Stella walked to the park after school and saw the black Ferrari that Megan had spoken about. Nick Smith was dressed in a crisp cut dark blue jacket, a white shirt and dark coloured pants. As usual, he wore a pair of sunglasses, although he never wore the same design. Stella began noticing that he also had a specific cologne that he put on and it was a very sensual smell. She did not know how to describe scents but he was very nice smelling and very well-groomed.
“Hello Mr. Smith,” she stuttered upon opening the back door but he replied, “Take the front seat, please.”
She sat in front nervously. The car suited its owner well in terms of being debonair and urbane. She was wearing a loose fitted flower blouse and denim shorts, and carrying a purple backpack, feeling terribly out of place in his car and shifting in her seat constantly.
“I booked the National Museum for us to visit for the entire day. Are you almost done with your readings?” he turned his head and asked.
Sitting so close to him, Stella’s heart started beating fast. Like any other girl, she must have been charmed by him almost immediately. She was sure she did not love him, but she could not dislike him and not be infatuated with him. What a deadly and dangerous thing it was to like someone like him! No one warned her. One could not blame the poor girl who stole glances of admiration at this wonderful person before her.
“Not yet, I am on my second book,” she choked.
Nick Smith turned his head back to the front and started driving with one hand, his elbow leaned against the door. They were silent during the car ride and Stella felt unnerved by the lack of conversation, or perhaps, Nick Smith’s lack of interest in her. She wondered wildly whether her inability to answer during the previous meeting had made him upset. It was like a sin to disappoint him and like a triumph to delight him.
When they reached the museum, a lady wearing high heel shoes and dressed in black and white greeted them.
“Good afternoon Mr. Smith and Madam. I am the director of the museum. My name is Joyce Harrows. It is a pleasure to meet you. Would you like me to take you around? The artworks that you are looking for are all here except for two of them which I am afraid has been sent to another museum as part of an art show,” she smiled widely and Stella found her way of speech elegant and her dressing was very smart.
“Good afternoon Miss Harrows. Sorry to let you know that I would be refusing your service. I am familiar with where there are located at. You have informed me that they remain at the same area as on 14th May 2010?” Nick asked and took off his sunglasses, putting them in his coat pocket.
Joyce Harrows, Stella noticed, seemed to look dazzled for a moment before she professionally regained her composure and answered confidently, “Yes, I have checked that for you, sir. Here is the map of the museum and we have also provided you with the 2014 commemorative guide to the various artworks.”
Nick seemed pressed for time and answered rather curtly, “I would not require any of those. We shall make our way now, thank you.”
Nick passed Stella a thick set of documents and said, “Here is a summary of the various interpretations and contexts behind the artworks. Based on this understanding, I also would like you to provide your own interpretations as well.”
It was a hundred pages long, words font size twelve, and Stella thought her brain flipped backwards upon being presented with another daunting task. Was he also testing her on her artistic knowledge? She knew nothing about art.
“Am I supposed to read this before we reach each art piece?” She could not control her shock but felt ashamed of her show of her inability the next moment.
“Of course. Why do you think I asked Stephen to prepare this for you?” he replied, clearly annoyed at the stupidity of her question.
“You could have given this to me earlier,” Stella argued.
“I just arranged to book the museum this morning. Stephen had to take time to prepare this,” he answered sharply before they exited the lift.
They arrived at the Royal History level and Stella realised that she was probably supposed to become learned in the history of royals or Nick’s history for whatever reason Nick Smith had. She thought that her mother would have liked this assignment but she was hardly similar to her mother in terms of interest.
They walked to the first artwork, and Nick told her to flip to page thirty-six. She was surprised that he had even memorised the page numbers. It was some picture by a royal painter depicting the wedding of King Fredrick and Queen Cecilia. Stella ended up reading the short writeup next to the painting rather than reading the thick stack of papers. “The Wedding” by James Walter, it read. They stood a meter away from the artwork and Nick looked at the art piece for a moment before turning to Stella, saying, “Your comment please.”
Her mind was still in a daze trying to capture the artwork in her head, understand where this was from and why the painter had in mind when painting. She decided that she could not answer so she gave a lame excuse, “I thought one needed time to understand an art piece. People spend a few days looking at an art piece and you are telling me to comment a few seconds after I glanced at it?”
He wanted to rebut her straightaway but then felt that she was right. Humans took longer to process what opinions they had in their head, they debated a lot in their head, and often, end up with a ridiculous conclusion or an unsatisfactory one. He, of course, did everything more efficiently and effectively. With all the understanding in his heart, he consented.
“Fine, I will book a few days here for you to come. I will show you where they are now. By next week, I would want you to complete the books and complete your analysis of the eight artworks. I will get the other two back here by the end of this week,” he said. Stella wished she could just speak some rubbish today and get this over and done with. Now, she had to complete more written analysis!
“I’ll just tell you my preliminary opinions then,” she tried to change his mind but he did not seem to get the hint and said, “Go ahead.”
She looked back at the artwork and felt it was a happy picture. There was King Fredrick and Queen Cecilia having their wedding rites and everyone attending the wedding were smiling and clapping. She assumed only the rich and royalty were present for they were dressed well, in hats and coats. She looked at the notes given and read that the picture was ordered by Queen Cecilia and the painter, James Walter, was a close friend of King Fredrick.
“Are there many other pictures of the wedding painted by this guy?” she asked, suddenly curious that it was not King Fredrick who had asked for the picture to be painted.
“Yes, and he is a highly respected painter. He is not some guy,” Nick answered. She ignored his similar particularity at speech as Stephen and asked to see them. They walked on and there was another painting, this round it was James Walter’s personal gift to the king.
It was not exactly a photo of the wedding but it was a picture of a bouquet of roses with a pigeon. There was a letter strung round the pigeon’s leg with a red ribbon.
“How is this a wedding picture?” she asked.
“Walter’s wedding gift to the King was a depiction of love,” he answered.
“It is a sad picture,” she said, without thinking. The painting before this grew more sombre to her. She walked back to the previous painting hurriedly and stood in front of it again. Everyone was happy but the king was not. She stared harder, almost unable to believe her eyes.
Nick thought she was indeed a strange person. She was either very dull or very abnormal. However, he often thought that everyone was dull, especially girls who liked to flirt with him even though he had made it clear that he had no interest in them. He had every reason to feel that kind of superiority. People squirmed and grumbled about elitism but that was the way of life. Some people were born better than others, and Nick was one such elite individual.
Stella flipped through the pages and read analysis of the painting. There was nothing that mentioned about the king’s expression. She looked at the picture printed on the paper and realised he was smiling! But when she looked back at the painting before her, he was not! She felt that she was going crazy.
“Nick, Nick! Look at the king’s expression! What do you see?” she asked.
He was slightly shocked that she called him by his first name. “He is smiling like the queen. What kind of brainless question is that?” he answered. He somewhat thought he should terminate the contract soon. Surely, if she was whom he was looking for, she must be more appealing to the eye or at least to the mind. He felt that she was wasting his time and they had more important paintings to look at, such as paintings that could link her family history to his in some way so as to prove that the concubine was her ancestor.
“No, he isn’t. Take a closer look!” she persisted. He looked again and was aghast to find the king, indeed, crying. It was unbelievable and he wondered what sort of magic had happened. Was the girl in fact some pixie?
He asked, excitedly, “Did you do anything to the artwork?”
Stella looked at him, confused, and replied, “No, I did not even touch it. It changed by itself, did it not?”
“This is utterly surprising!” he felt his blood run through his nerves. Ah! This girl had some special connection to the king definitely. He smiled at her in delight and took her hand, excited to bring her to see more artworks, exclaiming along the way that there was something extremely mystifying about this.
Stella was perplexed by his sudden change of mood but was glad that he was in lighter spirits. There was a strange excitement in her when Nick Smith held her hand. She did not know if this was a feeling when one was star-struck or when one was holding the hand of someone she or he liked. She grew to like Nick Smith more and more, and as her heart fluttered like the wings of a butterfly, the picture of the roses and the pigeon suddenly resurfaced in her mind. She saw the roses bleed and the pigeon stabbed by a knife and she screamed in horror in her mind.
Nick was surprised to find Stella stop in her steps and fling his hand away, almost in fear. She was pale, as if she had seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong?” he asked but she merely said weakly, “I’m fine. Let’s move on.”
They walked on, a distance apart, side by side, and Nick found that there was certainly something wrong. When they reached the second picture of the blooming palace gardens, she had started crying uncontrollably.
It was a beautiful picture that depicted the beginnings of spring in the palace with servants and masters alike walking through the gardens. It was thoroughly unusual that she should think of it as a sad picture.
He sat her down and after a while, she explained through sobs, “I don’t know. I saw the flowers suddenly die in front of me, I saw the flowers become soaked in blood, and I thought I saw the ghost of the king walk through the flowers and the pigeon appear without a letter.”
He did not understand what she was saying either but when he looked at the painting, he found that the servants and masters had disappeared, and there standing was a woman and the king, smiling and laughing. And the woman looked like the girl seated next to him.