Things Unsaid

Salome shows up to her lesson a few minutes late carrying a brown notebook, her hair uncharacteristically unkempt, looking like she hadn’t slept a wink last night.

“Something kept you up?” I ask her.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what my style is,” she mutters, taking her familiar place by the easel. “I’ve been sketching all night, look…”

She flips through the notebook and shows me what she’s been working on. I see sketch after sketch, the collection of drawings all reminiscent of things that we’ve worked on before. I keep my mouth shut, silently hoping to see a spark of originality, but by the time she’s flipped through the bunch of them, it’s clear to me that she’s still quite a ways off developing her own style. This is all just mechanical repetition.

She looks up at me, seeming to sense my disappointment, and makes a face.

“I know it’s no good,” she says. “But I can’t figure out something for myself!”

“Don’t get flustered,” I say, trying to sound soothing. I take her hand, guiding it to the paints. “As I said, it takes time. Just because it didn’t click yesterday, doesn’t mean it won’t today, or tomorrow, or sometime soon…”

“I know,” Salome says, sounding hesitant, and it’s in that moment that she glances back, and sees Irene standing there in the corner of the room, watching us.

“Hey, now hold on just a second,” Salome says, eyes narrowing at the new face in the room. “What are you doing here?”

“You were there for that meeting,” Irene says. “Need it be explained again?”

“You know I can be trusted,” Salome says. “I find it uncomfortable that you’re here for this lesson. It’s hard to make art when somebody else is watching you.”

“Imagine I’m part of the wallpaper then,” Irene says, a faint smile playing across her lips. “Besides. The Boss was clear in his instructions. I’m never to lead Mr. Ashworth’s side.”

“He’s safe enough here,” Salome says, but there’s no fight to her words. Irene doesn’t budge, only leaning back against the wall and smiling a little wider. Salome turns to face the easel, and sighs, looking at me. “What should I paint today?”

“Whatever strikes your fancy,” I reply.

Salome takes a step back, hand on her hip, pondering what she might create today.

It ends up being another Picasso study.

The lesson with Sofia goes a little differently.

“You’re one of the bodyguards, right?” she asks as soon as she walks into the room.

Irene, standing in that same corner, nods.

“And what are you doing here?” Sofia asks, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“I’ve been assigned to protect Mr. Ashworth at all times,” Irene replies, matching the cold gaze of Father’s youngest wife. “That would include during this art lesson."

“Is that right?” she says, slowly pacing around the room, circling towards Irene. “Why the sudden change?”

“Some credible threats in response to recent news,” Irene says simply.

There’s a pause, in which she doesn’t elaborate, and Sofia turns to me instead, her blue eyes sharp as ice.

“What’s changed?” she asks again.

She can be frightening, I’ve come to realise, and wanting to get into her pants again aside… I wouldn’t want to get into her bad books.

“I’ve taken a position in Maddie’s campaign,” I say, taking a friendlier tone. “The announcement was made yesterday. It seems that some people who know me from my actions in Colombia are… less than thrilled.”

I give her my version of a falsely reassuring smile, trying to communicate to her that all isn’t as it seems. I hope, based on her initial suspicions, and the quiet stare she gives me, that she’s cluing in to what’s really going on.

“You’ve taken a position in Maddie’s campaign,” she says slowly, digesting the words.

This is news to her? Does no one around here keep in the loop? But I shouldn’t be surprised by that. She’s not favoured by Father, and without Father… well, she’s really got nobody.

“I’ll be a Deputy Campaign Manager. I report in West Virginia on the first,” I say, matter-of-fact.

This is the first thing that seems to truly take Sofia off her guard. I see the way her eyes widen, the way she looks at Irene again, and then back at me.

“You’re leaving in six days!” she exclaims. “But I thought you were the artist-in-residence here! How can you just take up another job?”

“I’m still working for the same family,” I say, “and I’ll still conduct my duties as an artist. Your husband and I talked, and I’ll be taking frequent flights back to the mansion.”

Truth be told, it wasn’t so much Father and I talking as it was me receiving a message from him, relayed through Irene. But a little embellishment of the truth is sometimes necessary to make it go down more easily.

“But it’s not just anyone… how did you get this job?” she asks, still trying to find her footing.

“I met Mr. Morton, the RNC chair, a short while back,” I say with casual ease. “We hit it off. One thing led to another, and… well, you know the rest.”

I see Sofia’s fingers curling ever-so-slightly as she listens to me, and then she gives Irene a meaningful look.

“Could you excuse the two of us for a moment?” she asks.

Irene shakes her head.

“Sorry. Express orders from your husband,” she says. “I’m not to ever leave Claude’s side. The security risk is too great.”

“In here?” Sofia sputters, gesturing at this room in the middle of a mansion constantly patrolled by a small army of guards and other security personnel.

“In here,” Irene agrees. “Take it up with my Boss if you must.”

Sofia pauses, as if considering actually doing that right then and now, and then she shakes her head, eyeing me carefully. I can see the gears turning in her head, the way that she must have figured out a kernel of the truth. She gives Irene an artificially wide smile.

“It’s not such a big deal to me,” Sofia says, her voice unusually airy. “Shall we get on with the lesson then, Claude?”

“My pleasure,” I say, handing her a paintbrush.

It’s been a chaotic time for me… sorry for the long break, but I am back! Rest assured that I’ll eventually see this thing through. Thanks for sticking with the story!