The Sculptress V.S. Alexander (ebooks that read to you .txt) đ
- Author: V.S. Alexander
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âEvery critic has his price.â
âNot Vreland. If I remember correctly, he wrote that your statue had the âsoul of an icicle.â That criticism alone laid bare his foul soul.â Alex sipped the scotch, then tilted the glass toward Emma. âBut, what do I care now. I survived the war without a scratch. I can thank my mother for giving birth to me when she didâmaking me just old enough not to be drafted.â His mouth puckered as if he had said something distasteful. âIâm seeing a wonderful man and weâre moving to New York. . . .â He set his drink amid the books and papers on his desk and fidgeted with his cigarette, acting as if he had revealed too much.
Emma nodded, signaling him that she understood his concern. âIâm truly sorry about the gallery, but Iâm happy that the Fountain exhibited my work, and equally pleased that you sold my Diana. But thatâs not why I ventured out tonight. I came to ask you a question.â
Alex leaned against the desk. âIâm sure I know the question and the answerâI havenât seen Linton for months. I donât even know where he lives. I think he moved to a smaller apartment somewhereâbecause he couldnât afford . . .â
Emma sat silently, uncertain what to say.
Alex reached for his glass. âWe had a falling out . . . to put it politely.â He poured another shot of scotch and gulped it. âShortly after I made my decision to close, Linton left the gallery in a rage. I held out for my artists as long as I could, but I couldnât keep pouring money into it forever. Sales had slowed, including Lintonâs work. I didnât know the war would be over so quickly after reaching my conclusion. The war wasnât the only reason, however. You were a cause as well. Are you sure you wouldnât like a drink?â
Emma shook her head.
âWe argued about you,â Alex continued. âLinton said he was in love with you and could never be in love with me . . . or a man at all. I held on to the fantasy of a life with him for a time, even after Louisa told me about the two of you in his studio.â
Pain swirled in his eyes.
âBut, I finally said enough was enough. Every fixation . . . obsession, if you will . . . has a precipice where one falls into madness. I think you might understand what I mean . . .â
Emma nodded.
âFortunately, I recognized our personal relationship was over and stepped backâour business dealings as wellâbecause the gallery was dead. Linton stormed out after I told him, more hurt and frustrated than angry, I think, and that was that. I shipped his paintings to his studio the next day along with the money I owed him. A few weeks later, I saw him on the street, looking haggard and depressed, like heâd lost his last friend. It nearly broke my heart. I didnât want to see himâdonât want to see him, until I can bear the pain of my . . . âunrequitedâ love. I suppose thatâs selfish, but itâs how I protect myself.â
âYou donât know whether heâs well or not?â Emma asked.
A flush spread across his face. âNo. Iâm sorry. I loveârather lovedâhim too much. I hope you understandâitâs not healthy for me to see him.â
She understood all too well.
Alex jumped at the electric buzz that filled the room. âThatâll be . . . at the door. Oh, you could give a damn.â
âI do, but I must get home.â Emma got up from the chair. âDoes Linton still have his studio?â
Alex grimaced. âNot unless he found someone to bankroll him, but that would be a happy ending to a sad story. Letâs go down. Iâm sorry to cut our visit short, but my friend is here . . . I didnât know you were coming.â
âI wanted it to be a surprise.â
âIt certainly was,â Alex said as they descended the stairs. He opened the door and a handsome young man doffed his hat, brushed past Emma without a word, and headed up to the apartment.
âAh, the manners of youth,â Alex said. âAt the very least, heâs discreet.â
âGood-bye, Alex,â Emma said and kissed him on the cheek. âI hope life works out well for you in New York . . . I hope life works out well for both of us.â
âWe shall see. Perhaps New York will be kinder to me than Boston. Good-bye, Emma.â He closed the door, leaving her on the cold landing.
* * *
Anneâs footsteps padded on the stairs, preparing Emma for the knock on her studio door.
Gray light filtered through the window. She closed the cover on a sketch pad she hadnât touched in more than two years. In it were some of the first drawings of The Narcissus. The flowing lines brought back memories of her time with Linton, but the sketch depicting the face was offâtoo formal, too stilted, with little regard for human feeling.
Why does everything revolve around the face?
âEmma,â her housekeeper said awkwardly, still uncomfortable with addressing her by her first name, âitâs Miss Markham to see you.â
âReally?â Emma asked, surprised that Louisa would call.
âYes, I told her you werenât to be disturbed, but she insisted on discussing âa matter of importance.ââ
âWell, the topic must be important for Louisa to come here. Send her up, please.â
In a few moments, Emma heard the click of her guestâs heels on the stairs. She glanced away from her desk when Louisa arrived, but the flash of color was too much to ignore. Attired in a scarlet coat, matching dress, and black sash, Louisa entered like an exotic bird, her
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