Part 13 (1/2)
”Can you show me one you're working on?”
”You want to see a gravestone?”
Rooke looked so surprised, and so immune to her own charm that Adrian had a hard time not touching her. But she was afraid if she did, with her feelings for Rooke so very close to the surface right now, she'd fall into her again, and she didn't want this moment to be about her.
”Yes, please. I'd like you to show me.”
”All right.” Rooke held out her hand.
Adrian hesitated, then willed herself to close everything down.
Tentatively, she slid her hand into Rooke's and Rooke squeezed gently.
Warmth flowed into her, the connection reestablished, and she breathed a sigh. They were holding hands, nothing more complicated than that.
”You have beautiful hands.”
Rooke stared down at their joined hands, then into Adrian's eyes.
”They're pretty rough and banged up. Your skin is so soft I'm not sure I should be touching you.”
”It's fine,” Adrian said, her throat threatening to close. ”Perfect.”
Then Rooke smiled as if she'd been given a gift, and Adrian felt herself falling and had no desire to stop. She wasn't dizzy, she wasn't disoriented. She knew exactly where she was and with whom. What terrified her was that she knew exactly how she was falling, and that wasn't at all what she had planned.
”Over here,” Rooke said, leading Adrian into the far end of the room where several mounds were covered with tarps. A big exhaust fan occupied the s.p.a.ce there the windows had been. ”This one is actually part of a much bigger marker. This figure will be inset near the top.”
When Rooke pulled the tarp away, Adrian stared at the head of a lion emerging from the stone. It was so lifelike, the eyes so hypnotic, she would have sworn it was alive. ”It's incredible.”
”Thanks.”
Adrian thought of the picture in the newspaper of the mausoleum and the gargoyles. She remembered Melinda saying how lifelike they a 125 a were. With a sinking sensation, she said, ”I met someone coming up here who's trying to find a sculptor. She saw a picture of a mausoleum in the newspaper with gargoyles at the four corners. You did that, didn't you?”
Rooke stiffened and dropped Adrian's hand. ”Yes.”
”She was hoping you might know the sculptor she's looking for.”
”Why is she looking for the sculptor?”
”She has a picture of a sculpture that's being sold at an estate sale here. She was impressed.” Adrian began to worry as Rooke's face lost all expression. ”Is something wrong?”
”I want to see the picture.”
”I'm sure she'd be happy to show it to you. I was going to bring her out here later to talk to you. She's staying at the Heritage House.”
Rooke shook her head. ”Call her and tell her I'll come there.”
”All right.” Adrian told herself there was absolutely no reason why Rooke shouldn't meet with Melinda, but her stomach was instantly queasy. ”When?”
”As soon as possible.”
a 126 a
ChapTER fOuRTEEn.
Melinda said she'd meet us at the hotel in an hour,” Adrian said, watching Rooke pace in the small s.p.a.ce between the stove and the chair. ”She wants me to come along.”
”I knew the moment I saw you that we'd make good partners, darling,” Melinda said. ”You're bringing her to me here?”
”You don't really need me along,” Adrian said reluctantly, even though an irrational part of her did not want Rooke to meet with Melinda alone. ”I don't have anything to lend to the discussions-”
”You two already know each other. She'll probably be more comfortable with you making the introductions. Besides,” Melinda said, her tone susurrus, ”I want to see you.”
”Well, I suppose since I'm already with her-”
”Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you both.”
Rooke stopped pacing. ”You'd do that? Come with me? You don't mind?”
”No, of course I don't mind.” Adrian couldn't tell if Rooke was angry or anxious, or a little bit of both, but as soon as they'd started talking about Melinda and the sculpture, she'd become progressively more agitated. ”What's upsetting you?”
”She's from New York, you said?”
”Yes. She's an art dealer with a gallery in Manhattan.”
Rooke shook her head, frowning. ”I don't understand why she would come all the way up here just because she saw a picture of something.”
a 127 a ”That's what art dealers do,” Adrian said, although she did think it was odd that Melinda would come personally rather than sending a representative. ”The successful ones are able to identify talent before an artist becomes popular. That's often how they make their greatest profits. And of course, young artists are always hoping that someone will see something unique in their work and promote them.”
”What does it matter what anyone else sees? The story is already in the stone.”
Adrian perched on the arm of the chair and studied Rooke. ”You know who did the work, don't you.”
”Not for sure.” Rooke walked to the door and looked out onto the cemetery and the rear of the main house. With her back to Adrian, she said quietly, ”But what does it matter who did it? Isn't something like that supposed to exist independently? Free of the artist?”
”Well, that's an age-old question.” Adrian chuckled. ”I think you'd find some pretty opinionated people on both sides of that argument.
Is that what you think? That the artist doesn't inject some part of themselves in the work-that it's a case of art for art's sake and nothing else?”
Rooke glanced at Adrian over her shoulder. ”I think the artist is just a tool. The stone is everything.”
Adrian pictured the grainy photograph of the mausoleum and the gargoyles that so enchanted Melinda. She glanced to the far corner of the room where the lion's head emerged half formed from the stone, eyes gleaming with life. Then her mind skipped to the figure Melinda had shown her in the catalog, a woman who seemed so alive, even in the small, faint photo, that Adrian had expected her to breathe and move. Dominic, saying there was no one anywhere around who could do what Rooke could do with stone. Already certain of the answer, Adrian asked, ”You sculpt, don't you? More than just what you do with the gravestones.”
As the silence stretched, Adrian tried to tell herself there was no reason for her growing sense of foreboding. Melinda was a businesswoman, and her interest in the sculpture and the artist who created it was perfectly reasonable.
”Rooke?”