Illicit Canvas: political romance and stand alone romance Page 8

  "My God, this is incredible. Fantastic work. I saw a close reproduction from a respected artist a while back, but it wasn't near as good as this. I look at your piece and wonder if it’s an original,” Antoine rants, moving around the table. The painting shows a woman standing by the piano, her head turned slightly to the left. I used a lot of smoky greys and black to bring out the dark shadows of her dress. I have worked on this painting for over two years, using oil paint and my memories to bring the vivid picture to the canvas.

  "Arwen, you're incredibly talented. I’m blown away. I see that you used a smooth, muted palette, and an almost imperceptible transition from one colour to another. It’s a great reproduction.”

  It's Ethan's husky voice that pushes the sudden panic attack away and when I meet his eyes there is pride and admiration. I wrap my hands around my shoulders, swallowing hard.

  "Are you sure? I mean it's not great. Her left side needs to be adjusted a bit."

  “Adjusted? You're crazy, girl. This is an amazing piece of work. You have something in you, more than a talent. There is passion in every brushstroke, in the way you capture the light, the vacant look on her face, and the sheen of the piano.”

  My face goes red and I don't want to believe them. I always get the highest grades for my coursework, but this is different, more personal. Many people have asked me to paint something for them, but I always refuse, afraid of rejection and criticism. I don't want the attention. It brings up too much sadness from my childhood. My past is dark and shredded, filled with pain and sorrowful emotions.

  "It's a great piece, and if what you're saying is for real, then I want to help you," Antoine says, his voice loud and animated.

  "Well, you’re seeing the painting now, so do you have any idea where to start our search?" I ask, hoping that he hasn't brought me here for nothing. Ethan still keeps staring at the painting as if he is in a trance.

  I look back at Antoine, clenching my fists in anticipation.

  "I have around six names that could help you. These people live through art. If the painting you’ve reproduced here does exist, then they will point you straight to the person that owns it."

  My mood lightens and I want to hug someone, but I restrain myself.

  "So you don’t know how to find it?” I ask.

  “No, but I can point you in the right direction. I haven’t been active as much as the other dealers. You're extremely talented and I would love to see more of your own creations.”

  "I don't show my stuff to anyone. It's personal," I say. They both look at me like I have lost my mind.

  “Arwen, I thi–”

  “Can you direct me to the bathroom, please? I need a moment alone,” I cut him off, feeling the pressure behind my eyelids.

  "Along the corridor to your right."

  I really don’t know why I’m running off. They just confirmed that they love my work. My father isn’t here now, and if I ever want to be successful I need to get used to this kind of thing. First I need to take a few deep breaths and calm down. Behind closed doors, blood starts rushing to my ears. I know exactly what is happening to me. I’m throwing myself into the circle of destruction, thinking that I’m worthless. My embarrassing episode pushed me to the edge, but I’m a better person now than I was three years ago. These two men have just said that I created something close to a masterpiece.

  I want to close the old part of my life away and move on. I splash some water on my face, attempting to kill the sudden anxiety attack. A bead of sweat rolls down my face, but I am determined to act like a mature adult. I need to start believing in myself more and forget about toxic memories.

  Twelve more breaths and I’m finally in control of my body. When I come out of the bathroom I finally notice Antoine’s collection. I recognise some really good pieces from the sixteenth and seventeenth century. He has turned his house around and now it's like a giant museum. Ethan had mentioned that he has visitors from all over the world. I make my way back to the room and stop just before the entrance, hearing Ethan's deep alluring voice.

  "Gallery or a studio, anything really. I’m tired of politics and that whole mockery. I need something else from life. It's time," Ethan says and I hear the frustration in his voice.

  "Art is a tricky business to get into,” Antoine mutters.

  "I’ve got some capital and contacts all over Europe, people that sell great pieces. Now I just need to find the place, a venue. Have you seen any properties around this area?"

  "I can give you a few contacts, but you need to decide what you want. At first you need to keep your costs down.”

  "Negotiation is in my blood and I have a decent reputation."

  "The girl’s talent is precious. If you could start showcasing her paintings then you have most of your work cut out."

  It's time for me to go back into the room. I don’t think I’m ready to hear what Ethan thinks about my art. When I walk back in, Ethan goes quiet and Antoine starts asking me more questions about my work, insisting on me bringing more pieces to show him. I always have been shy and intimidated by people who wanted to know how I create art, but for some reason, now I’m more relaxed and calm. I start telling him about my trips to the galleries and all the techniques that I used. He seems impressed.

  Ethan is quiet, listening with that familiar, stoic expression. Antoine is no longer unpleasant or rude to me, and when he speaks about his own pieces, I can sense the passion that he holds and doesn’t let go.

  Several hours later, Ethan points at the time. I didn’t even realise how late it is. The time flew by and we definitely overstayed our welcome.

  “Here, these are the names. Some of those artists are difficult to track down. They might be on the move or traveling, but trust me; at least one of them should point you in the right direction.”

  I take the white envelope, my pulse speeding up, and then put it in my purse. I thank him several times, aware that this whole thing is more daunting that I expected. It’s just after midnight when we both leave the old town house.

  Ethan is very quiet when we get to the car and I’m afraid to say anything. I want to suggest something, reveal that I overheard his conversation. This is simple; we can both help each other, but that would mean that we have to keep seeing each other.

  The tension rises again when he locks the doors but doesn’t start the engine. I bite my lip, thinking over everything that happened so far. Then I do something that I know is wrong and it will probably put me in a lot of trouble. I place my palm on Ethan’s smooth hand and my heart kicks hard inside my chest.

  “Ethan, listen. I want to thank you for bringing me here tonight,” I begin, completely and utterly aware of the warmth that pulses through me. He doesn’t take away his hand and stares at me intensely. “I heard your conversation about starting up a business and I think it’s a great idea. You know, there are so many young artists out there that want to present their work to the world, and no one wants to give them a chance.”

  “Arwen, what are you talking about?” he asks, narrowing his eyes slightly.

  “You want to work with art, open a gallery or a studio, right? That’s what you were talking about with Antoine?”

  His eyes are more fierce now, seemingly looking inside of me.

  “Oh that, yes. I have been thinking more seriously about it and I’m ready.”

  “Then I’m proposing a deal.”

  “Deal?” he asks.

  “Yes, I’ll help you to set up the studio and you will help me find the painting. It’s only fair.”

  I shut up then, knowing that it’s probably a difficult decision. Ethan’s eyes move down to my lips and neck. He doesn’t allow his eyes to go further down my body, even though tonight I have on a low-cut top, showcasing my cleavage. The heat from his amber eyes pushes me to a place I won’t allow myself to be. My hand is still on his hand.

  “Arwen, I’ll help you and I don’t want anything in return. I can’t allow you to go and search these art dealers on you
r own,” he says and adds straight away, “The art gallery is my dream and it will take time to find the right place, to figure if I can make money in this field.”

  “No, Ethan, you’re wrong. Many art students would do anything to get an opportunity to show their work. You can be the one that can help them with it. Set up some sort of art-dealing business and work with the most talented ones.”

  I know that I’m talking a lot, and when I glance at him again, his eyes glitter with heat.

  “That’s quite a good idea, but I would need to hire staff, travel to buy pieces by some well-known artists, and that won’t be cheap.”

  “It won’t, but everyone needs to start somewhere.”

  “True.”

  Ethan starts the car and within minutes we are back on the road. He doesn’t dwell on that discussion, but I have to track that painting. I’m new in the city and Ethan is willing to help me. I want to turn him down, but I know I can’t. If I want to find Dad, I need to compromise.

  He seems to be lost in his own thoughts for the entire drive, but my mind wanders off to that perfect lean body, to his eyes and that kiss from a few days ago. I feel like I’m swimming under water and I can’t ever get above the surface. Ethan is so off limits for me.

  “We’re here.”

  I click back to reality and realise that we have arrived outside my apartment block. My body stiffens when I have to leave him. My heart pounds faster than it should.

  “I want us to have a deal, Ethan.”

  He inhales, looking away, and then he darts his eyes at me.

  “It’s not an issue. I want to help you find that painting and your father. The gallery or the studio. Yes, I’m fully aware that you could help me, but I don’t think that I can trust myself.”

  “Trust yourself with what?” I ask, confused.

  “With being around you and knowing that I can’t touch you or kiss you.”

  He says the last few words quietly, almost in a whisper. I open my mouth but no sound comes out.

  Ethan’s eyes are telling me that he wants us to be more, but this is too complicated even for him.

  “In that case maybe it’s better if I do this on my own. I can’t ask you to drive me around to these people, searching for the person that doesn’t want to be found, unless I know that I’m doing something for you.”

  I’m angry now, frustrated with myself and this whole situation. Ethan’s kiss made me see the stars and my body and heart want him, despite the fact that we’ve only known each other for a few weeks.

  “I’m sorry, Arwen, I can’t let you do this alone. We are going to see the first artist or dealer together, so I guess that you won’t want my help unless you’re involved with my new business project?”

  “That’s right,” I say delighted that he’s letting me in. If he can deal with what happened between us, then so can I. This whole thing should pass if I start seeing someone else.

  When I leave the car several minutes later, I’m satisfied because I’m much closer to finding the painting and closing that part of my life.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ethan

  Arwen was quiet for the rest of the drive until we stopped outside her building. The air in the car was hot and I started to sweat. Then she had to bring up my conversation with Antoine. I was certain that she couldn’t have heard us. After our disagreement I was back on the road. I said some inappropriate things to her. She blushed, and for a moment I wanted to forget about my limits and taste her lips again. This is so wrong on so many levels and I have to stop thinking like I’m back in my twenties. She is incredibly talented and I can’t spoil her promising career because of some dark desires. Arwen deserves much more than I can give her.

  I’m responsible enough to help her without being overbearing. I can let her believe that she is helping me too, to keep the peace between us. Deep down I know that she is right: it’s time to start acting on my idea. Tomorrow morning, I’ll start sorting my affairs at work and in a few weeks, once I have the right property, I’ll hand my notice in. The president might be disappointed, but I’m done with politics. I’m burned out and it’s time to move on.

  It’s just before one in the morning when I walk through the door. I strip and have a shower, washing off memories of the girl that isn’t destined for me. It’s easier this way, and in order for me to get rid of that strong desire, I have to start dating someone else.

  There is nothing on the TV. I stare at the phone for several minutes, contemplating if I should make that phone call. Bethany speaks to me at least once a month. She has moved on; she doesn’t hold a grudge against me anymore. Sometimes it’s good to hear her voice again.

  I dial, knowing that it’s probably early in New York.

  “Ethan, it’s good to hear from you.”

  “Hey, Bethany,” I say, a little relieved that I haven’t woken her up.

  “How are you? Is Colin all right?” she asks with a concerned voice. It’s funny, we had been happy together for so long. Then I had to screw everything up, just because I got bored.

  “Colin is fine. How are you? How is Duncan?”

  “Duncan is busy with another project and he’s hardly home, working like a maniac.”

  My ex-wife married an architect and moved to New York a couple of months ago, after he relocated there. We had a messy divorce and she was alone for years. It took her five to start talking to me again. Colin was just a child when we split up, and he didn’t take the separation too well.

  “Tell him to get a life and be with you. It’s unhealthy,” I say, staring at my empty glass of wine. Arwen isn’t like Lucy. She is also young, but I never felt anything like this when I was with Lucy.

  Bethany laughs. She is so much more relaxed living across the ocean. Duncan is a decent guy. He looks after her, and that’s the main thing.

  “Ethan, are you sure that you’re all right? You sound strange,” she asks. I can’t hide the disappointment in my tone of voice when I talk to her. She knows me so well.

  “Bethany, tell me, was I good husband?”

  Silence. After some time I realise how stupid this question really is. Arwen is just a fantasy. She is a girl that my own son had chosen first. Bethany wouldn’t understand what goes on inside me when I see her.

  “You were the perfect husband, Ethan, up to the point when you decided to screw your secretary.”

  Okay, I asked for it. I find her honesty brutal and I’m more forthcoming that normal people. We were so in love and she did make me happy. I don’t know why I decided to hurt her the way I did.

  “Have you met someone, Ethan? Is this what that is about?”

  “No, I’m just being melancholic and a bit drunk,” I reply, lying through my teeth.

  “We had a happy marriage, but you messed up. Don’t fuck your secretary. If you get involved with someone else, then assure her that she’s the only one.”

  “I’ll remember that, Bethany. Thank you.”

  Then I hang up. This time it’s not the same, but I feel like I’m cheating again. Arwen deserves to be happy with someone closer to her age. Colin would never forgive me for stealing away his girl. In the end I fall asleep on the sofa.

  The alarm wakes me up at six and I have a slight headache. I watch some morning news and get to the gym later than I should. Working out is a good distraction. A woman in blue jogging pants keeps glancing at me from time to time, and when I look up she gives me a sexy smile. I have noticed her at the gym before; she is pretty and definitely my usual type. I should ask her out, do something, but instead I stroll down to the changing room after an hour. This is how pathetic I’ve become, running and thinking about my son’s girlfriend.

  When I get to the office later that morning, I’m pissed off with myself that I talked to Bethany last night. She is the last person that needs to know about my twisted attraction. I dive straight into work, checking dozens of emails and greeting a few international guests. I’m busy until lunch, so I ask my secretary to fetch me
some food while I work. Arwen and our silly agreement occupy my head. Intrigued and bored, I check a few commercial properties for rent. The prices are high, but that’s typical for Brussels.

  Then I take out the white envelope that Arwen had given me yesterday and scan through the names. All the dealers are male and three must be Flemish. I type the first name, Alain Valesco, into the search engine. Alain specialises in pottery and landscapes from the Renaissance period. Antoine believes that he is aware of every reputable artist in the city and loves hunting for the rarest pieces. Google brings out quite a lot of results; mainly the paintings that he has for sale and quite expensive ceramics. I type his contact details into my phone, knowing that we don’t want to waste time. Arwen has to show him the reproduction.

  Normally in the afternoon I have some spare time, so I go out visiting galleries, but today, for the first time in years I’m focusing on my new goal. Arwen has seeded an idea in my head, so I pick up the phone and start calling some agents, asking questions and arranging viewings. I leave the office late, after catching up on everything I didn’t do in the afternoon, and text Arwen that I’ve managed to arrange two viewings. She replies instantly.

  I want to come with you. Remember our agreement?

  I sigh and send her the address of the first one. It seems to me that we are going to see each other in two days. Sooner than I expected.

  Arwen

  When I come home after the visit in Antoine’s workshop, Maja is passed out on the sofa. It is really late, but I’m not surprised seeing her like that, sleeping in our miniature living room. After all, we were supposed to go out together. I take her shoes off and then cover her with the blanket. She is not used to drinking, so tomorrow she probably is going to have a massive hangover. She must have had a great time at the party.

  I put my painting under the bed and inhale a few times, still trying to digest everything that happened in the past few hours. I couldn’t quite believe that Ethan and Antoine loved my work so much. I gave the names in the envelope to Ethan. When I settle back in my bed and listen to Maja snoring in the other room I feel apprehensive. I’m closer than ever to finding my father, to starting over. Year after year I imagined how it would be to have him back in my life, and soon I could be speaking to him for real. Questions—there are so many of them in my head. Why did he leave? Was I the reason? What happened between him and Mum? I don’t stay up long because sleep comes, knocking me out.