Page 47 of Pride
“Okay,” Alex said. “Follow me.”
And I did, knowing I’d have to fake my enthusiasm.
Nothing that artist did would ever fill me with awe again.
Not now.
I strode forward, walking in step beside Alex as he led me down the hallway. The walls were wood-panelled but painted cream to match the carpet, and there were huge sash windows that let in so much natural light it gave everything a bright, airy feel. It was the opposite of what I’d expected when I saw the building from the outside. I thought it would be all dark wood and antiques, not this modern haven of a home. I couldn’t deny, I loved the feel of the place.
“Your home is beautiful,” I said, as I admired the detailed coving along the ceiling. “It’s very warm. Very... stylish.”
“You’ve only seen the hallway,” he gave a light chuckle and added, “And the foyer, but thank you. I made a lot of changeswhen I took over the estate. I’m glad you like what you’ve seen so far. I have to admit, I like beautiful things.” He gave me a boyish grin, like he was talking about more than the house, but when he turned and pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a room filled with artwork, I stopped still, staring in awe.
“Wow,” I gasped. “This room is amazing.” And it really was.
I stepped inside and peered around at all the art on the walls. There were portraits, landscapes, modernist, impressionist, every type of ‘ist’ painting you could think of in this room. It was an impressive collection and not at all like the S.K.A.M. pieces I’d seen so far.
“This is my mother’s collection,” Alex stated as I crept further into the room, studying each painting as I went. “She loved art. She was the reason I went on to collect myself. She taught me a lot.”
I stopped in front of a painting of Sunford Manor, and leaned forward, squinting to read the artist’s name.
“My mother painted that one,” Alex said, his voice near my ear, making the skin on my neck prickle. Now I had goosebumps for another reason than the cold. “She was an amateur painter.”
“It doesn’t look amateur to me,” I replied, feeling breathless and a little dizzy. Having him so close was doing things to me. Things that I couldn’t deny I liked.
“She’d love you for saying that,” he replied. “But she only painted for herself. She didn’t sell anything or have anything in a gallery. I think it was her dream, though.” And he sighed. “But I guess sometimes, we have to find other ways to make our dreams come true.”
I moved along, staring at each painting as I walked slowly on, and then I reached a portrait. The lady in it had long black hair that was threaded with delicate daisies, and she was smiling for the artist with her head tilted slightly. She was sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, a white sundress skimming herankles, and her feet were bare. In front of her, on the wooden floor, was a globe. If I had to describe her look, I’d say it was bohemian.
“That’s my mother,” Alex said as he came to stand next to me. “She commissioned a local artist to paint that.”
“She looks like a free spirit,” I commented, “Like nothing could faze her.”
“She was. She loved to travel, hence the globe in front of her. She was something of an anthropologist. She found other people fascinating.”
“I think I’d have liked her.”
“She’d have loved you,” he replied, and my cheeks grew red.
I turned to face him, staring for a second, lost for words as he stared back at me. Then I watched as he swallowed, and in a gruff voice, he said, “I’m glad you like this room, and my mother’s paintings, but what I really want you to see is through there.” And he gestured to an open door at the far side of the room. A door that made fear cloud the pleasant haze that I was currently revelling in.
That was the room withhisart.
I wasn’t sure my legs would move to take me into it. I was frozen to the spot.
Alex stalked towards the open door, then stood there waiting for me to join him. Slowly, I stepped forward, noticing how his smile grew wider the closer I got. And once I was standing in front of him, he said, “I know you felt the same way I did when I saw you at the Berkeley exhibition. Some of those pieces really spoke to you, they touched you. I hope you have the same reaction when you see this collection. It’s something I’m really proud of. And I know your opinion of the artist has been tainted recently, but I hope you can look past that and see the beauty in his creations.”
He moved aside to let me enter first, and even though I knew what he wanted to show me, I still wasn’t fully prepared for the effect it’d have on me to see all these pieces together in one room. My breath hitched as my stomach rolled.
How could a man who embodied so much evil create such beauty?
I had no doubt he was evil. He’d told me as much himself. But glancing around the room, his art took my breath away.
“There’s a lot of his earlier work here. Some of it is a little rough around the edges, but the first time I saw a S.K.A.M. painting, I knew he was something special.”
My eyes didn’t know which painting to take in first, there was so much to digest. It was like a sensory overload.
“How did you discover him?” I asked, and Alex paused, taking a moment to think about his answer.
