She had always mused a lot.
She would tell her friends that it was one of her strong points. “Arty types are always doing it,” she would say, “it comes with the territory.” She was a young woman, fresh out of University and her art degree went with her everywhere. On this particular day she was browsing through an art gallery in a town she had not visited before. There was a great variety of works on display, from Renaissance to Pop Art. She had stopped in the town to take a break from a long drive, but had spotted the shop in the high street and couldn’t resist going in.
As she walked around it became evident that the shop was quite large. She spent the better part of an hour strolling around, analysing the contents of each frame individually, when a fresh-faced, middle-aged sales lady approached asking, “Can I help you there?”
“No,” she replied, “just looking, but thank you.”
The sales woman moved off, saying, “Not a problem. Just let me know if there’s anything.”
A few more minutes and she was at the back of the shop, with nothing left to look at.
It was there that she noticed a further room that was stacked with more art work, mostly laid flat on deep shelves, with some several framed pictures leaning up against a wall.
She got the sales person’s attention.
“Excuse me, would you mind if I take a look in here?”
The other paused, then said, “Oh! No. That’s fine. Naturally, we don’t have the room to hang them all. If you want to look at anything on the racks, let me know and I’ll take them down for you. Otherwise, there’s a good selection there along the wall.”
“Thank you.”
As she turned to go in, the other added, “I would ask you to be careful, some of them are quite valuable.”
“I will, I promise,” she said and entered the room.
She stood for a while, flipping through them one by one, until she came to a Renoir print. This French impressionist happened to be one of her favourite artists. As a painter, he liked to capture some of the leisure activities of Parisian life. The picture here was no exception, being his ‘Dance in the City’; an elegant portrayal of a couple, wrapped in each other’s arms, dancing.
She carefully lifted it out, noticing a label glued to the back, as she did. It read ‘Todd for Claire’. She thought that was sweet. Presumably, Todd was the one giving the picture to his sweetheart. Was he anything like the man in the picture? Was Claire anything like the woman? She stood staring at the picture for at least another half an hour. She became moved and quite emotional, lost in the way this simple print may have touched the personal lives of two people, who may well have been deeply in love at one time, before it ended up in this out of the way storeroom.
The saleswoman was surprised to find her still there when she looked in. “Anything of interest?” she enquired, as she entered.
The woman, almost speechless, turned the picture.
“Oh! That!” The woman looked embarrassed. “Oh! We should have removed that, I’m so sorry.”
“Not at all,” replied the other.” I think it’s awfully touching, don’t you?”
The woman’s face reddened even more. “Well, to be quite honest, Todd, or Mister Roberts…”
“Oh! You actually know who gave this painting?”
The other stood, obviously very uncomfortable for some reason. Finally, she said, “Yes. Well, actually no; not gave but sold.”
“Sold?”
“Yes, that would be Mister Roberts from the Salvation Army. They get some rather fine pieces from time to time. Items that people simply don’t want any more.”
The visitor looked visibly shaken and certainly disappointed, she asked, “And Claire?”
“That’s me. You may not have noticed my name over the shop as you came in.”
Out in the street she stiffened visibly before making her way back to her car.
She preferred her version.