into the canal. Afterwards he took me back to his hotel to dry off and we stayed up for hours talking about everything.
He told me how he’d got an invite at the last minute to fly to Venice to film some interviews. How he’d never stopped thinking about me. How he missed me so much he thought he’d conjured me up out of his imagination when he saw me on the bridge. How he felt when he’d seen me fall into the canal. It all came pouring out.
Then it was my turn. I had a lot of explaining to do, about why I was in Venice with Nate, what we’d been doing together in Martha’s Vineyard, and how no, we weren’t having an affair. He took some convincing.
Three whole days in his hotel room in Venice, in fact. I had no idea convincing someone could be so much fun.
My heel slips on an icy paving stone and I have to fight to keep my balance. That’s the problem with wearing high heels, I reflect, glancing down at my new red satin stilettos and feeling a rush of delight. Totally impractical, ridiculously high and utterly gorgeous. But then I couldn’t wear wellies to a swanky exhibition featuring the works of renowned artist Artsy, now, could I?
‘Loozy, there you are!’
Arriving at the gallery, I’m greeted at the doorway by a flash of paparazzi cameras and Magda, resplendent in head-to-toe Gucci, with Valentino tucked under her arm.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ I gasp, giving her a hug.
Then again, not everything has changed.
Inside, the gallery is buzzing with an air of feverish excitement. Artsy’s first ever exhibition has caused quite a stir and there are crowds of people, tons of journalists and even a few celebrities milling around his artwork. The exhibition has been the talk of the art world and we’ve had masses of publicity. Magda has been interviewed in the New York Times, the gallery has been featured in Vogue, and there’s even been a rumour Vanity Fair might want to do a piece.
Standing on tiptoes, I quickly scan the crowd. Crikey, is that Madonna? I feel a leap of excitement, but I move swiftly past her, my eyes searching out a familiar figure. Then I see him, standing in the corner, waiting for me.
Adam.
‘Fancy seeing you here.’ He sm˜u hy">
I feel a beat of pleasure. ‘So what do you think of the art?’
‘Hmm, well, I’m not sure about the dirty laundry –’ he gestures to Artsy’s washing lines – ‘but I think these are amazing,’ he says, moving towards a series of charcoal sketches hanging on the walls.
‘Really?’ I study his face with interest. ‘And why’s that?’
‘I love the way they capture people’s expressions, their emotions, their hopes.’ He points to a large one of a woman, half dozing in a hospital waiting room, rosary beads clasped tightly in her lap. ‘There’s a whole story, a whole history, and it’s been captured in one fleeting moment with just a few strokes of charcoal.’
‘You know a lot about art.’ I nod approvingly, my mouth twitching.
‘I had a good teacher.’ He grins, turning back to me. ‘Plus it helps when you know the artist.’
Pride swells in me, and my face splits into the widest smile. Because, you see, those are my sketches hanging on the gallery wall. Tonight’s exhibition isn’t solely for Artsy, though of course he’s the main attraction. It’s also a chance to showcase new talent. New talent. My heart skips a beat and I almost have to pinch myself.
It was Adam who encouraged me to follow my dream of being an artist, so when I came back from Venice, I started sketching again properly. It was like I’d never stopped. Soon I didn’t go anywhere without my sketchbook, and evenings and weekends were spent exploring the city, capturing expressions, moods, moments. Until one day I plucked up courage and showed them to Magda, who threw up her arms, declared them ‘Wonderful!’, reprimanded me for being a dark horse and offered me my first exhibition.
Well, I say ‘offered’, but it was more a case of her insisting and me speechlessly grinning like a loon. I’ve been doing a lot of that recently. I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll suddenly remember that I’m in an exhibition – me. Lucy Hemmingway – and I’ll start grinning to myself. I’ve had some funny looks. I’m sure other New Yorkers think I’m some kind of crazy person.
But I don’t care. I’m finally following my dream