CHAPTER 38: THE WOMAN AT THE GALLERY

The gallery smelled of fresh paint, polished wood, and expensive perfume. Soft music played in the background as visitors moved between displays, holding glasses of wine and discussing colours, shapes, and ideas. White walls stretched across the large space, covered with paintings, photographs, and architectural designs. Tall windows allowed the late afternoon sunlight to fall across the polished floor, giving the entire room a warm glow.

I stood near the entrance, holding my invitation and trying not to look as nervous as I felt.

It was my first time attending an exhibition as a professional designer rather than someone simply interested in beautiful spaces. Ethan had encouraged me to come, explaining that exhibitions were good places to meet people, discover new ideas, and understand what was happening in the industry.

"You don't have to impress everyone," he had told me before I left. "Just enjoy yourself and talk about what you love."

I repeated those words silently as I walked further inside.

A large abstract painting caught my attention. It showed different shades of blue and gold blending into one another, with rough brushstrokes that somehow created a feeling of movement. Nearby, a collection of photographs showed modern buildings surrounded by nature. Another section displayed miniature room designs, complete with furniture, lighting, and tiny decorative objects.

People gathered in small groups, discussing the work. Some spoke confidently about materials and techniques, while others seemed more interested in the social side of the event. I recognised a few names from design magazines, but I didn't feel as intimidated as I had expected.

I had worked hard to reach this point. I belonged in a room where people discussed design.

I stopped in front of a display featuring a small residential space built around natural light. The designer had used pale wood, soft fabrics, and simple furniture to create a room that looked comfortable without feeling crowded.

"Interesting, isn't it?"

I turned towards the voice.

A woman stood beside me, perhaps in her early forties. She wore a beautifully tailored dark green suit, simple gold earrings, and black heels. Her dark hair fell neatly around her shoulders, and she carried herself with the kind of confidence that didn't need attention.

"Very," I replied. "I like how the designer has allowed the natural light to become part of the room rather than treating it as an extra feature."

The woman smiled. "Exactly. Too many people design around furniture and forget that light can change how someone experiences a space."

I nodded. "And the room feels lived in. It doesn't look like someone has arranged everything just to take a photograph."

"That's a good observation."

We continued looking at the display, and she asked whether I worked in interior design. I explained that I was building my career, working on smaller projects while developing my portfolio.

"Do you have anything displayed here?" she asked.

"No, not this time. I'm mostly here to learn and meet other designers."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Although, from the way you speak about the work, I suspect you'll be exhibiting your own designs before long."

I smiled. "I hope so."

She introduced herself as Clara Bennett, a name I recognised vaguely from the professional world. I couldn't immediately place her, but there was something familiar about it.

"Are you currently working with a design firm?" she asked.

"I'm doing some independent work and collaborating with a small company called Ethan Brooks Design."

"Ah, I know the name. They're doing some interesting residential projects."

I was surprised she had heard of them. We began talking about my recent work, and I told her about a small renovation project I had completed. She listened carefully, asking questions about the client's needs, the budget, and the decisions I had made.

"What inspired your approach?" she asked.

"I think a home should make people feel comfortable before it tries to impress them. I like natural materials, warm colours, and spaces that have a purpose. Beautiful rooms are important, but people should be able to live in them."

Clara considered that for a moment.

"That's a thoughtful way of looking at design. Many young designers focus on making something visually striking. You're thinking about how people actually experience it."

Her compliment made me smile. It felt good to have someone interested in my work without asking who I knew or where I came from.

"Thank you. I'm still learning."

"Everyone who is worth listening to is still learning," she said with a quiet laugh.

We moved towards another display, where several designers had created concepts for modern office spaces. Clara asked whether I preferred residential or commercial projects. I told her I enjoyed both, although commercial spaces challenged me in different ways because they had to serve many people with different needs.

"Have you ever considered working with a large corporation?" she asked.

"I'd like to. Actually, I've recently submitted a proposal for a corporate renovation project."

"Really? Which company?"

I hesitated briefly. "Blackwood International."

Her expression changed only slightly, but I noticed the interest in her eyes.

"Blackwood International?" she repeated. "That's quite an opportunity."

"It is. The selection process is competitive, so I'm trying not to get ahead of myself."

"Do you know Alexander Blackwood personally?"

The question caught me off guard. I looked at her for a moment before answering.

"Yes, I do."

"Through your work?"

"Not exactly. We know each other personally."

Clara nodded, accepting the answer without pushing for details. "Alexander has always been an interesting man."

I couldn't help smiling faintly. "He certainly can be."

"Do you know much about the company's former leadership? The people who worked there before Alexander took control of the business?"

The question was unexpected.

"Only a little," I replied carefully. "I've heard some things about the company's history, but I don't know enough to discuss it."

"Of course."

She looked towards a nearby painting, as if the subject had suddenly become unimportant.

"Corporate history can be complicated," she said. "Especially when families are involved."

I studied her face. There was no obvious hostility in her expression, but I wondered why she had asked about Alexander's past. Most people at a design exhibition would have been more interested in my work or the company project.

Before I could ask, she returned to the display.

"Anyway, I think this use of texture is wonderful. It reminds me that good design doesn't always need complicated shapes or expensive materials."

I followed her gaze. "I agree. Sometimes the simplest details make the biggest difference."

We continued talking for another few minutes. Clara shared some advice about building professional relationships and encouraged me to keep photographs of every completed project, even the small ones. She also suggested that I attend more exhibitions and speak to established designers without feeling that I needed to prove myself immediately.

"You have an interesting perspective, Amelia," she said as the conversation began to wind down. "I'd like to see more of your work."

She reached into her handbag and handed me a small cream-coloured card. Her name and contact details were printed in elegant black lettering, along with the title Independent Design Consultant.

"Perhaps we could meet for coffee sometime. I'd be interested in hearing about your ideas for the Blackwood project."

I accepted the card. "I'd like that. Thank you."

"Good. And don't let the size of the company intimidate you. A good idea is a good idea, regardless of who is paying for it."

With a warm smile, she said goodbye and disappeared into the crowd.

I stayed for another half hour, looking at the displays and speaking briefly with two other designers. By the time I left, I felt more comfortable than when I had arrived. The exhibition had reminded me that I didn't need to be the most experienced person in the room to have something valuable to contribute.

On the way home, I took Clara's card from my handbag and read it again.

There was something about our conversation that stayed with me. Her interest in my work had felt genuine, but her questions about Alexander and the company's former leadership were unusual.

When I reached my apartment, I changed into comfortable clothes, made myself a cup of tea, and opened my laptop.

I searched for Clara Bennett.

Several professional profiles appeared. She had worked as an independent consultant for years, advising on corporate development, property investments, and private business restructuring. Her career included projects for several major companies, although her earlier professional history was less detailed.

Then I found an old article from fifteen years ago.

It discussed a charity event organised by Blackwood International, shortly before Alexander's father died. The article included several photographs of the guests.

I clicked through them slowly.

There were photographs of Alexander's father, senior executives, and a younger Alexander standing beside a group of guests. I almost closed the page when one image caught my attention.

A woman stood beside Alexander.

She had dark hair, a familiar smile, and one hand resting lightly on his arm. Alexander looked younger, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, but his face was unmistakable.

I enlarged the photograph.

The woman was Clara Bennett.

My fingers went still on the keyboard.

I looked from the photograph to the business card lying beside my laptop. Then I looked back at the image, trying to understand what I had just discovered.

Clara hadn't simply known about Blackwood International's past.

She had been standing beside Alexander in it.

And suddenly, I had a feeling that our meeting at the gallery had not been quite as ordinary as I first believed.