They filed around the long mahogany table with Diane at the head. She stared down the length of it as the board members found their seats. Mark Grayson sat to her immediate right. His eyes darted from his watch to the door. As they waited, several board members took quick glances in his direction. They were probably wondering the same thing she was-how come he didn’t know his wife hadn’t come home last night?
Mark shifted uncomfortably in his chair again as Craig Amberson sat down to Diane’s left. She knew that Mark had made the most headway with Craig in his quest to sell the museum and property. They could have been taking up battle positions, surrounding the enemy, the way they seized possession of the chairs and drew them up to the table.
Diane tossed down her papers and glanced at each member of the board. She had decided against bringing up the duplicate orders until she had a chance to question the staff.
The conference room door opened and Gordon Atwell rushed into the room. “Sorry to be late, folks. I didn’t get the message about the changed meeting time until a short while ago.” He took a seat at the table.
“You’re denying you sent the E-mail?” Craig Amberson asked Diane.
“Craig, I didn’t send the E-mail.”
“I did get it,” said Donald. He clamped his mouth shut and stared at her like a bulldog.
“I don’t doubt it. Forward me the E-mail when the meeting’s over. I’ll check my computer to see if that’s where it came from.”
“All right,” said Mark. “I’d like to open up the discussion to moving the museum and selling the property. The monetary gain for the museum would be enormous.”
“And what would that be?” said Diane.
“What?” Mark stared at her in surprise.
“What is the monetary gain? Presumably, you’ve worked out the figures. May I see them?”
“We’re talking several million added to the museum’s holdings.”
“This is a million-or more-left over after we either build or refit another suitable building with the correct spacial, environmental, electrical and security requirements to house the collections, and including relandscaping the nature trails? I think we need to examine your figures line by line before we’re even prepared to discuss a change this radical.”
“Look, Diane, I called this meeting to discuss the concept. This is a great opportunity to increase the museum’s holdings.”
“I’ll set aside for a moment your odd use of the word
“I agree,” said Kenneth Meyers, fingering his Palm Pilot. “Mark, what’s this obsession you have about moving the museum? I can’t see how it could work out in the museum’s favor. I don’t think the land here is going to be as valuable as you seem to believe, and we just remodeled this place, for God’s sake.”
“With all due respect, Ken, what do you know about real estate?”
“I haven’t made any bad real estate investments lately, and I can balance a checkbook. I know we’d have to be getting downtown-Manhattan prices in order for it to pay off for the museum in the way you’re suggesting.”
“I move we table this until Mark develops a line-by-line detailed budget for the sale of the property and building and moving the museum compared with the current figures for the renovated museum.” Laura was smooth and casual in stating her motion. Diane wondered if Mark noticed how detailed it was.
“I second,” said Kenneth.
“All in agreement with Laura’s motion raise your hands.” Laura, Kenneth Meyers, and Harvey Phelps raised their hands. Three votes out of the seven board members present. Mark looked around the room and smirked. His gaze shifted to Diane, whose hand was also raised.
“You can only vote to break a tie,” said Madge.
“You’re forgetting, I have Vanessa Van Ross’ proxy. All those against Laura’s motion.”
Mark Grayson, Gordon Atwell, Craig Amberson and Madge Stewart all raised their hands, producing a tie vote.
“I vote for Laura’s motion,” said Diane. “We’ll table this discussion until Mark has his figures together.”
“Why don’t we all just send you a rubber stamp with our signatures, and we won’t have to waste our time showing up for these meetings?” said Mark. “I don’t know why we even have a board, since you will do what you want anyway.”
“Milo intended the board members to offer their expertise for the good of the museum,” said Diane. “Why do you consider having to get your facts and figures together a defeat?”
Diane didn’t wait for an answer. She stood and took a stack of papers and began passing them out. “Here are the new figures for the opening. They include some workshops we will be offering to the public.”
“Stop ignoring legitimate questions for a moment. This is something we need to discuss.”
“You mean the purpose of the board? That’s covered in the hand-”
“I know, Milo’s handbook. Milo is dead, yet every time anything comes up about the museum, you or your friends trot out his name like he’s going to show up any minute and judge what we’ve done to
“Milo may not be here with us, but he left us his plans in his will-along with his money. His death didn’t change the validity of his plans for the museum. Nor did it change Mrs. Van Ross’ commitment to see his plans realized.” Diane gazed around at the board members. Most were looking at her handouts.
Mark detected the sudden lack of support and stood up. “I need to get Signy home. Perhaps there will be a future time when this is not such a forbidden topic.” The way he left the room reminded Diane of a spoiled child.
There was a moment of silence finally broken by Madge Stewart. “This conservator’s workshop, what’s that?”
“Korey Jordan, our head conservator, thought members of the community would be interested in learning how to protect some of their family heirlooms,” said Diane.
“Oh, I’d be interested in that,” said Madge. “I have this quilt. . ”
Craig Amberson let out a sigh, and Madge glared at him.
“I think the meeting’s clearly over,” said Diane. “Have a look at the budget I’ve handed out and we’ll discuss it next meeting. Come with me, Madge, and I’ll take you to meet Korey. He can give you some acid-free tissue paper and a box to store your quilt in.”
“Well, this was a big waste of time.” Craig Amberson stood up and stuffed the budget papers in his briefcase.
Gordon Atwell looked at his watch. “I might have just as well stayed at the bank. We should have at least talked about Mark’s plan, if nothing else but to get it over with.”
“Nothing to talk about without figures,” said Diane. “Until we have those, it’s all speculation-that’s a waste of time.”
Craig muttered something under his breath and walked out the door with Gordon. Diane took Madge to the conservation laboratory. It was not a large laboratory. Many of their items were contracted out to be processed. They did have a large storage vault controlled for temperature and humidity, a fume hood for handling chemicals, deacidification facilities, a suction table for treating fragile objects that can’t be completely immersed in water, binocular microscopes, and photographic equipment, all managed by a head conservator and five assistants. Diane was negotiating an arrangement with the local technical schools to offer classes for training conservation assistants.
Most of the items Korey worked with were bones, botanical specimens and objects from nature, but he also had expertise in the conservation of historical objects and paper. All the documents that passed through the museum went through Korey’s hands first, before going to the archivist.
Signy was leaning over a table looking at water-stained documents, Korey’s jacket over her shoulders.
“We found these in an old trunk in a corner of the basement,” Korey was telling her. “They contain some of the history of the place. Once I test the ink, I’ll know how to clean the paper and separate the pages that are stuck together. I think they’ll eventually make a terrific exhibit.”
“There’s certainly a lot more to this museum business than one would first guess,” said Madge.
As they discussed the documents, Diane noticed boxes of supplies, three layers high stacked against the
