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“Congratulations. I saw a bit of your work back in the studio; it’s really impressive. I wish I could be creative.”
“You don’t feel creative?” Elda asked.
She bit her lip in a way that made Charlie want to run her tongue over it. “I have a photographic memory for facts, a way with words—”
“You look good in a wig?”
Charlie laughed. “Maybe. But I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”
“You must have to get quite creative in court.”
“I work in family law. It’s not like the courtroom dramas on the TV.” Charlie rubbed at her eyes. Talking to Elda felt easy. “I like rules and conventions. Life gets messy when there are too many variables.”
“A bit of chaos can be good for you. It can be spontaneous and energising. That’s what art’s all about really. Capturing what’s messy about life and sometimes making sense of it.” Elda fiddled with the saltshaker.
“Tell me about your paintings.” She wanted to hear Elda’s voice, slow down and drink in the conversation.
“I don’t talk much about my work. It’s difficult to explain. Even when I’ve had tutors or mentors, I struggle to find the right words, and then people don’t get it. It can be awkward, you know?” Elda wriggled in her seat.
“Try me.” Charlie locked her gaze, hoping she’d open up. There had been a hint of something so powerful in the canvases she saw back in the studio.
The clatter of forks and hum of conversations hung in the air. Charlie scanned the room, breaking the eye contact she’d been sharing with Elda. She’d been so engrossed by their conversation that she hadn’t realised the café was full of people.
“It’s a trio of paintings. Each about six feet by five. You saw them just now. They’re taller than me.” She reached above her head and her cheeks coloured.
Charlie nodded, and Elda frowned for just a second, as if she doubted herself.
“The first is full of shadows. Threats. Fear. Things that hurt you and make you feel small.” Elda rubbed her temple. “The second is about shame. Hiding from the truth. Believing lies about yourself. Lies you tell yourself.” She sat back in her chair and folded her arms.
“Go on.” Charlie wanted to reach over but drew her hand back. It was weird to feel compelled to touch Elda. She’d never had any problems keeping a physical or emotional distance from others.
“The third is about light. It’s sort of joyful. It’s about unconditional love with no strings and no expectations.”
Charlie wasn’t expecting the wave of sadness and optimism that crashed through her body. She was honoured that Elda had shared the detail, and her reaction caught her off guard. She let out a long, whistling breath and laughed as Elda’s eyebrows lifted. “Wow, Elda. That’s powerful. A real story of despair and hope. Can I see them?”
“Well, you already got a sneak peek at them. They aren’t finished yet, but you can see them when they’re done.” She protected her cast as another plate of cake arrived.
“Pop them in the middle. We’re going to share,” Elda said and directed her perfect smile at the waitress.
Charlie had no idea where this chance connection was going, but she wanted to find out. Elda had appeared out of nowhere on a dark, miserable night, but now Charlie revelled in the light ease between them. Out of habit, she thought for a moment about asking Elda to come home with her. There was no doubt in her mind that a night together would be blissful, if a little awkward around Elda’s cast. Simply sitting across from her set Charlie’s insides on fire. She could imagine peeling off those autumn layers and warming away the goosebumps on her naked skin.
But for once, she didn’t want to ruin this with a one-night stand. She wanted to uncover Elda’s depths slowly, which was a first in a very long time.
Chapter Six
“I’m here to view the third floor,” Francis said.
Elda pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Things were moving fast. She was about to see the exhibition hall and take her pick of the hanging space. Her brain buzzed with anticipation as her new curator advanced through the atrium.
At the end, a bright opening led to an expanse of smooth concrete. The walls were brilliant white, and they beamed with potential. Elda looked up to the ceiling rig. It was perfect. A space like this was too good for her. She was used to scrabbling together a few pieces for a back room showing at the local arts centre.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
I have a work thing on Friday. The launch of the new art gallery in town. Fancy going? C
A shiver of curiosity ran through her. She’d love to see Charlie again. Plus, it’d be really special to see the new gallery before it was open to the general public.
Yes, that’d be lovely. Where and when? E
