Page 48 of An Unholy Affair
Jack tried to hide his shock. He couldn’t imagine Eveline having the time, nor putting attention onto herself.
‘I’m learning to paint,’ she continued. ‘And I have to be able to do faces, so I’m practising on the one I have available to me at any time.’
‘You could always paint from a photo?’
Her nose wrinkled. ‘Yes, I could. Although it feels a little unkind.’
‘Unkind?’
‘Yes. So far, my paintings are a little, er,offensiveto the eye.’
‘You could choose someone who’s dead? I don’t think they’d mind.’
‘But I would. I’d still feel I was mocking them in some way.’
Jack shook his head as he smiled. ‘Why do you need to do faces?’
Hers fell. ‘I got carried away and suggested a project for Foxbrooke Haven, the assisted living facility in the village.’
‘The old folks’ home?’
Eveline winced. ‘I’m not sure we should use that term, even though most of the residents do.’
‘And your project?’
She brightened. ‘I want to do a mural of everyone there and their memories of Foxbrooke.’
‘That sounds, erm,ambitious?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I’d hoped to involve the art department at Foxbrooke Secondary, but it hasn’t happened yet. The residents are very keen on the project, but aren’t particularly artistic. So I’m learning how to paint so I can take the lead.’
‘Because you’ve got so much free time on your hands.’
She blushed. ‘I said I would do it, so I will. Only it’s far more challenging than I anticipated.’
‘How are you learning?’
‘YouTube tutorials.’
‘May I see?’
She hesitated, then huffed out a short laugh. ‘Of course. But please don’t say it’s good, as I know it’s not.’
Eveline led him into the living room, where a large piece of paper had been sellotaped to the wall next to a mirror. Her laptop lay open to one side, next to a dining plate covered in blobs of paint.
Jack stared at the painting, trying to compose his expression as well as his thoughts. He wondered if—with a little more coordination—Betsy could have produced a more flattering portrait of Eveline. The eyes were too close together, and the nose was off to one side. Her lips appeared as if she’d been too enthusiastic with fillers, and she’d failed to give herself enough of a forehead.
‘Um… It’s got late Picasso influences,’ he finally managed.
She snorted, then burst into peals of laughter. ‘I told you it was bad.’
‘The greatest of artists didn’t start off good. It’s all about practice.’
‘You’re too kind, but unfortunately, I don’t have a lifetime. I promised them a mural by Christmas.’
‘Christmas?Seriously?’
Her smile faded, and she nodded.
