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Warrington turned, bringing his body closer to her, and lightly touched both sides of her face. The scent of shaving soap and crisp wool surrounded her.
‘No painting or creation from things of the earth could ever reach out to a man as a woman’s whisper against his cheek.’ He gave a half smile. ‘Truly, she could be someone he never wished to see again, but in the right moments he’d still be more impressed than with any art.’
‘You are talking of simple lust. To feel art is different.’
He nodded, and by the slant of his lips she could tell he placed no store in it.
‘Stone, Melina.’ He straightened in his seat. ‘Art compares little to life. When my son, Jacob, forgets himself and runs to me, showing me a stick that is nothing but a twig, but for some reason he thinks it is shaped like a bird, that makes any decoration in a house seem meaningless. And the reason the statue means something to you is because you hoped for her to rescue you.’
Melina remembered the agony she’d felt when her mother knew, even though she was sick, that her father wouldn’t stay. ‘Some believe capturing the likeness helps the person live on. True art,’ she murmured. ‘Not the captain’s mermaids. Or probably even the paintings of my father. But when you look at a sculpture or a painting and you can see thoughts in the face of the person the artist captured... You know the pull of their heart. The dreams they have. You feel something.’
‘Melina, I can feel the thoughts of the fish women.’
She shuddered. ‘A different kind of painting—but it does speak to Captain Ben—although the things they say are vulgar.’
He smiled, eyes crinkling. ‘True.’
‘I care for the statue I found. It’s as if she has the same heart I do and she’s waiting to be freed from her hiding place.’
‘The statue is still as you left it and it is cold and feels nothing.’ He talked softly, and in the same tone he must have used with his son. ‘Forget the marble. Forget your father.’ He studied her, his own face concerned. If not for the painting in her hands, she would have leaned into him. Would have put herself against his chest and felt his compassion.
She shook her head, a lock of hair again falling across her eyes and tickling her. ‘Father once said he wept when he saw beautiful art. And he had some small pieces. One a sculpture of a Madonna. One a miniature of a woman and a painting only about half the length of my hand—so small, and the woman looked so alive you could have recognised her had she walked into the room. Our home was plain, and to see those things...’
‘I know what you’re saying, but it’s not the same for me, I suppose. The paintings at Somerset House. A nice way to spend the afternoon, admiring them. But...’
‘The piece I left behind on the island. I care for her. Both her arms broken and now one lost for ever. Because I did not safeguard it.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be, Melina. Leave the woman buried. Let her rest.’
‘Her face— My mother died before I found the bits of carving. When I dug down, scraping the dirt from the statue, I saw my mother’s likeness look back at me.’ She took in a shuddering breath. ‘I must have this woman unearthed. She cannot remain buried. She should live.’
‘It won’t bring back your mother.’
Her eyes locked on his. ‘Perhaps my grandmother posed for it. Or her mother. So long ago that she’s been forgotten. And that is why the stone must be rescued. The woman cannot be left buried. She is so near the surface. I brushed the dirt free from her with my hands. She’s ready to return into the world.’
Melina had tucked the statue back into the broken archway and covered her, hiding her. But she had to go back to Melos to save the woman. The thought of the likeness lying buried another hundred years was too much to bear. Melina couldn’t imagine how long the art had been concealed. And how, at one time, someone must not have cared. She’d heard of a war fought on the island long, long before. She imagined the invading army must have knocked the archway to the ground. Or perhaps time itself. She could not be sure why anyone would leave such a work. But now Melina knew she needed to get the woman freed from her grave.
She had to escape the world her father lived in and return to Melos.
‘Ben will take you to her.’
‘I thank you. My sisters. I cannot abandon them as my father did. I cannot leave the likeness of my mother buried. And I will not tell them all the truth about our father. I would like to tell them he fell on a paintbrush and met a fitful end.’
