The Year of Living Dangerously

Part I: January, 1965

Chapter One

The Victoria and Albert Museum was founded in 1852, when it was called the South Kensington Museum (located as it was in South Kensington). The name was changed to the Victoria and Albert in 1899, to commemorate the Queen who was celebrating her 80th birthday in that year. Its collection spans 5,000 years of art, from ancient times to the present day, in virtually every medium, from cultures around the world.

Each of its many galleries has a curator and an assistant curator – men, and the occasional woman, who spent their time in the inner sanctum of their offices or in the depths of the museum where the majority of the collection is stored, and only occasionally ventured out into the galleries themselves, when a visitor of particular interest was in the museum.

It was one of the tasks of the guards stationed in each gallery to inform a curator should someone of particular interest show themselves.

Assistant curator Edward Foljam bustled primly toward the Forster Gallery – comprised of the Leonardo Da Vinci material that John Forster had donated to the museum in 1872 – for he had been informed that Mrs. Emma Peel had arrived.

Foljamhad met the young lady last year, when she'd interviewed him for a magazine article on Da Vinci's work, and had fallen in love with her on the spot. (He had thus told the guard on duty to tell him if ever Mrs. Peel returned, and the guard, Faversham by name, had not failed him.)

He bustled into the Gallery. "Mrs. Peel," he said warmly.

The tall brunette turned, and smiled at him. Her auburn hair swirled about her shoulders and Foljam could not help but notice that her face, with its mobile brows over candid eyes, and long, straight nose over sensuous lips, was a piece of art in itself. He wished he had the nerve to tell her that she should have been a most worthy subject to be immortalized by Leonardo himself.

"You got my note, I hope." he said. "You were so kind as to send me the Futures Past magazine containing your article on Leonardo and his ouvre here at the Victoria and Albert. I so appreciated your mentioning me in such glowing terms."

"I could do no less, Mr. Foljam. Your assistance was invaluable to me. I hope the article resulted in an increase of visitors to the Forster Gallery?"

Foljam's lips worked, but he could not tell a lie. "I'm sure it did, Mrs. Peel, but I could not say for certain. We don't keep track of visitors to individual galleries, I'm afraid, so there's no way of knowing."

She raised an eyebrow at him. Foljam's heart did a flip-flop.

But, "You surprise me," is all she said. "I should have thought the museum would have kept track of the number of visitors to each and every gallery, to see which ones were most popular and so on."

"It is a good idea," Foljam said quickly. "I'll certainly put it to the Chief Curator at our next meeting."

She smiled at him. "It's not necessary, Mr. Foljam. It's just something I'd have done, had I been in charge."

"Oh, but it's an excellent idea, Mrs. Peel." Stop gushing, he told himself sternly.

He clasped his hands together, more to keep them from shaking than anything else, and said, "Is there anything I can show you today, Mrs. Peel?" Oh, god. "I mean, any particular work you'd care to see more closely?" Oh, god.

All of the works of Da Vinci were kept under glass, but for special visitors he was allowed to take them from their protective cases so that they could be examined more closely. She'd know that's what he meant to say. Please god.

"No, thank you, Mr. Foljam. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by."

"I..I am delighted you did so."

She smiled at him again and he felt his heart lurch. She had such a devastating smile. His eyes darted desperately here and there...he didn't want to leave just yet...

"Are you writing another article?" finally came to him.

She had turned and was strolling slowly along, gazing up at the framed prints on the wall. He walked at her side.

"I'm always writing an article," she said, charmingly, "but nothing to do with the Victoria and Albert or its collection at the moment."

He knew she called herself Mrs. Peel, obviously, but he also knew that she was a widow. Her husband had been a test pilot, and he'd died in a crash a couple of years ago. He'd read about it at the time, and seen her picture in the paper. They'd only been married for a couple of years, too. Very sad...

"Have you been to the Louvre, Mr. Foljam?" she asked him, still gazing up at the prints.

"I...I.."

"I suppose I should be more precise. Have you seen the Mona Lisa?"

"Yes, I have," Foljam said, pleased that she seemed curious about him. "Indeed, I have traveled across the continent to view Da Vinci's works. All that are in public hands, of course."

"What do you think of it? The Mona Lisa, I mean."

Foljam's lips worked, as he longed to tell her that her smile was like the Mona Lisa's, but he couldn't do it.

"It's a most interesting work. You've noticed the background, I'm sure - the one side doesn't match the other?"

"I've read that," she replied in a considering tone of voice, "but to me it's such a subtle difference...I'm not sure if its really true."

"Well..." Foljam launched into speech about the mysteries of the Mona Lisa, from the lack of facial hair such as eyebrows and eyelashes, to the meaning of the famously enigmatic smile, and he could tell Mrs. Peel was listening to him intently. He was in his element, now, and lost his stammer and spoke with confidence.

After she'd left his gallery, with another of her smiles and a caress from her eyes...well, she probably didn't mean to caress him with her eyes but that's what it seemed like to him, Foljam returned to his office, and made himself a cup of tea.

He took out the issue of Futures Past that she'd sent to him. Not only had she thanked him in the article itself, but she'd included a note to him as well -- hand-written, too –

Foljam opened the magazine to her article. Beneath the title was a small thumbnail photo of her, smiling at the camera. He gazed at it for a few seconds, then closed the magazine and placed it back in his bottom drawer. He sat up with a sigh, and sipped his tea.

If she came back...he'd speak to her. Ask her if she'd like a coffee, or something.

Yes, thought Foljam a little forlornly...if she came back...