Lemuria: The City of Mysts

Chapter 18: The Artist

Chapter 18: The Artist

The dimly lit table was too romantic for a friendly chat. Fred didn’t want to send the wrong message to the person he was meeting with. He scanned for an available seat and spotted an empty table by the gardens.

“Can I have the table outside?” he asked.

“Certainly, sir”, the waiter said and led him outside.

Seated, Fred ordered coffee and opened the tablet the waiter had left for his use. He tapped on the world news section and chose the article about Libya’s current situation. A virus that had been spreading like wildfire in Africa for two weeks had been contained last night. The report stated that the condition of the President, who had contracted the deadly disease three days ago, remain undisclosed. His supporters and representatives refused to answer questions, even those about who was currently in charge of the government. The President’s son, however, seemed to have unofficially taken the mantle of leadership. He had begun negotiations with the resistance leader. His aim: to form an alliance with the rebel group in order to crush the terrorists that had been plaguing the country for more than a decade.

Fred shook his head at the article. The dictator’s condition had given the son a chance to acknowledge the existence of the resistance. Generally liked and respected by the citizens and government officials, he had successfully deceived everyone about his real motives. Secretly, he had been in touch with the rebels from the moment it was formed. The resistance, officially founded by Zafeera’s father, was in fact formed by the dictator’s son. He was called “Shadow” and only those in the inner circle knew his real identity. Fred had met him when Zafeera’s father tried to make him into an assassin. The Shadow, however, was reluctant to involve a foreign doctor in the nation’s war. Zafeera’s escape plan for Fred had pulled off too smoothly. He suspected that Shadow might have had a hand for the lack of pursuit from the rebels.

His thoughts still on Shadow, he realised that a shadow lingered at the edge of his vision. The first thing he saw was a plaid cotton dress and a familiar duffel bag. As Fred looked up, he was surprised to see who stood before him.

The woman grinned at him, her sunglasses perched high on her nose just like yesterday.

“Are you Dr. Williams?” she inquired.

“Yes.” Fred cleared his throat. “Are you Miss—”

“The one and only”, she said cheerfully. “Unless you’re looking for another Francesca Barbarossa”, the artist added after a long pause.

“Ah, yes – I mean, no”, Fred said, flustered. “Where are my manners?” He started to rise from his chair.

“It’s alright. I can manage.” She declined Fred’s and the waiter’s offer and pulled the chair by herself.

“I’m Cheska, by the way”, the woman said. She extended her hand towards Fred.

“Fred.” He took her hand in his.

During lunch, Cheska amusedly answered the questions thrown at her. She remembered Tony’s comment about the doctor’s knowledge in art. Fred had remarked on the way she used the direction of the light on her paintings and the subjects in her work. He sounded like a potential patron that she wondered what her mysterious benefactor looked like. Is he as handsome and young like this doctor? Probably not, she chuckled to herself.

Fred looked up from his plate at the sound of it.

“Sorry, I just remembered something”, Cheska said.

As they worked their way through dessert, she opened the conversation to the painting of the stag.

“I heard from Tony that you saw the painting in the basement”, she said.