Page 65 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

“Maybe they remind her of her father,” I suggest.

“Maybe. But you’d think if he meant that much to her, she’d want to honor his wishes.”

“Hmm. I wonder if the answer lies in the extra letter?”

He takes out his phone, moves next to me, and brings up the photographs he took. We turn so the camera is in shadow, and I do my best to enlarge the first page. The writing isn’t easy to decipher. It’s faded in places, smudged in others, and it’s written in Richard’s slanting hand.

“He should have been a doctor,” Fraser mumbles.

I give a short laugh. “Some of it’s decipherable. Listen.” And I begin to read it out.

Chapter Sixteen

Fraser

I lean close to Hallie, ostensibly to shield the camera from the sun, but also so I can smell her hair, and rest my lips close to her temple. I want to kiss her, but she’s started to read out Richard Williams’s writing, doing her best to decipher the faded scrawl, so I force myself to concentrate on her words.

“‘The days grow shorter,’” she says, moving the photo up slowly, “‘and the… winds from the harbor carry the…’ scene? No, ‘scent of rain. I am… confined to the house more often than I should like. The damp…’ stoops? No, ‘seeps into my very bones, along with the gloom of…’ what’s that word? Oh, ‘melancholia. My mother frets over my health, even though I…’ assent? Assist?’”

“Assure, I think.”

“Oh, of course, ‘even though I assure her I am quite well. If only she knew that it is not illness that…’ gosh that word’s faded. It looks like pigs.” She tries to enlarge it some more.

“Plagues?” I suggest.

“Ah, yes, ‘it’s not illness that plagues me, but the…’ arch… no, ‘ache, of our separation.’”

“Very heartfelt,” I say.

“I know, you can feel his yearning all the way through the centuries, can’t you?” She minimizes the photo and brings up the next, enlarging it until the words are clear. Richard continues telling Pania about his day, and how he goes about his chores without enthusiasm because he misses her so much.

His words carry sadness, as well as, occasionally, a touch of anger at those who insist on keeping them apart. It’s impossible not to compare his situation to my own. Here is a man who was also governed by forces beyond his control, and who was fightingfor his independence and freedom the same way I am. Our cultural and religious restrictions might be very different, but Shakespeare shows us that emotions are timeless, and it makes my stomach flip to think that Richard experienced the same frustrations and fury that boil in my veins.

Hallie scrolls to the next page, her soft voice filled with awe as she reaches back through time to connect with the lonely lovers.

“‘I find myself restless,’” she continues, “‘tormented by the memory of your form beneath my brush… the way the flickering candlelight kissed your skin while I worked, capturing you as only I see you,’ un… um… oh, ‘unfettered by the gaze of others, and untamed by their notions of propriety.’”

She lifts her gaze to mine, and we stare at each other for a moment. “Do you think he means the portrait in the dining room?” she asks.

“‘As only I see, unfettered and untamed by their notions of propriety?’” I query. “I don’t think so. That sounds way saucier than the prim pose in the house. What else does it say?”

She looks back at the photo. “‘The thought of these paintings’—plural, Fraser, you were right, there’s more than one of them—‘falling into another’s hands unsettles me. They are not mere renderings of… pigment and… canvas, but the spirit of my longing, the…’”

“Essence.”

“‘The essence of you as you were meant to be seen.’ You’re right, they’re saucy paintings. Not nudes though, surely?”

“No, I doubt it. Showing an ankle was considered risqué, right? Have you seen the painting calledThe Swingby Jean-Honore Fragonard?”

“No.”

“Google it,” I tell her. She types it in and brings up an image. It shows a young woman in a peach-colored dressenjoying a swing tied to a tree in a garden. “Her husband is in the shadows, pushing her,” I say, pointing him out. “But look at the young guy hiding in the bushes in front of her.”

“He’s looking up her skirt,” Hallie says, and laughs.

“Yeah. And her shoe is flying off, and you can see her ankle. It was seen as extremely risqué at the time, but there’s hardly any skin to be seen.”

“So you don’t think she posed naked for him or anything?”

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