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As she had promised Master Joshua during the phone call, Gabriele was wearing a powder blue sweater and her best pair of denim jeans. She meandered without purpose or direction; one eye on the paintings she passed and the other searching for the approach of a man. Every few minutes she would sense someone coming towards her, and her hands would begin to shake. She was fidgety and nervous, and could feel a flush of color hot on her cheeks. She barely took the time to appreciate the paintings – too distracted by a cocktail of nervous anticipation and anxiety.
She found herself walking from one great vaulted gallery into another. At the entrance to the vast room beyond was a set of marble columns and draped between them hung a canvas banner.
‘The Dutch Masters’.
Gabriele passed into a magnificent area like the grand ballroom of a palace. The ceiling was arched and painted like a cathedral, and the floor was polished dark timber. The lower panels of each wall were made up of ornate gold tiles, and above them hung a collection of dazzling paintings. There were people lined around the edges of the room, peering and pointing at the artworks in voices hushed by awe and admiration. She cast a pointless searching glance at the crowd around her, and then drifted aimlessly towards a lustrous portrait of a middle-aged man enclosed by a thick golden frame.
“Rembrandt van Rijn,” a man’s voice suddenly intoned from somewhere close behind her like he was talking about an old familiar friend. “Portrait with Two Circles. Not one of his finest works, but the brilliance is still there in every brushstroke, don’t you think?”
Gabriele spun on her heel, startled for an instant. The voice had come ghosting out of nowhere without her ever sensing a presence. She turned and came face-to-face with a man in his mid-thirties; a tall broad-shouldered figure in a perfectly cut jacket and white open-necked shirt. He was smiling at her, his eyebrows arched into an expression of mildly mocking amusement that caught her completely off balance.
Other features pressed quickly in upon her; the man’s narrow face, the firm thrust of his jaw, the dense dark hair, the smooth tanned complexion and the white teeth amidst an intrigued smile. She noted them all in an instant but faltered at his eyes. They were dark and enigmatic, flecked with a sense of thoughtful incisive intelligence that intimidated her. His gaze was utterly confronting, and she had the fleeting realization that those eyes would know her every secret and see through her every lie.
“Um…?” she was utterly lost for words, gawking and embarrassed. The man’s energy seemed to steal the breath from her. He held out his hand politely.
“My name is Joshua. We spoke on the phone. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gabby.”
She felt herself melt just a little at the cadence and tenor of his voice. It was infused with a rich educated dignity. Numbly she shook his hand, and felt the eclectic spark at the fleeting contact. His hands were strong.
He was still smiling at her, and she stammered a greeting, flailing under the blowtorch of the man’s intense gaze. A hot rush of color spread across her chest and began to creep up her throat.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she got the words out at last and then drew a deep breath. The man wasn’t what she had been expecting at all, and the difference between her quailing expectation and the reality left her reeling. In her mind she had visualized a crude brutish man, with a hard face and eyes like stone.
The shock and surprise showed in her expression as wide-eyed incredulity, and then a slow rising relief.
Joshua turned his attention back to the painting, standing intimately close beside Gabriele so that she could feel the heat of his body against her shoulder. He pointed to the figure’s face in the painting.
“Rembrandt never quite re-captured the energy of his early works,” Joshua said. “You can see the looseness of the brushstrokes in the neck and the way he’s described the clothing. I think at this stage in his career, he was all about capturing the face and the personality; the clothing and setting seemed to become of less significance.”
Gabriele stared up at the painting, frowning. She had no knowledge of art although the name of the artist was vaguely familiar. She tried to see the artwork through Joshua’s explanation, but the deeper significance was lost on her. It was a nice picture. That was all she knew.
“It’s nice,” she said meekly.
Joshua turned on her so that their faces were just inches apart and Gabriele went as still as a deer caught in the glare of blazing headlights. Joshua’s expression was distraught, almost disappointed.
“Gabby… aren’t you a student of fine art?”
She shook her head, and bit her lip, fearful that she had failed by some secret standard of assessment. “I’ve never really understood art,” she shrugged her shoulders apologetically. “It never really mattered to me.”
Joshua pressed his lips together, and Gabby felt his eyes studying her face like he was making a decision. At last his features changed with a grunt of resolve.
He turned to face her while about them other gallery visitors drifted past their periphery.
His voice was pitched low, but infused with passion and earnest energy.
“Modern art is a farce,” Joshua conceded, “but the great art of the past masters is at the heart of our culture and civilization.” Despite herself, Gabriele felt herself being drawn towards Joshua by the force of his personality and the strength of his conviction. “Surrounding us on these walls are some of the finest paintings ever to be created, and every one of them – every single one of them – has helped to shape the way we see our world, our society and its people.”
Joshua paused for a moment to sweep his gaze around the gallery before bringing his eyes back. Gabriele felt her heart trip and flutter. The force of Joshua’s eyes slamming into hers seemed to pin her feet to the floor so that she was unable to move. She was transfixed.
“Art is critical. And every man should be taught to appreciate it, for it’s only through an appreciation of such cultural icons can he ever truly know how to appreciate a woman.”
Gabriele blinked. Joshua saw the flicker of confusion in her eyes. He smiled, but it was just a small icy tug at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s not about the aesthetics,” Joshua cautioned softly. “It’s about learning to appreciate the beauty of things that go beyond appearances. If a man can admire the work of Vermeer or Rembrandt or Jan Steen, and see within their paintings the innate beauty, then he can begin to see the beauty in a woman, beyond her physical appearance. The lesson men must learn is the value of appreciation, not for what it can do for you, but for the beauty that it already is.”
There was a long moment of silence. Gabriele was overwhelmed, and vaguely aroused… but uncertain why. She wasn’t sure if it was a physical reaction to Joshua’s presence and physique, or if the secret to her awakening sexual interest was hidden within his words and their meaning.
“I’m not sure I really understand…” she said timidly, cowered a little by how he might react.
Joshua smiled, and it was the most dazzling charm-filled smile that Gabriele had ever seen. It washed over her like the warmth of the sun as it reached all the way to sparkle in his eyes, stripping away the mask of intensity and changing his fa
ce completely.
“Good!” Joshua’s smile became a light hearty chuckle. “We can keep talking. Now I know you’re honest.”
They drifted around the exhibit halls of the gallery, chatting inconsequentially. Gabriele felt herself relaxing with every passing moment. Joshua was urbane and intelligent, talking conversationally about the merits of each painting, and asking Gabriele bland questions about her work, her favorite foods, and her likes in music. For Gabriele, the afternoon seemed to flash by too soon. She felt utterly captivated by Joshua, for he was everything she had dreamed of and like no one she had ever known. He was educated and fascinating, and she felt child-like and awed by his views and understanding of the world. When at last he fell silent and the mesmerizing spell of his voice was broken, Gabriele looked up with a start at the darkening shadows of afternoon and realized the day was over. The gallery’s staff was beginning to usher visitors out onto the wide front steps.
They strolled to the sidewalk, and Joshua reached into his coat pocket. He handed Gabriele a small white card. On one side was printed his address.
She tucked the card carefully into her purse and then dared a look into those deep hypnotic eyes.
“Does this mean you will train me to be a submissive?” she asked.
Joshua shook his head. “No. This means that I am comfortable you are not a crazy obsessive woman, and that you are welcome to visit my home. That is where the interview about your suitability for training will take place.”
Gabriele was a little taken aback. She frowned down at her shoes; her lips pursed with confusion.
