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I did not pause to consider where my feet took me. The grass crunched beneath my boots and the lurching, shivering darkness of the looming forest reminded me that day was fading. The cottage that Eddie used as his studio was nearby, and I trod heedlessly in that direction. Could my mind really be taking me on a wild journey that involved reincarnation and vengeful ghosts? My own life so far had taught me that the living were more harmful than the dead. Tenebris seemed determined to make me unlearn that simple lesson.
I was surprised to see the cottage door standing open. No one should be in there. As far as I knew, Eddie had the only key. Thoughts of brutalised Amy Winton and missing Nellie Smith crowded in on me, and my feet prepared for flight.
“Dita?” Cad appeared in the doorway and I paused. Was I less afraid now? My pounding heart provided a negative answer. Only the thought of how intensely foolish I would look if I ran away from him like a child from an imaginary ghoul, kept me where I was.
“Why are you here?” I asked, covering the distance between us.
“I was called out this way by my father’s gamekeeper. He suspects poachers have been at work. When I found the cottage door open, I thought they may have been using it as a refuge.” He spoke casually without any lingering trace of the burning intensity of our last conversation.
“And have they?” I asked. Cad leaned against the door frame, his manner casual and relaxed. So why did my feelings of trepidation persist?
“Not that I can see. But I haven’t been in here before, so I wouldn’t know. There is something wrong with the door. When you turn the key it appears to lock, but it can still be opened by turning the handle.” He demonstrated and the door swung open. “I’ll ask one of the estate workers to have a look at it.”
I stepped over the threshold and glanced around. The cottage appeared much as Eddie had left it. Except for one thing. My hand went to my throat in a gesture of horror. Many of the canvasses Eddie had placed around the room had been systematically ravaged. Bright crimson brush strokes criss-crossed my naked form and deep slashes had been gouged into the canvas, obliterating my face. I stared in horror at this wanton destruction of Eddie’s hours of hard work.
“Call me old-fashioned,” Cad murmured, “but I prefer a more conventional approach to portraiture.” Catching sight of my stricken face he immediately abandoned his sarcastic air. “I’m sorry, bouche,” he said ruefully. “That was insensitive of me. I take it this is not some new technique Eddie has been pioneering?”
I turned to look at him, indicating the ruined pictures with a shaking hand. “Why would anyone do this?”
“Who knows?” He batted my question back at me. “An extreme form of criticism? Someone who is not enamoured of Eddie’s style, perhaps? Although, thankfully, most critics content themselves with a written or spoken appraisal.”
“But it is only the pictures of me that have been destroyed,” I pointed out. There were some smaller paintings, mostly Parisian street scenes, that had not suffered the same fate. “These others have not been touched.” An image of Demelza Jago’s beautiful snarling face and knife-wielding hand appeared in my mind. Could a ghost have been responsible for the destruction of Eddie’s paintings of me? Was I actually considering such a possibility?
“Perhaps it is someone who has seen you and was enraged at Eddie’s inability to do you justice?” Cad’s voice was flippant as he studied one of the few portraits that had suffered very little damage. “He has done a reasonable job, but he can’t capture the essence of you, bouche. I defy anyone to do so.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. The picture was a full-length nude. I was lying on my side with my cheek propped on one hand. A slight, secretive smile touched my lips. “How well I remember the feel of your body, and the sounds of love upon those beautiful lips.” He reached out and, as though unable to help himself, lightly traced my throat in the painting with the tips of his fingers. Turning to me, he repeated the gesture in reality, his touch feather-light against the column of my neck. My lips parted on a sigh. Helpless to resist, I swayed toward him, my eyelids fluttering closed.
