once I was there, I became overwhelmed.
I began to see that I didn’t have the drive, nor did I like the
constant pressure and the public/media aspect. Sounds dramatic now,
but when he made his move, I was desperate for a connection, a need
to find myself in the chaos.”
“And did you?”
She shook her head. “No. Not in the end. I
had run headlong into another situation that wasn’t me. A sexual
affair, which I built in my mind into something more. I suppose it
served to release the pressure, but eventually I became blind to
things that in a normal affair, I would have judged
intolerable.”
“What?”
“I overheard some other young women talking,
laughing, and discussing their sexual escapades with William. I
knew we didn’t have regular dates, but I’d put that down to our
schedule. I knew our trysts were erratic, but having no experience,
I didn’t think much of it. Until then.” She met Noel’s eyes and
smiled. “I’m amazed he kept our names straight. It was one of his
talents. He had an amazing knack for names and faces.”
“You weren’t in love with him?”
“No, but I hurt. I cried, I felt like a fool.
I felt stupid compared to the others who’d known the score and
accepted it. I quit, and for months, sifted through every memory
trying to see where I’d allowed myself to get into something so
wrong for me, so against my natural inclinations and what I thought
was maturity.”
“And what was the conclusion?”
“That I wouldn’t have grown without the
mistakes. That knowing a harsh truth, feeling hurt and pain, can
sometimes make you free of unreal expectations. It is okay to
resent people who hurt you, while accepting your own part in
it.”
“That is a mature assessment for a twenty
year old to make.”
She laughed softly. “Ah, well, it doesn’t
mean I found the answers, nor that I suddenly became the most
emotionally healthy person on earth. No one is, I think. We seek to
be, but weakness is a big part of life.”
She held his gaze, thinking before saying,
“That’s part of the reason your art moved me when others haven’t.
The women, the way you paint them. It doesn’t show weakness or
strength, nor does it make them objects or relay some wholly pure
or wholly wicked character. They’re honest elements, showing some
facet, but leaving the individuality intact. We’re human, we’re all
different.”
“And I thought you didn’t come away with
anything but that they were flawless.” He was smiling.
“They are, captured in that moment. Everyone
can be perfect, in moments, in situations, but not in every second
of life.”
He stared at her, absently rubbing his
fingers against his jaw where a shadow of a beard was beginning.
“So now, you begin to understand. That I want to capture that
moment, your moment?”
Grace thought about it. She nodded, gazed
steadily back at him. Yes, she got it now. More so, she was
beginning to think that she was drawn to him because she needed
that moment herself, needed him to draw it out, to bring her to it.
Maybe she had known instinctively, he would. Perfect moments
weren’t the strongest ones. They could be the most vulnerable ones
too. She knew that.
Noel murmured quietly, “Some cultures believe
that taking pictures of them can steal their soul and portraits the
same. I think, Jane, that the contradictions in you, the things you
hide, the snippets you reveal, and who you really might be, make
you one of the most interesting women I’ve ever painted.”
Chapter Nine
At her apartment later, Grace thought of his
comments as she sifted through her messages, and returned a call to
Seth who’d be home in three days.
“I checked a few days ago,” she answered his
question about the apartment. “Are you enjoying your lady friend
and the beach?”
“It’s been mild here. But, yeah, beats DC in
the winter.”
Absently rolling a pen in her fingers Grace
murmured, “Seth, I saw your notes on the Hawthorn
I began to see that I didn’t have the drive, nor did I like the
constant pressure and the public/media aspect. Sounds dramatic now,
but when he made his move, I was desperate for a connection, a need
to find myself in the chaos.”
“And did you?”
She shook her head. “No. Not in the end. I
had run headlong into another situation that wasn’t me. A sexual
affair, which I built in my mind into something more. I suppose it
served to release the pressure, but eventually I became blind to
things that in a normal affair, I would have judged
intolerable.”
“What?”
“I overheard some other young women talking,
laughing, and discussing their sexual escapades with William. I
knew we didn’t have regular dates, but I’d put that down to our
schedule. I knew our trysts were erratic, but having no experience,
I didn’t think much of it. Until then.” She met Noel’s eyes and
smiled. “I’m amazed he kept our names straight. It was one of his
talents. He had an amazing knack for names and faces.”
“You weren’t in love with him?”
“No, but I hurt. I cried, I felt like a fool.
I felt stupid compared to the others who’d known the score and
accepted it. I quit, and for months, sifted through every memory
trying to see where I’d allowed myself to get into something so
wrong for me, so against my natural inclinations and what I thought
was maturity.”
“And what was the conclusion?”
“That I wouldn’t have grown without the
mistakes. That knowing a harsh truth, feeling hurt and pain, can
sometimes make you free of unreal expectations. It is okay to
resent people who hurt you, while accepting your own part in
it.”
“That is a mature assessment for a twenty
year old to make.”
She laughed softly. “Ah, well, it doesn’t
mean I found the answers, nor that I suddenly became the most
emotionally healthy person on earth. No one is, I think. We seek to
be, but weakness is a big part of life.”
She held his gaze, thinking before saying,
“That’s part of the reason your art moved me when others haven’t.
The women, the way you paint them. It doesn’t show weakness or
strength, nor does it make them objects or relay some wholly pure
or wholly wicked character. They’re honest elements, showing some
facet, but leaving the individuality intact. We’re human, we’re all
different.”
“And I thought you didn’t come away with
anything but that they were flawless.” He was smiling.
“They are, captured in that moment. Everyone
can be perfect, in moments, in situations, but not in every second
of life.”
He stared at her, absently rubbing his
fingers against his jaw where a shadow of a beard was beginning.
“So now, you begin to understand. That I want to capture that
moment, your moment?”
Grace thought about it. She nodded, gazed
steadily back at him. Yes, she got it now. More so, she was
beginning to think that she was drawn to him because she needed
that moment herself, needed him to draw it out, to bring her to it.
Maybe she had known instinctively, he would. Perfect moments
weren’t the strongest ones. They could be the most vulnerable ones
too. She knew that.
Noel murmured quietly, “Some cultures believe
that taking pictures of them can steal their soul and portraits the
same. I think, Jane, that the contradictions in you, the things you
hide, the snippets you reveal, and who you really might be, make
you one of the most interesting women I’ve ever painted.”
Chapter Nine
At her apartment later, Grace thought of his
comments as she sifted through her messages, and returned a call to
Seth who’d be home in three days.
“I checked a few days ago,” she answered his
question about the apartment. “Are you enjoying your lady friend
and the beach?”
“It’s been mild here. But, yeah, beats DC in
the winter.”
Absently rolling a pen in her fingers Grace
murmured, “Seth, I saw your notes on the Hawthorn
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