A Connoisseur of Beauty Read Free Page B

very warm in her relationships, however adulterous.”
    Hunter laughed, “A novel way of looking at it, and perhaps a man would be prepared to accept an element of duplicity just for the pleasure of being with such a woman.”
    Amy’s cheeks felt pink again, but she allowed him to lead her down the gallery as he asked pertinent and intelligent questions about the other works that hung there. Then he offered her more wine, which she accepted, the warm glow imparted by the wine mingling with the warm glow that was imparted by his mere presence. A few more questions about the history of the house and then,
    “ Now, down to business. I think I want at least one more painting by you for the Great Hall. Something of the gardens, I’ll leave it to your artistic judgement. I hope you’ll accept the commission. I’ll pay twice the price I did for the one of Wolfston in autumn. I hope that is acceptable.”
    Amy nodded, “Yes, of course.” She could hardly complain, it would be a delight to paint and it wasn’t as if she didn’t need the money. Yet somehow this sudden businesslike approach cut across the rosy glow that had flooded her. And yet she had been the one determined to be anything but romantic. By the time she left her head was spinning with impressions, questions and thoughts, but she shook them off. It was all very intriguing, but the only salient point was that she had a painting to do. She would concentrate on that and not wonder about what possibilities further meetings with the new owner of Wolfston Hall might produce.
    ***
    Chapter Two
    Amy heard no more from Hunter for the rest of the week, most of which she spent attending her exhibition. She observed various comings and goings from Wolfston Hall that suggested he was establishing himself there at least for the immediate future. She herself had sold six paintings, including the one that Hunter had bought. With the money from her commission she could roll along for a month or two longer although she knew that it was time to start deciding what to do with her life now she was no longer looking after her father. Should she return to college? Was it possible to make a living as an artist? Somehow she felt a strong inclination not to make any decisions yet. After all, she had the painting to do at Wolfston Hall and that was her top priority. The fact that this might mean further contact with Hunter did nothing to detract from the proposition.
    Saturday morning she was woken by a knock at the door. She padded down sleepily in her silky white pyjamas, trying to straighten her ruffled hair, to be confronted by the delivery of a bouquet of beautiful cream-coloured roses. Not just any roses, she discovered, as she carefully placed them in vases. Never before had she seen roses so perfect, so lustrous of petal, so satin to the touch, so fragrant. They were also abundant, enough to fill three big vases; one for the little room at the front of her cottage, one for the kitchen behind and one for her to take up to her bedroom so that too could be filled with the delicious perfume. She also took up the small white envelope that had come with them. Somehow she knew that they were from Hunter Lewis. Who else could provide flowers that looked like they had been plucked in the Garden of Eden? And she thought she knew why he had chosen that particular pearly-hued shade of cream. For it was flowers exactly like these that lay tumbled in the lap of Elizabeth Montford, contrasting with the silver grey of her dress, in the portrait they had looked at together. Yet, in the painting, there had been a single red flower in the bouquet. If she had been asked to comment on the symbolism in the painting, she would have said the white flowers represent the cold beauty of the sitter, the single red bloom her adultery.  Happily Hunter had left out the red flower.
    Placing the vase by the window which overlooked her little courtyard garden, Amy, with a slight tremble of eagerness in her