of Goya’s more obscure works, as the days passed Leon had found himself becoming more absorbed with the painter and less with her. Reluctant to share his ideas, he cut Gina out. He realised he was embroiled, sliding in and out ofthe Black Paintings, reading them as if they were written works and then testing himself against the stack of research. But he wouldn’t –
couldn’t
– share his passion with her. Instead he consoled himself with the thought that he would present Gina with the solution, not the mechanics. That he would impress her with his insight, knowing all along that he was being selfishly, childishly, possessive. After all, Gina wasn’t a competitor. She was his lover.
But still he cut her out. All his energy and passion went into Goya … He had become convinced that he alone could solve the meaning of the paintings. Hadn’t he spent most of his childhood living within sight of where the Quinta del Sordo had once stood? Hadn’t Detita filled his mind with Goya’s life and works? Hadn’t the painter’s shadow fallen over Leon’s existence like Goya’s own picture of
The Colossus?
It was fate – even Diego Martinez finding and passing the skull on to him. What chance was there of that happening, if it hadn’t been meant?
For decades Leon had been rocked in a cradle of mental instability. He had felt like a man forever destined to float on a rolling tide, unable to stand, prone to every movement and tipping of the elements. But no longer. Suddenly he was in charge of something which could change the world and make him – and his memory – indelible.
‘Come to bed,’ Gina said softly.
‘It’s too early.’
‘You’re not getting enough sleep—’
‘Stop nagging,’ Leon retorted, pulling his notes towardshim. ‘I have to work this out before someone else does.’
‘The Black Paintings have been around for centuries, Leon. No one’s going to pip you to the post now.’ She stroked his narrow forehead tenderly. ‘Haven’t you got any results on the skull yet?’
He tensed. ‘Nothing yet.’
‘Who’s doing the research?’
‘Some Spanish doctor at the University,’ he replied, wondering how the lie had come so easily to him – and why he hadn’t told Gina that his brother had taken the skull back to London.
‘So,
was
Goya involved in witchcraft?’ she asked, nuzzling Leon’s neck.
‘Maybe. He was involved up to a point.’
‘You think that’s what the Black Paintings are all about?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Why are you being so distant with me?’ she asked, her tone injured. ‘You used to love talking about your ideas.’
His enthusiasm momentarily overshadowed his reserve.
‘Look, Gina, keep this quiet but I think I might be close to solving what the Black Paintings actually mean. I think Goya was leaving a message behind, but he had to keep the meaning secret because otherwise it would have been dangerous for him.’
‘My God,’ she said breathlessly. ‘When will you know if you’re right?’
‘I don’t know. I have to keep on with it. I think there’s an order to them. Goya didn’t give the titles to the paintings – those were picked later by Yriarte, Imbert or Brugada.So, if you take away the titles, you see the pictures from a totally different angle.’ He looked away, uncertain. ‘But I’m not sure. Not yet.’
A shiver passed between them, a frisson of unease, before Gina spoke again.
‘Why don’t we have a seance?’
‘
What?
’
She smiled, shrugging. ‘Why not? I know someone who’s a medium.’ Leon flinched. ‘It’s OK, nothing bad will happen. I’ve known Frederick for years. He’s not weird, he’s just gifted. I believe in these kinds of things. Anyway, what harm could it do? He might even help you with your work.’
Baffled, Leon stared at her. ‘Help me?’
‘Frederick knows a lot of different kinds of people. He’s got a lot of contacts … Some are interested in satanism now. Right now.’
Transfixed, Leon
couldn’t
– share his passion with her. Instead he consoled himself with the thought that he would present Gina with the solution, not the mechanics. That he would impress her with his insight, knowing all along that he was being selfishly, childishly, possessive. After all, Gina wasn’t a competitor. She was his lover.
But still he cut her out. All his energy and passion went into Goya … He had become convinced that he alone could solve the meaning of the paintings. Hadn’t he spent most of his childhood living within sight of where the Quinta del Sordo had once stood? Hadn’t Detita filled his mind with Goya’s life and works? Hadn’t the painter’s shadow fallen over Leon’s existence like Goya’s own picture of
The Colossus?
It was fate – even Diego Martinez finding and passing the skull on to him. What chance was there of that happening, if it hadn’t been meant?
For decades Leon had been rocked in a cradle of mental instability. He had felt like a man forever destined to float on a rolling tide, unable to stand, prone to every movement and tipping of the elements. But no longer. Suddenly he was in charge of something which could change the world and make him – and his memory – indelible.
‘Come to bed,’ Gina said softly.
‘It’s too early.’
‘You’re not getting enough sleep—’
‘Stop nagging,’ Leon retorted, pulling his notes towardshim. ‘I have to work this out before someone else does.’
‘The Black Paintings have been around for centuries, Leon. No one’s going to pip you to the post now.’ She stroked his narrow forehead tenderly. ‘Haven’t you got any results on the skull yet?’
He tensed. ‘Nothing yet.’
‘Who’s doing the research?’
‘Some Spanish doctor at the University,’ he replied, wondering how the lie had come so easily to him – and why he hadn’t told Gina that his brother had taken the skull back to London.
‘So,
was
Goya involved in witchcraft?’ she asked, nuzzling Leon’s neck.
‘Maybe. He was involved up to a point.’
‘You think that’s what the Black Paintings are all about?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Why are you being so distant with me?’ she asked, her tone injured. ‘You used to love talking about your ideas.’
His enthusiasm momentarily overshadowed his reserve.
‘Look, Gina, keep this quiet but I think I might be close to solving what the Black Paintings actually mean. I think Goya was leaving a message behind, but he had to keep the meaning secret because otherwise it would have been dangerous for him.’
‘My God,’ she said breathlessly. ‘When will you know if you’re right?’
‘I don’t know. I have to keep on with it. I think there’s an order to them. Goya didn’t give the titles to the paintings – those were picked later by Yriarte, Imbert or Brugada.So, if you take away the titles, you see the pictures from a totally different angle.’ He looked away, uncertain. ‘But I’m not sure. Not yet.’
A shiver passed between them, a frisson of unease, before Gina spoke again.
‘Why don’t we have a seance?’
‘
What?
’
She smiled, shrugging. ‘Why not? I know someone who’s a medium.’ Leon flinched. ‘It’s OK, nothing bad will happen. I’ve known Frederick for years. He’s not weird, he’s just gifted. I believe in these kinds of things. Anyway, what harm could it do? He might even help you with your work.’
Baffled, Leon stared at her. ‘Help me?’
‘Frederick knows a lot of different kinds of people. He’s got a lot of contacts … Some are interested in satanism now. Right now.’
Transfixed, Leon
Similar Books
