Picture Perfect (6 page)

Chapter 11.

I made my way up to the studio to find Roger patiently waiting, brushes in hand. I hurriedly undressed and resumed my interrupted pose in the chair, unintentionally sitting on Fluff whose white coat merged with the white cushion of the chair. I sprang upright in consternation at his protesting yip. How the devil did that dog manage to be exactly in the
wrong
place all the time? He must have a university degree in inconvenience. Roger patiently carried Fluff outside and returned. As usual he delicately arranged my limbs to his satisfaction and returned to his easel. 

“Before we begin, Roger, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead, pet,” he replied, busily mixing paint colours.

“I was talking to Maria,” I said, “and she said she once fought off a
burglar
in the house. Is that right?”

Roger paused in his endeavours and looked up. “Quite true,” he admitted. “She found him sneaking though the house and gave him a well deserved lesson in respecting private property. She was quite the little whirlwind. Frankly, I didn’t expect it of her. She seems so inoffensive and meek. It just goes to show. You can’t always judge people by their outward appearances.”

“Too true,” I murmured, as I prepared to slip into my trance state. So,
that
part of her story was true. Could I believe the
rest
of her story, then?

Roger tapped me on the shoulder when he was finished. “Lunch time, ducky,” he announced. “You were great, as always. I might even have it
finished
by the next session.”

I yawned and stretched languidly. I was still a little tired but considerably refreshed from my sojourn into the meditative regions. Roger began to clean his brushes while I looked around for my clothes. I began to make myself presentable but instead decided to find out some information.

“Roger, how long have you known Maria?” I asked.

He paused and closed his eyes in thought. “Hmmm, about a year,” he replied.

“Where did you
find
her?” I questioned.

“She was in a shop,” Roger informed me. “I was buying something, I don’t remember what, but when I saw her I knew immediately that I wanted her to model for me. She had that certain look – half wild, half vulnerable, half flirty and half brazen.”

“That’s a
lot
of halves,” I pointed out to him.

Roger chuckled. “Yes, it is. You have that look
too
, Kim, but I could never capture it from Maria. Unlike you, she could never sit still for more than a minute. It drove me
crazy
! She was like a puppy with fleas. It was hopeless, so I made her a housekeeper and she’s been a godsend to me ever since. It was the best thing I ever did.”

“Thanks for that,” I said, beginning to dress once again. “I was just wondering about her. She seems quite nice.”

“She’s lovely,” Roger confirmed. “I couldn’t do without her.” He put a finger to his lips and looked at me appraisingly. “You’re quite stunning, you know, Kim, but I think I’ve told you that before. You have the
perfect
figure for your height and you’re gorgeous to boot. You’re an artist’s dream come true.”

“Why, Roger,” I blushed slightly, “what a nice thing to say. You’re not
flirting
with me by any chance, are you?”

“Hardly, my dear,” he smiled with genuine humour. “I don’t have the time to chase you around the place. And even if I
did
have the time, I’d be more likely to chase Paul, anyway. That’s not to say I don’t find you absolutely ravishing,” he added hastily, “and if I was
that
way inclined, I’d be showering you with flowers and chocolates to win your favour, but
alas
….”

I smiled at his words, but felt a little miffed that he hadn’t responded to my feminine charms. When we first met, I had marked him down as a prospective intimate partner. I sighed.
Blast
!

“But what I started to tell you,” Roger continued, “is that I think
Maria
has her eye on you.”

“In what
way
?” I asked, although I knew exactly what he was talking about.

“I can see her watching you wherever you go,” Roger replied, “and I believe she fancies you as a bed companion. There’s a certain look in her eye and her muscles twitch when she’s near you. I’ve trained myself to notice these sorts of things for my painting, you see.”

“Do you
mind
?” I asked, curiously.

“That Maria finds you attractive? Not at all,” he replied, shrugging. “I believe in freedom in all of its aspects. So long as nobody is hurt in the process, people should be allowed to do whatever they like.” He put his brushes carefully back in their case and asked, “Do
you
like her? As a potential partner, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” I stammered. “She’s beautiful and gentle and her massages are to die for, but….”

“Oh, so you’ve
had
a session with those magic fingers of hers, have you?” Roger chortled. “Yes, that would sway
anyone’s
head.”

“I’ve had
two
of them, actually,” I admitted.

“Two?” Roger said with raised eyebrows. “She must
really
like you then. She doesn’t do that for just anyone.” He closed the brush case with a snap. “Speaking of which, it must be nearly lunchtime. I’ll race you to the dining room.”

“Hey, no fair,” I protested, struggling to put on my dress. “You’re
cheating
!”

Roger laughed as he walked hastily out the door.

Chapter 12.

Lunch was served – superb, as always – and I had another painting session that afternoon. At the end of it, Roger announced that he’d definitely be able to finish the painting by himself the next day and he wouldn’t need me anymore.

“What,
never
?” I questioned, taken aback.

“Don’t be silly, my dear,” he told me. “I won’t need you anymore for
this
painting, that’s all. I have ideas for plenty for others floating around in my head. I’d like to do an outdoors scene next. Maybe in the garden, or in a
field
perhaps. Don’t worry, sweetness, I’m never going to let you go. You’re my
Muse
.”

“I won’t be here forever, Roger,” I reminded him gently. “I’ll stay long enough to know that you’re safe, but then I’ll have to go. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, lovely,” he replied, “and that’s why I have to get in as many paintings as possible. Models like you don’t come around
every
day, you know.”

I was struck by a disturbing thought. Was Roger deliberately prolonging the feud with the mobsters merely to keep me on as his model? Would he go
that
far? He was certainly
consumed
with his painting. Would his fanaticism push him to consort with criminals? I shook my head in frustration. I was getting nowhere with all of this.

That night, I returned to the commune.
This is becoming tiresome
, I thought, trapped as I was in my dreams. Moonbeam was teaching me macramé. I was becoming quite good at it, and it was so relaxing. She opened up to me about her life in the outside world – something she rarely did.

“I was
married
once, you know,” she murmured thoughtfully, as we sat side by side, weaving the multi-coloured woollen strands into carry bags.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “He was a policeman. I think it was the uniform.” She laughed softly. “Now, that’s an old joke, but it was true in my case. He was so dashing and brave. A good man but, in the end, we had different agendas. He wanted a housewife and I wanted to explore the world.” She sighed sorrowfully. “A great pity, really. We had a daughter. Lovely, she was. And still
is
, of course. She lives with her father but still visits me every now and then for a crash course in how to ignore the world and concentrate on inner peace.” She looked up at me with loving eyes. “You’d like her, Kim. She’s another
you
.” Her fingers reached across and lightly touched me on the tip of my nose. “She’s gentle and beautiful and trying to discover her path in life. I miss her every day.”

Unfortunately, I then returned to my pre-Moonbeam days. where my captor was lashing me with a leather belt.

“It’s for your own good,” he told me between blows. “I’m driving out your
demons
.” I wasn’t aware that I
had
any demons and all I could think of was the stinging sensation each time the strap landed on my exposed back. I was crying continuously, the tears running unheeded down my face and dripping onto my arms, which were cruelly tied to the bedpost.

“You have to be
purged
,” he kept telling me, over and over, grunting with the effort of swinging the belt. I couldn’t understand what was happening. My mind was fogged with all of the hypnotic sessions I’d undergone and I couldn’t make sense of my life. The pain was all-consuming and I dreaded the waiting period between each blow, anticipating the new hurt that surely followed. The beating seemed endless. Eventually I was untied, and I collapsed on the bed, whimpering in agony. I was then caressed and told how much I was loved and how all of this was for
my
benefit. Even in my dream state, the hypocrisy of it made me sick. But, innocent as I was in those days, I
believed
it. These sessions usually ended with enforced sex – the very
last
thing I wanted or desired to happen but, as I said, I was entirely in his power and utterly unable to think for myself. After meeting Moonbeam, and recovering my sanity, I vowed that never
again
would I allow myself to be put into a situation where I’d be so physically helpless.

Gasping, I awoke from my dream, to find Paul holding me in his arms.

“You were
shouting
, sweetie,” he said softly. I clung to him, the last remnants of my nightmare thankfully fading into obscurity. My cheeks were wet and I realised with a sense of shock that I’d been
crying
in my sleep.

“I was back in my commune days,” I whispered, “being beaten half to death by a sadist. Why do I keep going back to it? That was years ago. I’m over it all.”

“Apparently you’re
not
,” Paul informed me sympathetically. “Or else your inner self is relaying a message to you. Is it a warning of some sort? Some danger ahead, perhaps?”

I shook my head. “I just don’t know,” I murmured. “But it keeps repeating. Anyway, thanks for looking after me, as always. I don’t tell you that often enough.”

“That’s okay, honey,” he reassured me. “Are you going to be all right now?”

“I’m fine,” I told him with a smile, pulling out of his arms and wiping my eyes. “Dreams can be a puzzle but they can’t hurt me. Go back to bed. I’m going to have a look around.”

I dressed and had a sudden revelation. Ah, I realised, so
that’s
where my passion for the martial arts had originated. I wanted to be able to fight my way out of any such situations in the future. I hadn’t really thought about it before. At least these dreams are teaching me
something
. I looked across at the clock. Four o’clock again. These dreams may be instructive, but they were sure upsetting my sleeping patterns. I debated whether to I should try to return to sleep or continue with my plan to scout around. I decided on the latter and set off.

Everything seemed safe and secure with no hostiles in evidence. I hesitated before entering the kitchen because I knew that Maria would be there and I still hadn’t made up my mind concerning her or what to do about it. On the one hand, I wanted to allow her attentions to fill that lonely gap in my life, but could I take the risk of her being a
baddie
? Of course, if I
became
her intimate, I’d then be in a position to be privy to any nefarious plans she had in mind. Ah, a
loophole
! It’s marvellous how you can talk yourself into almost anything to justify your actions, isn’t it?

I pushed my way past the swinging doors and entered the kitchen, only to find that Maria
wasn’t
there. I felt a bitter tang of disappointment. I’d just gone through realms of convoluted abstract reasoning to prove to myself that what I’d wanted to do all along was the correct action to take, and the object I’d built my whole case around wasn’t even present. If so, where the devil
was
she? I’d already searched most of the rooms. She couldn’t be in the house at all. Strange. Surely the
shops
wouldn’t be opened yet. This was a somewhat disturbing development.