But when Genie stepped closer, she was stunned by the fact that the image consisted only of eyes, nose, mouth and some strategically placed shadows, set in the white space. There was no facial outline. But it was so creatively painted that Genie automatically filled in the gaps.
“Fascinating,” she said, breathlessly.
Pulling her gaze away from the painting, she scanned the rest of what was obviously an artist's studio. It stretched almost the full length and breadth of the house, with picture windows set in the walls on both sides reaching across the length of the room. The ceiling consisted of a string of skylights, flooding the room with light.
A long table in the centre was covered with a veritable rainbow of paint splashes and overspills. Tall jars with brushes stood upright in holders, or lay flat on the table. A vast quantity of tubes and jars of paints took up the remainder of the space.
“Of course,” she said. “Oil paints. That's what I could smell.”
Okay, so ghosts don't smell oily.
Domino trotted around the room, occasionally crossing to Genie and brushing against her leg.
“Good boy, Dom.” Genie said and patted him on his head distractedly every time while continuing her survey.
Lined up on the floor beneath the picture windows, leaning against the walls, were a variety of painted canvases. She recognized different styles of paintings of the village in the valley below - from realistic to impressionistic to original styles she could not even begin to identify. Four of them depicted the village in different seasons. Others were of portraits of various people, scenes of mountains and forests and finally six demonstrating ultra modern art.
“What lovely paintings, Lorenzo,” she said, turning to locate him. He was standing at the picture window just inside the studio, watching her. “Are these anything to do with you?”
“Si.”
“You're a painter?”
“Si.”
“All these beautiful paintings. They're amazing.” She rounded on him. “And you said you painted houses.”
“I didn't say that. You did.” He flicked his eyebrows.
“You agreed.”
“I said, “sort of”, if you remember. As you can see, I do paint houses, as well as people, scenery--”
“Very funny.”
“Actually, I didn't paint them all” he said. “Anna painted sometimes, too.”
“Why are they all up here? Shouldn't you make an exhibition, or something?”
“Not anymore.”
“Why not anymore?”
“Long story.”
Genie stared at him for a moment. It was clear that he regarded the subject to be off limits. Okay, she'd accept - for now. There's time enough to persuade Lorenzo to tell her his 'long story'.
“And this one?” Genie said, indicating the 'centrepiece' portrait.
When Lorenzo didn't answer immediately, she turned to look at him. She saw his expression changing. It exposed a depth of vulnerability she hadn't seen in him before. She glanced at the painting briefly, and then back to Lorenzo.
“This is Anna, isn't it?”
He nodded.
“She's so beautiful, Lorenzo.”
“Si.”
Genie's mouth filled up with words she knew she mustn't say - but she did anyway. At least, she started to. “Where is--”
“She died almost three years ago,” he said, brusquely.
“Oh, Lorenzo, I'm so sorry.”
“Cancer.”
Genie's heart reached out to Lorenzo's. All she wanted to do at that moment was comfort him. Now she began to understand his reclusive lifestyle, his evasive answers, his intensive work attitude on the farm. It must have been his way of dealing with the pain of loss.
Even now, Anna's death still hurt him. Despite all his efforts, he still hadn't fully come to terms with it. Perhaps there had been no way of getting closure because the memory of Anna - her very presence - still loomed large in his life.
“I'm so sorry, Lorenzo. I shouldn't have been so nosey to want to come here.”
“No. I wanted you to see.” He crossed the room towards her and placed his hands on her upper arms. Rivulets of mild electric shocks undulated all the way down to her hands.
Genie looked up at his profile. “But this has upset you, Lorenzo.” Only his Italian machismo was holding him together.
She had no machismo and let her own tears run for Lorenzo.
“I needed to do this,” he said. “I have never showed this portrait to anyone. Nor have I talked to anyone about Anna since...” He turned to Genie with a wan smile. “You are here...made me remember...made me realize that I must not keep her close to me anymore, I must let her go.”
“Lorenzo, I--”
“I know it's silly,” he said as if he hadn't heard, “but I come up here to talk to her.” He released one of her arms and pressed against the other to turn them both to face Anna's portrait. “You'll probably think I'm crazy - talking to a painting.”
“I think it's lovely.”
“Sharing this with you is important. I am coming out into the sunshine, finalmente.”
Genie clasped his upper arm in both hands and hugged it tightly. “I don't know what to say, Lorenzo. I didn't mean--”
“I know you didn't mean anything. You did not do anything. You were here. Someone else here - that was sufficiente.”
Genie stared at the face of Anna. It looked almost real. She understood how easy it was for Lorenzo to talk to her. The expression was open, welcoming, concerned.
Then she saw something in the face that almost sent her into a dead faint. She tore away her gaze quickly.
It can't be.
Wishful thinking, Genie Hamilton, she told herself.
She plucked up the courage to look again. There was something else in Anna's expression. Something she hadn't seen before.
Something she was sure wasn't there before.
Something that stopped her breathing dead.
She glanced at Lorenzo to see if he was bowled over by what the Anna's face said.
Daring to look at the portrait again - the expression was even sharper now.
She could have sworn that Anna smiled.
A painting smiled?
Maybe her ghost was...
Genie shivered. “Please can we go now, Lorenzo?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“That was good timing,” Genie said when Lorenzo returned from settling down the animals and making sure the farm was secure. “Dinner's almost ready.”
“And I am almost ready to eat it.”
"So, how's the farmer-artist this evening - or is it the artist-farmer?”
Lorenzo made a big show of sniffing at the sauce Genie was stirring. “Mmm, that smells nice,” he said. He scooped a little with his finger and tasted it. “Meraviglioso!”
“That's one fingerful less on your pasta tonight,” Genie scolded. “And, I flatly refuse to be flattered into changing the subject.”
“What was the subject?” He flicked up his eyebrows questioningly.
Genie laughed. “I suppose there wasn’t one really.” She stopped stirring the sauce. “It’s just that I’m excited to learn about your secret.”
“Secret?”
“That you're such a wonderful artist.”
“Your sauce will cook too much if you do not pay attention.” He aimed his finger at the sauce once again.
Genie brushed his hand away. “Later. You keep dipping like that and we'll have none left for dinner.”
“How bossy. I should have left you in the snow.”
“That’s the second time you’ve threatened me with that.”
“Then I would have had my freedom.”
“Then you would have to cook your own meals,” Genie said.
“Perhaps it would have been better if I had left you in the barn.”
“I will not allow you to change the subject.” Genie planted her fists on her hips to show how determined she was. “I c
an't get your portrait of Anna out of my mind. Tell me about it.”
He looked away briefly. “There is nothing to tell.” He shrugged “It is just a portrait”
“Oh no, Lorenzo, it's more than just a portrait,” Genie said. “I can see how much love you put into it - and I can see, in it, how much she loved you.”
He forced a wan smile.
“But, more than that...it seemed to... I don't know...” She looked up at Lorenzo and engaged his eyes. “It's almost as if--”
“As if her face changes?”
“Isn't that weird?”
“The painting doesn't actually change, Genie.” He said. “It's not a female version of the 'Dorian Gray'. You don't stay young and beautiful the more you stare at it.”
“Now that is a pity. I could do with some of that.”
He delivered a short laugh. “No. What I...what we see in Anna's face is what we want to see.”
“I don't know about that.” Genie frowned. “It's almost like the painting is haunted and she really is trying to tell you something.”
“Perhaps.” He looked up at Genie. “But I think we haunt ourselves.”
“Now that's true,” Genie said with feeling. Didn't the ghost of mistrust haunt her continually?
Wasn't being paranoid about fortune hunters a kind of haunting?
“So, what did you see?” Lorenzo said, aiming his finger once again at the sauce.
“See?” Genie brushed his hand aside. “Stop it, Lorenzo. We're going to need some left over for dinner.”
“What did you see in Anna's face?”
Genie hesitated. It seemed so foolish really. But Lorenzo appeared to be taking it seriously. Nevertheless, there was no way he was going to know about the 'approval' look. “Well, I thought I saw her smile.”
“Si, I have seen that.”
“Okay. The smile, I understand. But, there's something else.”
“What?”
“When I think about it, for some reason, I feel...sad.” She turned to him. “Does that make sense?”
He leaned back against the counter on which Genie was working and studied his feet. “I painted the portrait just after she died.”
Lorenzo's brief pause felt like as though it lasted an hour. His face bore witness to the wrestle with the internal turmoil in which he was engaged.
Genie rested her hand lightly on his to comfort him.
“If there is an afterlife,” he continued, “and I want to believe that there is - she is there.” He sighed heavily. “The portrait is my interpretation of Anna alive in death.”
“Oh, that's lovely.” Genie said. She tried to blink away the moistening in her eyes. “If you can paint like that, people will flock to buy your work.”
He shook his head. “I do not paint anymore.”
“Oh, you mustn't give up, Lorenzo. You paint so beautifully.”
“No. I have finished with that part of my life, Genie. But I thank you for your kind words.” He reached up and placed his hand feather-like on her cheek. “And, I'm glad you stumbled into my barn that day.”
“Me too,” she whispered. She wanted desperately to plant her hand on his and press it hard against her cheek. It felt so warm and comforting and creating a link - a connection - a belonging. Loved.
Her legs weakened under the tender gaze from his dark chocolate brown eyes. She struggled against the intense desire to fling her arms around his neck and draw him close.
He cocked his head to one side, continuing to regard her in a way that made her heart dance with excitement. Her breathing was shallow and fast. She felt as though she was poised on the edge of an abyss. Lorenzo had it in his power to prevent her from falling into it. All he had to do was wrap her tightly in his arms.
Suddenly, his eyes closed and he drew back. He allowed his arm to fall away and nodded at the pasta sauce. “I will shower, and then we will eat, vero?”
“Vero,” she said, quickly turning her attention to the sauce to hide her disappointment. “Be back in fifteen minutes, or else,” she commanded, somewhat relieved that she'd manage to stop her voice from breaking.
“Si Capo.”
She placed a pan of water on the hob, fighting to regain control of her emotions. Her heart and breathing took some time to get back into sync. Lorenzo's presence continued to be so strong, if she closed her eyes, she could believe that he was still in the kitchen with her.
Genie took a deep breath and tried to dwell on his presence. However, Anna's portrait interfered. It seemed impossible to separate them.
“Now I'm being haunted by Lorenzo's painting,” she said. “And you're still smiling at me, Anna, aren't you?” She made a quick smile in response. “It won't work in the long run, you know - Lorenzo and I...so, you'll have to haunt somebody else.”
In response, the smile in Anna's image appeared it grow stronger.
“Why don’t you haunt Lorenzo, Anna? Get him to paint again.” Abruptly, a eureka moment hit Genie between the eyes. “Anna, what a great idea. We'll do it. ‘We’ll get Lorenzo back to his paints and canvases. Won’t that be fun?”
The water on the hob started to boil and she threw in the spaghetti. “About ten minutes to al dente,” she muttered, checking the wall clock.
On her second check, some four minutes later, Domino emitted an ominous growl. I was more like a snarl - a sound unlike anything she had heard from him before.
“What's going on, Dom?” she said, crossing to the kitchen doorway. “Where are you?”
She tracked him by ear to the front door.
“What's wrong?” She looked at the door. “Is there something outside?”
He demonstrated his agitation by pawing at the door and woofed an angry woof.
“Is there something after the chickens?” She opened the door. “Go get 'em Dom. Sort 'em out.” She peered through the door after Domino scooted out. Although it was not yet fully dark, she could not see what might be worrying Domino. No doubt, when he found the intruder he would see it off.
However, she had barely stepped foot back in the kitchen when she heard some more worrying snarls. She frowned at the sound. This time they didn't sound like Domino at all. An itch of foreboding began to wriggle its way over her scalp.
She peered through the frost-encrusted window. She couldn't see Domino, or movement of any kind. However, the snarling continued, increasing the intensity of her scalp itch.
Something was very wrong.
She ran to the entrance hall, pulled on a padded jacket and fought her way into her snow boots.
The air chilled her through her layers of clothing, and even penetrated her snow boots. She paused in front of the door to try to locate the source of the snarls. Since there was nothing in sight, she surmised that whatever was going on, was going on at the rear of the barn.
She ran across the open ground and. And as she rounded the corner, the dusk-illuminated scene sent an even icier chill to her stomach.
Two large wolves were circling Domino, challenging him, looking for an opening as he turned in unison.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Memories of her fearful walk the night of her abortive escape rooted Genie to the spot. She re-lived the eerie howls; the frightening movements in the dark of the trees.
Now, they were here, in the flesh - greedily seeking Domino's flesh.
She peered around the corner of the barn. Domino, filled with reckless courage, continued to turn in unison with the circling wolves, snarling his counter-threats. “Just try me,” his growls said.
Genie knew in her heart that, against two fierce, starving wolves, courage was not enough - even the courage of a giant St. Bernard.
She had to do something to help out.
She had one advantage. The wolves were so intent on bringing down Domino that they hadn't spotted - or even sensed - her presence. She stepped back to put the barn in between her and the wolves.
Turning too quickly, she slipped on the sleek snow. She hit the ground hard, taki
ng the full impact on her elbow and the base of her spine. Biting off a yell, she rasped through gritted teeth as she lurched to her feet, “No time to hurt.”
She ran inside the barn too look for a weapon - anything that might help her to defend Domino. “A shotgun would be nice,” she said without much hope.
Her rapid search revealed a yard broom. She tested the long, hard bristles. “That'll do nicely. They'll make a nasty sting.”
Rushing outside, she paused only to close and latch the barn door behind her. “Wolves keep out. Gloria and Beatrice would not welcome you, nor would the chickens. Especially the chickens!”
She hesitated momentarily at the corner of the barn to mentally prepare herself for the battle to come. Pain crowded out by a barely controlled dose of fear, Genie gripped the handle of the broom tightly and raised it above her head. “Once more into the breach - or something.” She marched resolutely into the 'battleground' and aimed herself at the nearest wolf.
“Get away from him,” she yelled, swinging her bristly weapon.
The beast turned towards her and snarled. Too late. The wooden end of the broom head made a solid contact against the side of his skull. He yelped and fell over sideways. By reflex, he leapt to his feet and staggered to his mate, shaking his head violently.
Genie stomped her feet aggressively. It didn’t impress the wolves one bit. Nevertheless, she stood protectively in front of Domino, pointed the broom at them and waggled it. “Shove off,” she yelled. “I mean it. Shove off.”
Domino let loose a string of woofs to underline her command.
Unmoved by her threats, they continued to glower at her, their eyes glistening.
Genie shivered. Those eyes. Evil. They looked like a pair of ghouls about to whisk her away to the nether regions - or more likely to eat her for breakfast.
“Face your fear,” she muttered.
She'd read that somewhere. Tried it once or twice too. That bungee jump for charity was a good case in point. It hadn't worked then - and it wasn't really working right now.
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