landing a summer job as a conservation intern, and her excitement hadn't waned. Always a positive person, the true tip-off to her happiness was noticing how the no-nonsense leather clogs on her feet never quite touched the floor. The beige smock protecting her clothes showed the evidence of wood dust and stain.
"Yes, I'm fine for lodgings," I answered her previous question.
"Well, I have a flat with a spare room, just off Portobello Road." Her face brightened when she mentioned the place. "You're always welcome."
"Those places can be a bit pricey for someone only receiving an internship stipend, Cassie," I said. "Can't help being both pleased for you and a bit jealous."
"The owner offered the flat on the condition I'd renovate the woodwork," she explained. "That's my specialty: plaster work and restoring historic wood and furniture. I'm as thrilled to work on the mid-nineteenth century flat as I am to be here at the Victoria and Albert."
"I can tell." I laughed. I couldn't help it. Her exuberance was contagious. "Is it one of those huge connected buildings?"
"Yes. Originally part of over two-thousand acres on the crown of Notting Hill." Her hazel eyes glowed as she spoke. "What would be considered a block-long condo back in the States, is part of a project built more than a century and a half ago. The buildings hark back to distinctive Italian designs of old. The Italianate influences are still seen in the elaborate stucco front villas that line up like residential soldiers down the street."
I rolled my eyes. "Extravagant talk for an intern."
"I won't be an intern forever, Laurel. Just wait." She frowned down at my shopping bags. "That looks like clothes."
A quick look around showed no one within earshot. "Cassie, I don't need a place to stay, per se, but I do need some help. Can you give me a tour? We need to talk without being overheard."
Cassie blinked, then smiled. Anyone watching her wouldn't have noticed the shift, but I caught the look in her eyes and knew she perfectly understood. "Let's start down this way."
We journeyed through Italian Renaissance casts and copies, made for the use of nineteenth century British art students to study and sketch. When a group of the twenty-first century variety approached, Cassie slipped into tour guide mode.
"The idea of this room lies in the lessons offered," she said, masking our true purpose for being there. "Making art accessible to all, and providing a means for every working man and woman to gain an appreciation and education in the world's art."
She continued to wax poetic from the founding in 1852 when the Victoria and Albert began as the national museum of design and art. Ten kilometers of galleries held every imaginable kind of art discipline from around the world and throughout the centuries. Even with all the wonderful artifacts I'd been involved in gainingâand losingâI couldn't help but feel giddy at what this museum offered. Where else could you see an Indian throne and the first freestanding bookshelf, the Heneage Jewel owned by Queen Elizabeth I, and a staggering wealth of ceramics, metalwork, textiles, paintings, photography, and musical instruments all under one huge roof. The marvels from the once vast British Empire, long after the fabled sun had set.
"And your favorite would be?"
"The furniture and sculpture of the display areas. It's honestly the most peaceful atmosphere I've ever found in a museum home," she said. "But that's if I'm just looking. What held me in sway the first time I came is the area that still draws me. The conservation room and its opportunity to return distressed art to the public."
The students moved on, and our discussion switched to more pressing topics.
"I need you to take these shopping bags for me and keep everything safe," I murmured. I reached into my pocket and removed the coral, pushing it down the side of one bag to hide in the depths. "There's a laptop buried beneath, and a USB drive inside that coral
"Yes, I'm fine for lodgings," I answered her previous question.
"Well, I have a flat with a spare room, just off Portobello Road." Her face brightened when she mentioned the place. "You're always welcome."
"Those places can be a bit pricey for someone only receiving an internship stipend, Cassie," I said. "Can't help being both pleased for you and a bit jealous."
"The owner offered the flat on the condition I'd renovate the woodwork," she explained. "That's my specialty: plaster work and restoring historic wood and furniture. I'm as thrilled to work on the mid-nineteenth century flat as I am to be here at the Victoria and Albert."
"I can tell." I laughed. I couldn't help it. Her exuberance was contagious. "Is it one of those huge connected buildings?"
"Yes. Originally part of over two-thousand acres on the crown of Notting Hill." Her hazel eyes glowed as she spoke. "What would be considered a block-long condo back in the States, is part of a project built more than a century and a half ago. The buildings hark back to distinctive Italian designs of old. The Italianate influences are still seen in the elaborate stucco front villas that line up like residential soldiers down the street."
I rolled my eyes. "Extravagant talk for an intern."
"I won't be an intern forever, Laurel. Just wait." She frowned down at my shopping bags. "That looks like clothes."
A quick look around showed no one within earshot. "Cassie, I don't need a place to stay, per se, but I do need some help. Can you give me a tour? We need to talk without being overheard."
Cassie blinked, then smiled. Anyone watching her wouldn't have noticed the shift, but I caught the look in her eyes and knew she perfectly understood. "Let's start down this way."
We journeyed through Italian Renaissance casts and copies, made for the use of nineteenth century British art students to study and sketch. When a group of the twenty-first century variety approached, Cassie slipped into tour guide mode.
"The idea of this room lies in the lessons offered," she said, masking our true purpose for being there. "Making art accessible to all, and providing a means for every working man and woman to gain an appreciation and education in the world's art."
She continued to wax poetic from the founding in 1852 when the Victoria and Albert began as the national museum of design and art. Ten kilometers of galleries held every imaginable kind of art discipline from around the world and throughout the centuries. Even with all the wonderful artifacts I'd been involved in gainingâand losingâI couldn't help but feel giddy at what this museum offered. Where else could you see an Indian throne and the first freestanding bookshelf, the Heneage Jewel owned by Queen Elizabeth I, and a staggering wealth of ceramics, metalwork, textiles, paintings, photography, and musical instruments all under one huge roof. The marvels from the once vast British Empire, long after the fabled sun had set.
"And your favorite would be?"
"The furniture and sculpture of the display areas. It's honestly the most peaceful atmosphere I've ever found in a museum home," she said. "But that's if I'm just looking. What held me in sway the first time I came is the area that still draws me. The conservation room and its opportunity to return distressed art to the public."
The students moved on, and our discussion switched to more pressing topics.
"I need you to take these shopping bags for me and keep everything safe," I murmured. I reached into my pocket and removed the coral, pushing it down the side of one bag to hide in the depths. "There's a laptop buried beneath, and a USB drive inside that coral
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