Slow Seduction (Struck by Lightning) Read Free Page B

stuff was at the Tate Modern, a completely different museum. But apparently Tate Britain had its share.
    Across the atrium I was arrested by the brazen, disdainful stare of Rossetti’s “Astarte.” It was like being sneered at by the most popular girl at school—I hated that painting and didn’t think it deserved the attention it got, but at the same time, seeing it was like seeing a face I knew in a sea of strangers. My homesickness lifted a little. Astarte was even bigger than she was in the actual painting because she was on a fifteen-foot-tall banner showing the way to the special pre-Raphaelite exhibit. I hurried over to her and saw the entrance.
    There was a queue set up with zigzagging ropes, but no one was in line to get in. I nearly rushed straight through, but stopped when I saw there was a large canvas hanging right there where anyone waiting would have had something to look at. It was odd that this one painting was the only one outside the gallery, but it was even odder that it was unfinished. The trees were very detailed, but the people in the painting looked more like statues or ghosts, barely sketched in and lacking features. I moved closer to read the information plaque next to it.
    Burne-Jones! The painting was by the same artist who had done King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid, my favorite painting of all time. This was apparently a scene of Tristran and Iseult, the lovers in the King Arthur legends. I didn’t know King Arthur that well. There appeared to be one couple in the center of the painting and then a handful of other people around them in various poses of angst.
    A young man in a suit with sleeves slightly too short and hair in need of combing came up beside me. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” he said, sounding like a BBC announcer.
    “Yes. Why was it left unfinished?” I asked, looking at the painting instead of at him.
    “I don’t know the entire story. I’m no expert, but the canvas was recently found. Publicity about the exhibition made the collector who had it wonder about it, and voila, turns out it was a hitherto unknown piece. They say Burne-Jones was trying to work out his conflicted feelings about being torn between his wife and mistress. He never did figure it out, so never could finish the painting.”
    “Wow. Well, that explains why these folks look so unhappy.”
    “Amazing, isn’t it? He didn’t even paint their faces and you can see their emotions just from the posture. I’m Tristan, by the way.” He held out his hand.
    I took a better look at him. He had pasty skin, and his brown hair was the same color as his suit. I must have hesitated a little too long while wondering if he often tried to pick up girls at the art museum, because then he went on. “You’re Karina, right? If you’re not, my apologies. I’m looking for an American girl who matches your description.”
    “Oh! Yes, I’m Karina!” I shook his hand. “Sorry! I wasn’t expecting to be meeting anyone.”
    “Perfect! Great!” When we shook hands, he pumped my hand up and down before letting go. “I’m Martindale’s summer intern. I’m actually on an errand for him right now, but when I saw you, I thought, could that be her? Best find out! And so, voila, here you are. So nice to meet you. Have you been through the exhibition yet?”
    “No. I’ve only been here a few minutes.”
    “Oh, you’ll love it. It’s fantastic. Such an honor to work on. And Mr. Martindale is a genius. You must tell me what you think of all the paintings—!” He paused for a breath and seemed to catch himself. “Ah. I must be going. But on my way back I’ll try to catch up with you.”
    “Thank you…Tristan.”
    “Yes, that’s my name! Just like in the painting! See, now you’ll never forget it!” He beamed and shook my hand again and then hurried off. I felt rather like I’d just met the art-world version of a big, energetic puppy.
    I looked at the unfinished painting for a few more minutes and then turned