The Last Painting of Sara de Vos by Dominic Smith Page B

unpack.
    Q makes a few wording changes to the receipt form and both he and Hendrik initial the changes before signing. Mandy takes a copy of the paperwork and heads upstairs, but not before giving Ellie a knowing glance.
    Turning to Ellie, Hendrik asks, “Is it possible to use your fax machine to send this to Leiden?”
    â€œOf course,” Ellie says. “I’ll take you upstairs to the office. You can also speak to the head of security if you like.”
    â€œThat would be perfect.” Hendrik turns one more time in the direction of his packing cases and then says to Q and his men, “Gentlemen, I will see you all tomorrow.”
    As they walk out of the shipping and receiving area Ellie can feel the men watching them leave. She knows there will be impersonations of Hendrik at the pub in a couple of hours, that he’ll be added to Q’s ledger of foreign upstarts who didn’t show him the proper respect.
    Hendrik faxes his forms to Leiden with some country code help from one of the admins. Then Ellie takes him to meet the head of security, who suffers him with the same impatience as Q. Satisfied with the outcome and checking things off his prepared list, Hendrik says that he’s ready to go to the hotel and could he order a taxi.
    â€œWe’re putting you up at a small hotel in the Rocks, an old part of Sydney right on the water. I’d be happy to take you down there, if you’re up for a walk. Do you have other luggage in the van?”
    â€œThis is it,” he says, gesturing to his backpack slung over one shoulder.
    Ellie estimates that he couldn’t have more than a change of clothes in there.
    â€œHow long are you staying?”
    â€œJust a few days. Not really enough to do any sightseeing.”
    â€œHave you been to Australia before?”
    â€œNever.”
    â€œI’ll give you a short list of must-sees in the city.”
    She leads him out under the arched ceilings and skylights to the main entrance and they head down toward the botanical gardens. It’s only a little after four but already nearing dusk. A heavy bank of clouds has formed in the west. Through the trees, Ellie watches as a sunburst streaks through and turns the harbor from slate to sapphire and back again. She remembers how much she likes the city in winter. The pale sunshine in the mornings, the bouts of rain, the strange rockeries of sandstone and ferns along the waterfront, the smell of moss that always makes her think of grottoes and her early Arcadian landscapes. She misses painting, feels its absence like a great loss. They walk between flowerbeds of hibiscus and golden banksia and she wonders how the gardens look to Hendrik, to a Dutchman accustomed to tulips and teahouses nestled in pristine woodlands. She spent time in the Netherlands teaching and researching over the years and remembers the Dutch with fondness. She also recalls their sturdy, unflappable manner and their occasional brusqueness.
    They pass through a palm grove where grey-headed flying foxes hang below the fronds, ravaging pods and fruit and dropping seeds on the leaves below. Other bats are taking off above the trees to forage for the night, beating their leathery wings into a sudden flurry. Hendrik stops walking and cranes up. Ellie was gone long enough from Australia to see it through his eyes—a colony of southern vampires marauding in the treetops. At the museum, Ellie’s heard talk of some relocation program in the works, of predawn noise disturbance to stop the bats from roosting. They continue walking, past hoop pines and swamp mahoganies that were planted in the early 1800s, a fact Ellie would never share with a European visitor. The Amsterdam house she lived in for a summer researching Sara de Vos was four hundred years old, with the original gable clock still installed and working.
    They talk about Dutch museums and cities, but Ellie doesn’t let on she once lived in Amsterdam, for fear of