Angels of the Flood Read Free Page A

against her palms, astringent and calming, but her heart was still pounding. She said, ‘This is a canvas which was sent to my studio towards the end of last year. It’s anonymous, probably Italian. It’s an allegory entitled “Truth is the Daughter of Time”— Veritas Filia Temporis —you can see the inscription on the bottom right. The theme was a popular one at in those days. Basically the libidinous couple romping in the foreground are about to be exposed by Father Time—the old gentleman behind them. Highly moral and not all that subtle. Your crimes catch up with you in the end, is the obvious author’s message.’
    ‘So who’s Miss Furry Boots?’
    ‘The figure watching them on the right? That’s Deception. She has the face of a beautiful young woman but the body and soul of a monster.’
    ‘Ah yes, I know the type well,’ said David with a smile. ‘And this painting was changed too? How?’
    Kate hesitated. ‘It’s probably just a coincidence.’
    David looked up at her and raised his dark eyebrows, clearly not believing her statement for a minute. Kate sighed and pulled out another slide, replacing the one in the viewer without a word. He peered at the small screen and Kate saw him stiffen. ‘Oh my God,’ he said. He shifted his stance to get a better look. ‘It was like this when it was sent to you?’
    ‘Yes.’ She remembered the shock of opening the painting when it arrived in its wooden packaging that cool October morning. The image itself was horrific enough, but when she’d realized which detail had been added recently, she’d been tempted to send it straight back to Signor Barzini and refuse the commission. But at the same time there’d been a fascination, a ghoulish fascination perhaps, which persuaded her to see the job through.
    ‘So much blood,’ said David. ‘It’s grotesque—like a scene from a horror film.’
    ‘Yes.’ It had taken Kate weeks of patient work to clean away the blood. No wonder the owner wanted to remain anonymous. Some brainless vandal had overpainted Deception’s neck with gore, as though her throat had been cut. There was blood pouring over her shoulders, saturating her gown and making scarlet pools on the ground. And still Deception’s beautiful face bore that sweet, untroubled smile, so disconnected from her ravaged flesh. Kate had worked obsessively on the picture, refusing to allow any of her assistants to help. Returning the image to its original state had become a labour of love, almost an act of penance, as though by restoring it she might somehow restore the life that had been destroyed.
    David straightened up and looked at her very directly. ‘Remind me again how Francesca died,’ he said quietly.
    Kate winced. Francesca. It was years since she’d heard the name spoken out loud. She said, as briefly as she could, ‘It was a car crash.’
    ‘Yes, but… I remember now. Wasn’t she on one of those scooter things? A Vespa? And she was in a collision with a little Fiat? And the way she fell—’
    ‘That’s right,’ Kate intervened quickly. ‘The way she fell—on the windscreen or the car mirror—it went through her neck and—and…’ She stopped. And she was almost decapitated. Even now Kate found herself choking on the words.
    ‘I’m sorry, Kate. That was insensitive of me. I’d forgotten you were there.’
    She shrugged. ‘I don’t remember any of it. I was knocked out by the collision.’
    ‘And you weren’t driving.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Kate, are you okay?’
    ‘I could use some air.’
    ‘Fine. We’ll go out for a bit and talk about something else.’ He smiled grimly. ‘We’ll stick to neutral topics like the situation in the Middle East or euthanasia or fox hunting. Good idea?’
    She nodded. Anything to get away from those hideous images.
    And it was a good idea, at least to begin with. They walked up onto Primrose Hill and looked out over London. Huge patches of the city were sparkling in the sunshine while other