Appointment with a Smile Read Free

approach a painting?”
    Her pointed questions caught me off guard, but I felt compelled to answer. “I believe our sensory skills need to be inclusive within a work. Just to give an example. On a hot day, if you fan your face, each sensor within each portion of your skin feels the breeze. It’s the same with sight. When you first see a canvas in its entirety, you should be able to sense each part of it. It should be that alive for you, the viewer. I also never want to paint a stale work of art. I want it to be fresh for me so it will never be trite for you.”
    “You very much do just that. I read your bio. You haven’t done much self-promoting in the past. But your genius for showing your subject’s soul is amazing.”
    “Genius is a very large word. Admittedly, I haven’t attempted to promote my work as much as I should have or as much as my agent would have preferred.”
    “I can tell from the subjects in your paintings that it’s a labor of love,” she said. “What other artists have inspired your work?”
    “So many. The artist inspiring me most is Cecilia Beaux. She was an American society portraitist. Not so well known, but I believe her to be one of the finest.”
    “What are you working on now?”
    “Just doing some sketching. I’ll later convert a few of them to oil, and I’ll shove some in a huge trunk. I call it my scribble dumpster.”
    “What are the themes of your latest sketches?” she asked.
    “You conduct a very in-depth interview,” I said lightly. “I never know what I’ll be interested in capturing. It could be an emotional moment, something from my past, a street scene that reminds me of something. Last night I made sketches of a street market. A place where I spent a portion of yesterday afternoon.”
    “London is an interesting city.”
    “Do you live here?”
    “I’m in London with my husband and mother. We spend vacation time each year in England. Some of my husband’s family lives here. And I love England.”
    Fiona materialized by my side. She was now slightly infused with wine, as was her custom at showings. “I see you’ve met Mrs. Wesley. She purchased Myths and Memories. She was asking questions about it. I pointed her in your direction.”
    With a self-conscious smile, I said, “Mine’s a simple secret. I attempt to paint who people are, rather than just what they look like.”
    “Ms. O’Hara was kind enough to give me some insight about the painting,” Mrs. Wesley told Fiona. “It looks as if it’s closing time. Thank you for your commentary on the painting.”
    “Thank you for your interest,” I said. “I hope you’ll enjoy Myths and Memories .”
    “I purchased it as gift for my mother.”
    “If it isn’t to her taste, I’ll be happy to have it exchanged for any of my other work. Your mother might not like this portrait.”
    “I rather think she will. She might have been the model.”
    A sudden and very icy chill darted through my body. I found my voice. “Are you Samantha?”

Chapter 3
     
    When the show closed for the evening, Samantha Meade Wesley and I walked to a small, all-night coffee shop called Crumpets and Brew that I had passed yesterday. Although the rain had ceased, remnants of a misty fog lingered.
    The smells of various roasts wafted up as we opened the door. Walls were forest green with a mahogany coffee bar. Small round tables, placed systematically in a rectangular space, completed the décor. Their gold-flecked plastic tops flickered as light hit them.
    The menu offered sandwiches and a wide array of pastries. I was certain the cinnamon buns, drenched in frosting, could cause a sugar coma in three bites.
    The bleakness from outside had followed us, but our conversation was pleasant.
    “Thank you for agreeing to talk with me,” she said nearly timidly as we sat at a table. “And for answering my questions.”
    I frowned. “And I have questions for you. Did Molly know you were attending my exhibit?”
    “No, I didn’t