Chapter 81
HAZEL
PRESENT TIME
Ravel appears surprisingly unperturbed by my decision to keep the baby hidden from him. In the wake of his departure from my home, he hasn’t initiated contact with me. In my hopeful heart, I want to believe that he harbors no resentment. Nevertheless, if he remains silent regarding the baby and refrains from reaching out, I’ve resolved to take the initiative. It falls upon me to mend the rift between father and daughter.
As we eagerly anticipate an upcoming exhibition scheduled for next month, the preparations have been proceeding flawlessly thus far. I’ve diligently reached out to numerous esteemed and renowned artists, all of whom have graciously pledged to contribute both ancient and contemporary artworks to our showcase.
David’s demeanor had taken a noticeable shift, and it was clear that he was unhappy about the news of Daisy’s existence becoming public. Moreover, the prospect of me spending more time with Ravel due to the baby was evidently causing him some discomfort. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my little girl alone with Ravel, given the circumstances.
Suddenly, the door to my office swung open, and David rushed in, with Agatha following closely behind. The urgency in his voice prompted me to rise from my seat and meet him halfway. “Hazel!” His tone was laced with panic, and it was evident that something was amiss.
His anxiety was obvious, and I couldn’t help but ask, Clearly, something is wrong. “What’s happening?” Agatha gestured for me to sit down on the sofa, which I did. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” I pressed, growing increasingly. concerned by the minute.
David’s words hit me like a hammer, and my heart sank as he revealed the shocking news. “Our biggest client pulled out,” he explained, and I could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on me. “He called me this morning to inform me that he’s no longer interested in the exhibition, and I’ve been trying to reach him ever since, but he isn’t taking my calls, and neither is his secretary responding.”
This was an unprecedented situation. In all the years since my art gallery gained global recognition, we had never faced an artist pulling out like this. I sought clarification, my voice trembling slightly, “Mr. Jericho pulled out?” David confirmed with a solemn nod. “Did he provide any reasons?” I inquired further.
“He wasn’t on the call long enough to explain,” David replied, his frustration evident.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, Agatha cleared her throat and drew our attention. Two pairs of concerned eyes turned toward her, and she hesitated before dropping another bombshell. “Mr. Jericho isn’t the only one who pulled out,” she muttered, causing a cold sweat to break out on my brow. “Mr. Warren dropped out too. He called me this morning and informed me that he isn’t ready to exhibit his new work just yet.”
The gravity of the situation was becoming increasingly dire, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of impending crisis looming over my gallery.
The news of Mr. Warren pulling out of the exhibition had ignited my anger. “Is he insane?” I exclaimed with frustration. “We’ve been planning this exhibition for months, and I’ve been in constant communication with him. He assured me he couldn’t wait to exhibit his work with us. What’s all this nonsense he’s talking about?”
David, ever the voice of reason, tried to calm the situation. “Now isn’t the best time to get upset,” he advised. “We should
finding a solution. Jericho and Warren are the major artists we’re showcasing, and the entire exhibition hall will be nearly empty if we don’t address this.”
“They’re not giving us any reasonable excuses,” I added, my frustration unabated. “That suggests someone might be behind this. If we want to resolve this problem, we have to find out who’s responsible.” It was clear that there was more to this situation than met the eye, and unraveling the mystery behind it would be crucial to salvaging our exhibition.
Agatha’s raised hand caught our attention, and she tentatively spoke up. “I don’t know if this counts, but someone sent me an email last week, warning me that someone was trying to sabotage the exhibition. I didn’t take it seriously at the time.”
Chapter 81
My frustration boiled over as I snapped at her, “You didn’t think it was serious? How could you keep such vital information
from us?”
Agatha apologized, her gaze shifting away. However, David interjected with an unexpected question, “Did you receive the picture too?” Agatha blinked, clearly taken aback, but nodded in affirmation. My curiosity piqued, I raised an eyebrow, urging David to explain further.
“I received a picture in my email two days ago,” he disclosed. “It was a photo of Ravel Southwark having dinner with Mr. Warren, and the message that accompanied it was the same warning that someone is trying to sabotage the exhibition.”
The picture on David’s phone didn’t make any sense to me. Ravel had no apparent reason to sabotage our exhibition. Nonetheless, I requested to see the image, and David nodded, handing me his phone. As I viewed the photo of Ravel dining with Warren, doubt lingered in my mind. It seemed too inconclusive to point fingers at Ravel solely based on this picture.
Returning the phone to David, I asserted, “This doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It could be just a harmless dinner.” My attempt to downplay the situation didn’t sit well with David, who appeared unconvinced.
“I want you to send that email to our technical team,” I instructed, my tone resolute. “They should track down whoever sent that email and provide us with their home or office address before sunrise tomorrow.”
David agreed, assuring me, “I’ll get that done.”
I turned to Agatha and issued instructions, “Go and inform my driver to get the car ready. I’ll be leaving in the next thirty minutes. Mr. Warren and Jeremy will have to look me in the face and say that again.”
Agatha nodded, promptly exiting my office, but David remained seated, his curiosity apparent. He couldn’t help but question my faith in Ravel. “You honestly think Southwark didn’t do this?” he inquired skeptically.
I sighed, feeling exasperated, and took my seat behind my desk. “Don’t start with me, David. I know you don’t like Ravel, but he isn’t capable of such evil.”
David persisted, his tone firm. “He might not be capable of it when he’s sweet, but you can’t be so sure when he’s angry with you.”
I glared at him, perplexed by his insinuations. “What are you talking about?”
David’s suggestion about Ravel’s possible motive made me uneasy. “He could be upset that you kept Daisy away from him, and this could be his way of punishing you,” he surmised. “He knows this will only affect you, but it won’t close down the gallery. In my opinion, that’s the ideal punishment.”
Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, and I rubbed my temples tiredly. “I just need some time alone, David.”
He nodded and stood up. “I’m not saying he’s the one. All I’m saying is, don’t rule out the possibility.” With those words, he left my office.
As I stared at the artwork on the wall, I tried not to dwell too deeply on David’s theory. Eventually, I picked up my phone and dialed Ravel’s number. He didn’t answer at first, but I persisted with my calls until he finally picked up.
“Hey, Hazel,” he greeted. “Sorry for not answering earlier. I was in a meeting.”
“It’s fine.” I responded absently, “I have a question for Ravel, did you meet with anyone named Warren lately?” I know it is foolish to ask him head on, but Ravel isn’t the type of person to hide if he decides to strike.
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“Warren?” he paused for a moment. I already know the answer to my question because I already have a picture but then I want to know why he met with him. “I did not meet with anyone named Warren. Why?”
Ravel’s response to my question about meeting someone named Warren didn’t match the information I already had from the picture. “You didn’t?” I asked, suspicion creeping into my tone.
“No, I did not. Why?” he inquired again.
I hesitated for a moment before offering a vague explanation, “Oh… I was hoping you knew him because I need someone
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Chapter 81
close to him to set up a meeting for me.”
Ravel quickly volunteered to help, saying, “I can help you do that.”
But I declined, “It’s fine. I’ll handle it myself. I’ll talk to you later.”
Disconnecting the call, I continued to gaze at the artwork on my wall. Something wasn’t adding up, and I couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that Ravel was hiding something. I made up my mind: I was going to New York. He would have to look me in the face and lie to me.