here, would you like to browse the gallery?’ she asked. ‘We’ve got some great new work or, of course, you can look at our auction items.’

‘I’ll take a glance around,’ said Gavin. ‘Not that Kevin deserves it.’

Deira watched him from behind the computer as he walked around the gallery, pausing in front of some of the paintings and ignoring others. He was distinguished, she thought, and knowledgeable too, because he gave more time to the better artists, studying the paintings carefully. She smiled when she realised he was examining one of her favourites – a mother and child sharing a riverside bench, both holding bright orange umbrellas over their heads.

‘Isn’t it lovely?’ She walked up to him with a brochure. ‘It’s a Thelma Roache. We’ve got more of her work here. It’s very vibrant.’ She turned and pointed to another painting, this time of a woman hurrying for a train, an emerald-green bag over her shoulder and her yellow coat flapping open.

‘Yes, it is.’ Gavin took the brochure from her, but continued to study the painting of the mother and child.

‘I like how the brightness of their umbrellas contrasts with the surroundings,’ said Deira. ‘And how the river looks so dark and gloomy but the painting itself isn’t.’

‘Is that your critical analysis?’ He sounded amused.

She glanced at him, embarrassed at her unvarnished praise for the painting, but he was looking at her with interest.

‘Not so much a critical view, more a personal one,’ she admitted. ‘I like Thelma Roache and I think she should be better known. We’ve only recently started to show her work, but she’s great. An older woman, which may be why she doesn’t get the recognition. She’s been painting since the seventies.’

‘Oh.’ Gavin looked surprised.

‘But of course women don’t get the same recognition as men anyway,’ Deira said. ‘No matter how good they are.’

‘Women in general or women artists?’

‘In general. But particularly as artists.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘It was part of my thesis,’ she said.

‘You studied art?’

‘Art history and modern literature,’ she told him. ‘My brother told me it was a useless degree, but it got me the job here.’

‘You don’t want to be an artist or a writer yourself?’

She shook her head. ‘I can appreciate other people’s work, but I know my limitations. What I like doing is matching people with paintings they love. Or helping out with exhibitions. Because it brings the beauty of art – whether it’s paintings or sculpture or jewellery or books – to more people.’

‘Have you organised many exhibitions?’

‘Just one. But it was excellent. We sold all the paintings.’ She beamed at him.

He said nothing in reply and she wondered if she’d overstepped the mark with him. But he simply told her that he’d be back on Monday to meet with Kevin and that he hoped to see her too.

After he’d left, Deira couldn’t help feeling that the gallery seemed very empty.

Kevin came back from his exhibition full of enthusiasm for some new names, and apologetic about having forgotten his meeting with Gavin Boyer.

‘I didn’t realise it was a definite thing,’ he told Deira. ‘But no harm done, we’ve been in touch and he’s fine about it.’

He was in his office when Gavin called at exactly four o’clock on Monday afternoon. Deira brought coffee and biscuits to them and then went back to logging the items for their upcoming antique jewellery auction on the computer.

Afterwards, Kevin told her that Gavin was looking to exhibit some art himself.

‘Huh? He’s a rival?’ Deira was taken aback.

‘Not at all,’ said Kevin. ‘He’s an executive with a life and pensions company. They’re trying to reach out into the community a bit more and support cultural events.’

She grimaced. ‘All these corporations trying to make nice when we know they’d rip the face off you if they could.’

‘Perhaps.’ Kevin grinned. ‘But it’s a worthwhile endeavour all the same. Solas Life has recently moved into a new building and they have a space they think could be used to display artwork. He’s also thinking about historical retrospectives on aspects of the city, or great musicians or writers. Anyhow, his first idea is an art exhibition and he wants us to come up with some content.’

‘That’s exciting,’ conceded Deira.

‘Actually, you’ve already given him an idea he likes. He was very taken by Thelma Roache’s work. He wants to exhibit some women painters.’

‘Oh,’ said Deira.

‘He said that you were so aggrieved they don’t get enough recognition