The Kiss by Emma Shortt Read Free Book Online

were plenty of other statues that she wanted to get a first
sketch of, the embracing men, the renaissance ladies—she wanted to get a look
at them all. Plus she wouldn’t mind having a good look at the whole house, see
if anyone else lived hereabouts. Maybe pump them for a bit of gossip regarding
Grace, the Estate, and what sort of guests required such long holidays. Eva had
got the impression they’d be expecting only one set of guests. Rich and lazy
ones probably.
    “I’ll be back,” she said. “Tomorrow maybe, right after I’ve
scoffed down a load of croissants. It’s so nice to be able to eat them again,
not for my figure obviously, but damn I’ve missed my Parisian breakfasts. You
know, I used to eat croissants and orange juice every morning before work…” Eva
trailed off, shaking herself. You’re telling a statue about your old
breakfast routine? She laughed, well why not? Who else exactly did she have
to talk to? “I’ll take another sketch tomorrow,” she continued, “and then we’ll
start thinking about how we can put you on canvas. You’ll be beautiful.”
    She circled him once more, taking everything in just in case she
decided to do a few more sketches tonight from memory. She noticed one blemish
on his back, running along his shoulder blade, a raised surface almost like the
shape of an old style sculptor’s blade. The curvature was quite distinctive,
Eva remembered seeing them in the studio. Was it purposeful, a sort of
signature? Surely it had to be.
    “It doesn’t mar your perfection at all,” Eva said. “Intentional
or not.”
    Running a finger over the fountain’s lip she took a deep,
satisfying breath, wondering why she felt strangely reluctant to leave her
Adonis. Oh he’s your Adonis now is he?
    A bell rang inside the house, audible even out here. Maybe it was
the wake up call? Eva looked around, almost guiltily. No, she did not want her
colleagues to catch her talking to a statue. They’ll think you’re a fruitloop.
Normal people do not talk to inanimate objects. 
    She sighed, since when had she ever been normal? She was an
artist after all, and if talking to her muse helped so be it. Though, maybe it
was best to do it when others weren’t likely to notice. With that in mind she
cast Adonis one last lingering glance, and sketch pad at the ready, breath
freezing in the air, she stomped off towards the gloriously embracing men.
     
     

Chapter
Eight
     
     
    “Damn it, Grace, how many more times do you want me to tell it?”
Adam shouted from his seat next to the fire.
    Grace cast him a reproachful glance and he shivered. Must calm
down, must get a grip.
     “That’s what happened, Grace! Bloody hell, why would I lie?” He
shivered again and pulled his blanket a little closer. What the hell is
wrong with me? Adam was freezing cold, nothing was warming him, not the
roaring flames or the copious amounts of sweet tea Grace insisted he drink.
    “Well it sounds like a load of old nonsense, Adam. Ye say she
burnt ye yet there’s nary a mark on you at all, and ye rode back to the hall
alreet.”
    Why isn’t the fire working properly! “I don’t even
remember riding back here, Grace. The first thing I recall is you standing over
me here a half hour ago, blanket and tea in hand.”
     Grace shook her head. “Granny can do some frightful things but I
would’nee believe even that of her. Probably she made you drink something and
ye don’t remember, ye have a nightmare and only now are ye just awakening from
it.”
    “I know what happened damn it,” Adam insisted, though truth be
told he felt the memories slipping away from him. Like the first moments of
waking when everything is so clear but then slowly, surely, everything starts
to fade.
    He clearly remembered Granny picking up the pan, flinging the
boiling water but after that? Nothing, nothing but pain and then darkness. How
he’d gotten home he didn’t know, but he had. Maybe Grace is right, maybe
she’d worked some