Blind Angel of Wrath (The Blind Sleuth Mysteries 2)

2 The opening

One of the most important things on a day like this was to look good, but when you're blind that can be something of a problem. It was her old friend Beatrice who told Daisy, "Of course we have to do something about your appearance: you're the artist, you'll be the star of the whole event!" And she had proceeded to go through her wardrobe with her and to groom her. So Daisy was wearing a very fetching summer dress that revealed rather a lot of her curvaceous figure. Her unruly blond curls had been put up in a kind of dashing bun, drawing attention to her small, shapely ears to the best advantage. The dark round glasses she wore to hide her atrophied eyes happened to be quite fashionable that year. "Now," dear Beatrice had concluded, "I've brought some glittery earrings, nothing expensive; let me fix them to your earlobes. There, you really look like a great star!"

And when the guests started to arrive at the opening of her exhibition, they complimented her on her appearance. "Darling, you look gorgeous today, you can be such a grey mouse sometimes." Daisy giggled and felt some relief at this opening line that was repeated by many. It was an easy way to break the ice, as she was feeling very nervous. What also put her somewhat at ease was all the hugging and pecking that was going on. Hugging was always a favourite with Daisy, but on that day it was particularly pleasant, everyone well groomed, smelling nicely of shampoo and toothpaste, coming up to her and pecking her on the cheeks, taking her in their arms... Sometimes she had no idea who she was embracing, so she would chuckle, and say, "Nice to meet you, but who is this, anyway?"

"You don't know me, but I certainly know you, don't you worry...

"Aha... a mystery man! I like that... Welcome to my exhibition, enjoy the show."

"Thank you. See you later."

Soon the small gallery in Tufnell Park filled up with guests, and there was quite a hubbub. Daisy liked that too. Everyone talking at once, exclaiming, laughing, the voices louder and louder as more bubbly wine was imbibed. It gave you a sense of how many people were there, and of where they were standing, even of who was talking to whom.

On the other hand, you tended to feel a bit lost in the crowd. Daisy had the gallery well mapped in her mind, including the exact location of each sculpture on display, but she hadn't taken into account that the place would be filled up with so many people. It made her lose her bearings: you could no longer move in a straight line for all the visitors standing in the way...

This was Daisy's first solo exhibition. That is to say, the sculptures were hers, the photographs and paintings on the walls were by others. So, many people from many different areas of her life had answered her invitation. It reminded Daisy of something from a novel, where half a dozen plot lines would originate from a single gathering like this one.

To start with, there were some childhood friends from the school for the blind that Daisy had attended. She had known these girls from the age of six, until they had done their A Levels together when they were eighteen. Now the three girls that had come—well, they were mature women—clustered around one sculpture after another and touched it, and touched one another, and giggled, giggled... Daisy sighed. She would have liked to join them for the rest of the evening. There is nothing above the friendship, the deep understanding, of a bunch of blind girls among themselves. But there were other guests to attend to, Daisy had to perform her duties as a hostess.

Everybody was allowed to touch the sculptures, of course. Between the welcoming of guests, Daisy reflected on the difference between the 30s or 40s, when "touching things" had been strongly frowned upon, and the swinging 60s of today's London, when the "touchy-feely" approach had become all the rage. Now a blind lady who was interested in sculpture was often allowed to touch the works on display. Daisy had just told her school friends, "I never go to a museum or a gallery without a pair of surgical gloves, so that they can't turn down my request without looking silly..."