Read Online Appointment with a Smile by Kieran York - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kieran York
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laughed. “So, what time are we leaving?”
“five. We’re meeting them at six. But I want extra time to scrutinize your outfit and make sure you’re presentable. If you’re not, it might take an extra half hour to do something with you.”
“What could you ever imagine doing with me that would only take half an hour to render me resplendently gorgeous?”
“You’re right. Meet me now and let’s begin with a new shoe wardrobe. Then we’ll go to an adorable little boutique and get you fitted out in something that meets with my approval. A hair salon. After that—”
I cut her off. “I’ll be ready at half past five. I’ll give a quick perusal in my mirror. That should be enough.”
I’m sure most of London heard her groan. “Danielle, I beg of you, do make an effort.”
“I’m not out to chase women. I’m trying to finish a painting. When I know the time is right for me, I’ll make an effort.”
“Here they call it pulling a bird.”
I was certain she could feel the glare through the phone. “From Ovid’s The Art of Love, there’s this quote that mousetraps don’t run after mice.” There was a pause. “Well?”
“The Brits pull birds. Nothing at all to do with mice. Just be ready.” She hung up.
A few curse words tumbled from my lips. The dread settled into my psyche. Strangers made me uneasy.
Chapter 14
Returning to my canvas, I glanced at my wristwatch. I wanted the time to approach A Scene with empathy. I needed to achieve what seemed to be an impossible balance. As I painted, I thought about those glances of Molly’s. At the stall, as she thumbed through the book, there was recognition, suddenly a sliver of pathos, and then abject sorrow. She held the book to her bosom as she lowered her head.
Perhaps Molly was recalling Pamela and the two decades they’d shared. She had obviously loved Pamela. Or at least felt something. At any rate, for a brief moment she seemed completely vulnerable. I wanted to recount and preserve that split second. I wanted to understand the years of thought that bunched up within a human soul. The exploration of memories compounded. And I wanted them recorded via art.
The knock on the door proved an intermission. Spencer had come to check on how I was doing and if I needed anything.
He stared at the painting. “I adore A Scene ,” he said with a note of awe. “Aren’t you ever going to take a break?”
Spencer had become my personal liaison—my champion and my moaning post. “I’m finishing up this work, and then I’ll socialize. A date of sorts.”
“The newest releases are posted on the web page, so maybe they will do the work of a dozen personal appearances.”
“I’m sure Fiona buys into that.”
“Her raison d’être is selling, not buying.”
I gave him a playful shove. “Spence, you’re the best. And you do like the newest painting, so I am saved. You’ve been under Fiona’s tutelage for long enough to get her astute observations when it comes to art.”
“I’ve been raised on art, actually. A complete tutelary.”
“I’m finishing up the painting. Then I’ll get showered and dressed, go out and party, while wishing I were back here with brush in hand.”
“Social butterfly.” His grin was contagious. “Go out, fuel up, and pretend to be having fun.”
“Pretend is so much like lying.”
“Danielle, you’re empowered by understanding the difference. Maybe that’s what helps you paint. On the other hand, exploiting the use of pretence isn’t your greatest attribute. You’re personable, but your social skills…” He scrunched his face as if searching for the right words. “Well, not so much.”
“I’d have to say I agree, Spence.”
Although I enjoyed his company, I was glad when he left. I wanted to finish working on the stretched canvas. While there was a celebration of the heart when I completed a painting, getting to that point always produced tension. I always felt a flicker of fear that I
“five. We’re meeting them at six. But I want extra time to scrutinize your outfit and make sure you’re presentable. If you’re not, it might take an extra half hour to do something with you.”
“What could you ever imagine doing with me that would only take half an hour to render me resplendently gorgeous?”
“You’re right. Meet me now and let’s begin with a new shoe wardrobe. Then we’ll go to an adorable little boutique and get you fitted out in something that meets with my approval. A hair salon. After that—”
I cut her off. “I’ll be ready at half past five. I’ll give a quick perusal in my mirror. That should be enough.”
I’m sure most of London heard her groan. “Danielle, I beg of you, do make an effort.”
“I’m not out to chase women. I’m trying to finish a painting. When I know the time is right for me, I’ll make an effort.”
“Here they call it pulling a bird.”
I was certain she could feel the glare through the phone. “From Ovid’s The Art of Love, there’s this quote that mousetraps don’t run after mice.” There was a pause. “Well?”
“The Brits pull birds. Nothing at all to do with mice. Just be ready.” She hung up.
A few curse words tumbled from my lips. The dread settled into my psyche. Strangers made me uneasy.
Chapter 14
Returning to my canvas, I glanced at my wristwatch. I wanted the time to approach A Scene with empathy. I needed to achieve what seemed to be an impossible balance. As I painted, I thought about those glances of Molly’s. At the stall, as she thumbed through the book, there was recognition, suddenly a sliver of pathos, and then abject sorrow. She held the book to her bosom as she lowered her head.
Perhaps Molly was recalling Pamela and the two decades they’d shared. She had obviously loved Pamela. Or at least felt something. At any rate, for a brief moment she seemed completely vulnerable. I wanted to recount and preserve that split second. I wanted to understand the years of thought that bunched up within a human soul. The exploration of memories compounded. And I wanted them recorded via art.
The knock on the door proved an intermission. Spencer had come to check on how I was doing and if I needed anything.
He stared at the painting. “I adore A Scene ,” he said with a note of awe. “Aren’t you ever going to take a break?”
Spencer had become my personal liaison—my champion and my moaning post. “I’m finishing up this work, and then I’ll socialize. A date of sorts.”
“The newest releases are posted on the web page, so maybe they will do the work of a dozen personal appearances.”
“I’m sure Fiona buys into that.”
“Her raison d’être is selling, not buying.”
I gave him a playful shove. “Spence, you’re the best. And you do like the newest painting, so I am saved. You’ve been under Fiona’s tutelage for long enough to get her astute observations when it comes to art.”
“I’ve been raised on art, actually. A complete tutelary.”
“I’m finishing up the painting. Then I’ll get showered and dressed, go out and party, while wishing I were back here with brush in hand.”
“Social butterfly.” His grin was contagious. “Go out, fuel up, and pretend to be having fun.”
“Pretend is so much like lying.”
“Danielle, you’re empowered by understanding the difference. Maybe that’s what helps you paint. On the other hand, exploiting the use of pretence isn’t your greatest attribute. You’re personable, but your social skills…” He scrunched his face as if searching for the right words. “Well, not so much.”
“I’d have to say I agree, Spence.”
Although I enjoyed his company, I was glad when he left. I wanted to finish working on the stretched canvas. While there was a celebration of the heart when I completed a painting, getting to that point always produced tension. I always felt a flicker of fear that I
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