“Yes, ma’am,” the waitress said, scribbling rapidly.
As soon as she collected the menus and left, Carlos said, “But trout has always been your favorite.”
“I’ve broadened my horizons.” Julia shook out the linen napkin and laid it across her lap. “There’s a business matter I need to discuss with you.”
He held up his hand. “I apologize for withholding those paintings from the market. It is possible I misjudged their artistic merit, but I did what I thought was best for your career. And for you.”
Julia forced herself not to spew forth the hurt and sense of betrayal his actions had caused her. She took in a breath, counted to five, and let it out before she spoke. “Did you really show them to any dealers, or was it just your opinion they would damage my reputation?”
“Of course I showed them to dealers!” His nostrils flared and an angry flush washed up his cheeks. “I did not like the paintings myself, but I would not be so unprofessional as to make an artistic judgment on my own. I consulted several experts before I made the decision to keep them private.”
“Who did you consult?”
He unclenched his fists to drum his fingers on the table. “First I took them to Raymond Ballantine. He said he couldn’t sell them.”
Raymond’s gallery was in Hickory, North Carolina. Carlos had persuaded him to take three of Julia’s horse paintings on consignment when she was still in art school. Much to everyone’s surprise and delight, the pictures had sold in a week. It reminded Julia of all she owed her uncle when it came to building her career.
However, her uncle was well aware that Raymond’s clientele was very regional. The tourists went there to buy furniture, not art, so it wasn’t the right place for her Night Mares.
“I’m not surprised,” Julia said, hanging onto her temper by a thread.
Her uncle shrugged dismissively. “I did not expect him to have buyers for the paintings; his patrons are not of the level you have reached. However, I respect his opinion on art. I also took several to Richard Cruz and Eva Mady in Asheville, both of whom are very well-known. Neither was enthusiastic.”
That smarted. Asheville had a fairly sophisticated art scene.
“They asked if I would reduce the prices to encourage new buyers and I of course refused. The paintings were still by Julia Castillo.” Indignation rang in his voice and Julia felt her anger diminish. Her uncle might not like her black horses, but he wasn’t going to devalue them. “I wonder now if they simply did not have buyers who were able to afford your work as it grew more valuable.” He shook his head. “I may have misread their reactions.”
It was quite an admission from her proud, confident uncle, and a little more of her hurt drained away. “Why didn’t you show them to Claire? You knew she was passionate about my work.”
“Because she was no longer in New York. You do not think she can sell your paintings here in this aldea.” He waved his hand around to indicate the smallness of Sanctuary. The fact that he used the Spanish word for village told Julia he was upset; he prided himself on his English vocabulary.
She’d been right about his easy acquiescence to the art exhibit at Claire’s gallery; he thought it would go unnoticed by the larger art community.
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “I was not going to hide your work in a third-rate gallery. It deserves the proper respect.”
“Claire’s gallery is highly respected,” Julia said, her temper flashing at the disparagement of her friend’s business. “Paxton Hayes is coming here.”
“Mr. Hayes is coming because Julia Castillo’s work will be on display,” Carlos said, sitting back with his arms crossed, an arrogant tilt to his head.
She didn’t know whether to be gratified or ticked off. He clearly held her work in high esteem, yet he did nothing but criticize it in private. At least he hadn’t lied to her when he told her dealers didn’t want the new paintings. Perhaps his choice of dealers was questionable, but he had tried to get a cross section. He didn’t believe in the work himself, so he’d given up too easily.
She was trying to decide how to explain the devastation his lack of faith in her had caused when he uncrossed his arms. “Mi Julia, I am concerned about the art exhibition. Paxton Hayes is not a supporter of your work, you know. He can be very…cutting. It might be upsetting to you.”
“Upsetting?” Julia was afraid she knew where he was going with this.
Her uncle shifted in his chair. “You will be in a room full of critical strangers, with strong lighting and a certain level of chaos. It will be stressful.” He shifted again. “You might have a seizure.”