Amber
Chapter 9 - Artistry
@copyright Jean G Hontz and Sharon Pickrel
______________________
"It's a magnificent piece, isn't it?" the woman asked her companion. He was
tall, slender, mysterious, handsome beyond belief and that accent was to die
for!
"Si, Signor..ina?" He put a hint of a question in the reply. "I confess to
having always been fascinated by the Medicis."
His soft Italian accent made even the simplest words in the simplest sentences
sound exotic. No, she refused to admit to the other word she was thinking
spelled slightly differently.
"Patricia Stephenson," she supplied. "Signora. Signore...?" she asked.
He granted her a tiny smile. "Carmine Abrizzi, Signora Stephenson. I have it to
understand you are considering a substantial donation?"
"Si," she replied, "er, yes. The setting is certainly lovely. Still, not a well
known collection."
Carmine made a moue. "Si, and it is very sad, is it not? Such a lovely
collection and such a remarkable historic house. Young, granted, at least for
those of us from the old country, but still, something well worth preserving, is
it not? One seldom sees workmanship of this calibre anymore, neh?"
"True. Still.."
"Si. Still. Well, I shall simply have to increase my subscription then, I
suppose," Carmine replied.
"Oh, you are a donor!" she said, eagerly.
"Si. And the painting is mine as well, I'm afraid. I've lent it permanently to
the Frick Library," he explained.
"Oh my!" Patricia exclaimed. "How very generous of you!"
Carmine shrugged. "One does what one can. And, I confess, I have a limited
amount of wall space."
Patricia laughed and grasped his arm. "So you live in Italy?"
"Si. Outside of Florence. In one of the many Medici villas from the time."
"Oh, my! Really? You must be so proud of your villa! Are you related to the
family?"
"No," Carmine replied, looking sad. "But, as I have said, I've spent decades
studying the family." He didn't add that he'd spent centuries offing them.
Carmine turned then to see Lynne Winters and Ash Jacobs heading toward him and
his new-found friend. His face broke out into a genuine smile. "Ah, two of my
favorite New Yorkers. So good to see you!"
Lynne grinned. "You should have told us you would be in town!"
Carmine extracted himself from Patricia and once he had she walked away looking
a bit confused, a proper suggestion placed in her mind. He took Lynne into a
friendly hug then kissed her cheeks. "Cara, you look even lovelier than I
remember you. Shall you run away with me to Italy? Leave this staid old fellow
here and you and I will dance our way across Europe."
Ash cleared his throat firmly drawing both pairs of eyes to him. "Don't even
think about it, Carmine. If you want to dance with her, you can do it on this
side of the Atlantic, while Anders and I -- and her grandmother's ghost, by the
way -- are watching where you put your hands."
Carmine laughed delightedly pulling Ash into a European style hug and kissing
his cheeks as well. "Perhaps you ought worry too, where I put my hands."
Ash grinned and slipped a hand over the curve of Carmine's ass. "Maybe."
"Caro... You've been hiding your true nature from us. Lynne, you'd best keep an
eye on him."
"So I see," Lynne said eying Ash's hand. "I get equal feel-up rights remember."
"You already had your chance," Ash said, unperturbed. "But this is a surprise,
Carmine. I had no idea you'd be here."
"Si. It was a last minute decision. I needed a small holiday. I only arrived a
few hours ago, by jet. The curator has been asking me to visit for some time.
And it has been quite a few years since I visited the Frick."
"How long will you be here? You're welcome to stay with us where you can make
me jealous by flirting with Lynne in comfort."
"How very kind, caro. If it will not be too much trouble.."
"Jealousy is never any trouble," Ash said. "Did you come alone?"
"Si. Vitorio has been haranguing me since I left. I am not answering my iphone."
Ash laughed. "Feeling brave are you? Elizabeth would track me down if I did
that. So seriously, what brings you to the Frick?"
"This," Carmine said nodding at the picture that hung on the wall near to them.
"I donated it to the Frick when it first opened. And I'm a patron. And you?"
"I've shared a few thing with them over the years as well. Nothing nearly as
nice, though. A former landlord?" Ash asked after he read the title.
"Cosimo built my villa for his son. I wanted badly to kill him, but Julian got
in the way. I've never forgiven him," Carmine added darkly.
"Oh, you have too," Lynne protested. "I have heard that you and he were at odds.
But you both seem to be on better terms now."
"Hmmmm," was Carmine's only response. His eyes were caught up by a young woman
standing in front of a nearby etching.
Ash followed his line of sight. The woman was tall, lithe, every line, every
flowing curve of her bespeaking grace. Her hair was blue-black, glinting in the
white light and intricately coiled on the back of her head, curls flowing
against the nape of her neck. She stood at an angle that threw her profile into
relief. The word that came to mind was classical, Greco-Roman classical, and
pagan in her pride. With her glowing, creamy skin and her stillness she seemed
like a sculpture carved out of alabaster.
Ash looked back at Carmine. His friend's expression was intent, like that of a
hunting cat espying prey. He was as still and as contained as the woman he
watched. Yet everything else about him was relaxed, infinitely patient,
encompassing an equally infinite willingness to wait. The question was, wait
for what. "Do you know her?" Ash heard himself ask.
"To my loss, I do not," Carmine replied.
"Then let's stroll over that way," Lynne suggested and stepped off ahead of the
men. "Hullo," Lynne said to her. "Wonderful exhibit, isn't it?" Lynne asked,
snatching two champagne's off a passing tray and handing one to the woman. "I'm
Lynne Winters. I own a small gallery, but spend too little time there any more.
I adore this place," she added, looking around at the magnificent room which was
a work of art in and of itself.
Something flashed across the woman's face as she turned to acknowledge them that
had Ash shifting, automatically placing himself in a position to defend Lynne.
Then amusement showed itself for just a second and Ash knew she understood what
he'd done.
"It is a lovely setting," the woman agreed. She glanced around the room. "A
modern kind of lovely that is refreshing."
"Modern?" Lynne replied with a smile. "You, like our friend Carmine here, must
be used to the continent and its ancient wonders. For New Yorkers, the Frick is,
while not old, at least evocative of a more simple, elegant, and more leisurely
time."
The woman turned slightly, bringing Carmine fully into her field of vision. Ash
had expected her eyes to be brown or even black, but instead they were the exact
blue-green of the Mediterranean, startling vivid and in their depths knowledge
and wisdom turned on an axis of sadness and age. She looked like she was in her
late twenties or early thirties, but her eyes said she was centuries older.
"It's true I reside mostly on the continent. It has been my home for most of my
life." Her voice was accented, almost like Carmine's but with a slight
undertone of something else. It was musical, the sort of voice that seduced,
that haunted one long after it faded away. A Circean poison, one the Sirens
would have envied.
Carmine's own azure eyes regarded her. "What brings you to the Frick, if I may
be so bold as to ask." His accent was erased, his English perfectly pronounced.
"The art."
"It is quite remarkable, I grant you. I am Carmine Abrizzi. These are my
friends, Lynne you've met and this is Ashley Jacobs," he added almost as an
aside.
She inclined her head, acknowledging the introduction. "I am honored to meet
you."
Whether the honor extended to he and Lynne wasn't all that clear to Ash. In
fact, from where he stood, he'd have sworn that the two Europeans were wholly
and exclusively focused on each other and any politenesses that indicated
otherwise were merely that....civilities borne from the ingrained habits of good
breeding and the product of a much earlier era. He almost expected her to extend
her hand for Carmine to kiss as he bowed over it.
Lynne leaned over and whispered into Ash's ear, "Wonder where Helena is," just
as Carmine was bowing to her saying, "Miss ...?"
Her hesitation was almost imperceptible. "Sybilla Capra."
"Miss Capra," Carmine repeated as if he hadn't noticed the hesitation. "You have
an interest in this particular piece?"
"Salvatore Rosa," Lynne said softly regarding the etching. "It's lovely."
"Apollo and the Sybil," Carmine commented with a shrug. "It is.. a good piece."
"The Cumaean Sybil, who offered Lucius Tarquinius Superbus the nine books of
prophecy. Michelangelo's rendering in the Sistine is dramatically different and
substantially more powerful," Sybilla murmured, her attention back on the
etching. "Raphael painted her as did Andrea del Castagno. Rosa rendered her
and Apollo a second time, in oils -- 'River Landscape with Apollo and the
Cumaean Sybil.'" She glanced back at Carmine as she spoke. "You are familiar
with it?"
Ash couldn't tell from her inflection if she was asking Carmine a question or
stating a fact. This was becoming more interesting by the minute.
Carmine shrugged his patented Italian shrug. It spoke volumes when he did it.
Now it said, yes, he was familiar with it but was not something which had his
interest at the moment. "Do you admire Salvatore Rosa particularly, or are you
more interested in the Sybilline mythology?"
She replied with a shrug of her own, the feminine mirror of his, that could have
meant either or both. "Apollo offered her whatever she wanted and she showed
him a handful of sand and asked for as many years as there were grains. But she
neglected to ask for unending youth and beauty and Apollo, offended by her
refusal of his advances did not include them. So, it is said, she ended her
life as only a voice contained in a jar, prophesying from her cave, the Antro
della Sibilla at Cumae. She was the guide to Hades, the underworld, whose
entrance through the crater at Avernus was nearby." She smiled. "But I am
boring you, I am sure."
Lynne glanced over at Carmine then said, "No, certainly not. The gods were...
are... always fickle. They admire beauty, wisdom, bravery, yet at the same time
seem to resent it." She paused then smiled. "Or at least so the stories would
have us believe. I like to take most of them as allegory rather than true
representations of what might have occurred."
"I find all of them wearying," Carmine replied. "I prefer history to mythology."
"You say that but you have met Sakuntala," Sybilla said absently. "And the
Lokapala call you friend."
One of Carmine's eyebrows rose. "Apparently you know her as well."
Lynne blinked and looked at Ash, wondering if they should just slink off.
"When one travels one meets many people. Have you not found that to be true,
Signore? It is one of its delights." She smiled at Lynne and Ash. "Such as
this encounter."
"She better not travel to Russia," Ash whispered to Lynne.
Lynne couldn't agree more.
Carmine offered Sybilla his arm. "Delights are most often found when one is not
looking for them. I would like to see the gardens, which I understand they have
upgraded considerably. Will you join me for a walk round them?"
She laid the tips of her fingers on his arm, letting them settle as delicately
as a butterfly. "I am told the night blooming jasmine is particularly
beautiful. I have wondered what they will do when the frost and snow arrive to
protect such a treasure."
"Perhaps I should endow the museum so they can build a conservatory over them,"
Carmine commented, before he turned and looked at Lynne and Ash. "Won't you walk
with us?"
Ash raised an eyebrow, leaving it to Lynne to decide.
"Oh wouldn't miss it for the world," Lynne said, offering her arm to Ash. She
whispered, "You are going to take me home and rip my clothes off while I rip off
yours. Man. How a normal conversation can be so erotic is beyond me."
"We could leave now, my darling," Ash murmured, his mouth brushing her ear as
they followed Carmine and Sybilla into the gardens. They were lit by Chinese
lanterns strung at irregular intervals. They made the scene ethereal,
mysterious and seductive. The air smelled of fresh mown grass and the perfume
of the promised jasmine. The moon was full, touching the greenery and the spiky
white blooms of the jasmine with silver. "But this is a night and a place made
for romance," he added, pulling her close against him as they stepped outside.
"Would you like to get lost here with me?"
"Mmmm," she replied molding herself to Ash. "It is a magical night."
The other couple strolled along far enough ahead that both conversations were
private, even though three of the four were vampires.
"The gardens live up to the billing," Carmine said softly, eying the jasmine
thoughtfully. "Sybilla," he said it more as a whisper than as a word.
She leaned forward slightly, moving closer to the flowers. "They are so
lovely," she whispered, her finger stroking a petal. "So much a part of the
night and to belong to the night is a great gift, I think."
"Is it? I cursed it for centuries."
How was it that the pain of what he felt was so clear from a question delivered
with such mildness? She had no idea. But in that instant she ached for him and
she did not want to feel like that. She did not want to be vulnerable to him
and acknowledging his pain made her that way. She drew the scent of the jasmine
deep into her lungs, trapping it there for a long moment before she responded to
him. "And do you still? When you see all of this, when the night caresses you
with its softness, its tenderness, offering to heal and to sooth, will you still
curse it? The darkness opens its arms to embrace you, to hold you close while
it shares its secrets, its freedom and wildness. Would you refuse?"
Carmine leaned back against a pergola, and crossed his arms on his chest. "What
is it to you if I choose to refuse?" The question was just as mild as the
previous comment he'd made. He simply seemed curious as to her answer.
"Must it be anything at all other than wonder? I love the night and, I suppose,
because of that I wish to share it, wish others to see the beauty of it as I
do."
"Why do you prefer it to the day, signorina? The beauty of a Tuscan sunrise..
the colors of the sea at Amalfi... the way the wind makes the leaves shiver
along the shores of Lake Como. Surely the day is as beautiful and as seductive
as the night."
She found herself smiling, disarmed by him for just a moment. "Did I say I
did? In truth I love them both. Both different, both part of the same whole.
They are entwined together, forever pressed close one to the other and
impossible to separate. There is no way to love one and not the other."
"On this we can agree," Carmine replied. "How is it you know so much about a man
you just happened to meet?"
"I did not happen to meet you any more than you happened to meet me, signore."
"Forgive me, Signorina Capra. But I only just decided to come to the showing
this morning."
"What has that to say to anything?"
He just smiled.
She smiled back, white teeth flashing.
"You enjoy dangerous things too much, I think," Carmine said, as he let his eyes
caress her.
She accepted the touch of his eyes, while her eyes waited for his to finish and
return to hers. He was dangerous, she knew. That she was also susceptible
didn't surprise her. She felt the sweep of his gaze as though it were his
fingers, the slight flaring of her nostrils as her nipples tightened in response
the only outward sign of her awareness. When he'd looked his fill she said, "As
do you, signore. Or am I wrong?"
He shrugged. "It is a way to remind myself that I can still feel."
It stilled something inside of her, that he allowed her the intimacy of knowing
that. It made her want to respond in kind, to reciprocate with a piece of
herself to match the one he'd shared with her. She didn't know if he was
fencing with her, manipulating her, luring her into vulnerability. It was one
of his gifts, his ability to know how to tempt, to build the wanting into desire
and then to need. She knew and still she wanted to share something in return,
to acknowledge the opening to intimacy that he'd allowed. "A reason we share.
But I keep hoping..."
"Hope. What is it you hope for, cara?"
She sighed, the sound as soft, as elemental as the night. "That someday I will
no longer need reminding."
"Such a simple wish. Always the hardest to fulfill." He paused, his eyes on
hers. "Is there a way for me to help you with that wish?"
His words moved through her with the force of a blow, ripping open places she'd
thought long sealed away, inaccessible to anyone, even her. It was only her
long years that kept it from her face, that stopped the whimper in her throat
before it could escape her control. She wanted to fold her arms over her
stomach, hug the pain tight, to keep it from betraying her. Who was he this man
that he could do this to her with just a simple question? What unknown
susceptibility had he found that no one else in all her years had ever even
suspected existed?
"I do not know, signore. Any more than I know if there is a way for me to help
you." She said it simply, adding no adornment. She felt like it was the only
thanks she could give him for the priceless thing he had just done for her.
"Help me, Sybilla?" His voice was soft as he said her name. "You can best help
my by staying very far away from me. The help I need that you can give to me, is
for me to know you are well and happy and sitting in a moonlit garden somewhere
smiling."
She drew a finger across her palm and then took his hand in hers, holding it
lightly, cupped in hers and level between them, while she searched his eyes.
Finding what she sought, she drew the same finger across his palm, a swift
stroke, leaving blood beading dark where her finger had touched. Then, as
swiftly, giving him no time to react, she pressed his palm to her mouth,
tonguing the blood off of it even as she pressed her own palm to his mouth,
pressing her own blood, beading dark and hot, against his mouth.
His eyes went wide as he tasted of her. He swallowed her blood before saying,
"And have you come to warn me away with a prophecy?"
She drew her tongue along the cut she'd made in his palm, sealing it before she
curled his fingers into a fist and pressed it against his chest, leaving it
there. "I no longer write on oak leaves, scattering them in the wind. I no
longer speak prophecy." She said it in his mind. "I have bound us together.
You now have a path to my thoughts as I have to yours. When there is only
loneliness, know you are not alone."
"And shared loneliness will make it better?" he asked bitterly.
"Is that what it will be?"
"What else could it be," he hissed as he pulled her against him staring down
into her eyes.
"Many things, among them the knowing that you are known." she said. Then she
kissed him.
He hesitated for a moment, a groan escaping him. Then he was kissing her back,
saying her name in his mind as he did so, holding her tightly against his chest,
his body hard against her soft curves.
She let him take control of the kiss, following where he led, making no protest
when he lifted his head, looking down at her. She met his eyes, hiding nothing,
not her willingness to go as far as he wished nor her understanding that no
matter how long it lasted it would never last long enough. It couldn't. He was
not for her. He held her in his hand and would never think to close his fingers
around her.
"I must rejoin my friends now, Sybilla," was what he said. The heat of the kiss
was belied by the coldness of the tone. He was back in control now.
"I know." She stepped back from him, letting her arms fall.
She felt his frustration, his anger at himself, not at her. He turned on his
heel and walked away.
______________