07 Art Is the Lie by Oliver Davies

Author:Oliver Davies
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
Published: 2022-12-18T16:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

FRY

After Mills dropped me home, I showered, ate, and then stood in my living room, staring at my bookshelf.

“I’m sure it’s here,” I muttered aloud. Beans padded over, licked my hand, and sat beside me. “Did I leave it back home?”

I scanned the spines of the books with a growing annoyance. I need to come up with a better way of organizing them. Any system at all would be an improvement. All I remembered about the book was that the spine was pink, albeit very faded now, and I scanned each shelf again and again until I spotted it, tucked between two cookbooks. I wriggled it from the shelf and sat on the chair with it. It was a fictional novel, about a woman who painted forgeries for a living. I remembered reading it years ago, around the time, in fact, that I first moved to York. I didn’t remember much of it, but I skimmed through the pages. The art world was vast, and the crimes that took place even vaster. It was all rare paintings and expensive statues, whisked from galleries or private houses. There was an elegance to it all, I had to admit, above the world of county-line gangs and drugs, or petty theft and vandalism. The crime was made out to be art itself.

I considered the main character of the book, and my mind wandered to Jenna Tamblyn. Had the seductive pull of this world dragged her into it? Mills had always stood by the fact that something had happened to her, and I was inclined to side with him as usual, but I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some small choice by Jenna in the matter. Had she been drawn to it, stepped too close, and then been yanked in? Or had she chosen to go all in?

We knew that she was a talented painter. We’d seen her capabilities first hand. Even without formal training, she’d be able to trick a sharp eye. All she needed was someone to link her to it all—someone with contacts, charm, wealth, and power. It wasn’t Aslan Engel that she had gone to meet that first day she visited the house, but perhaps he had made a stronger impression on her than his mother and her offer.

I took the book to bed with me, reading until I got tired, and then huddled down beneath the blankets. It was a cold night, even with the heating on, and I had no complaints when Beans wandered in and dropped herself on the bed beside me. That dog was the biggest hot water bottle you’d ever need.

When my alarm woke me up, I groggily rolled out of bed and slumped over to the window. The floor was cold under my feet, and when I peeked through the curtains, I saw a thin layer of white frost clinging to the leaves on the trees outside. Cold.

I dressed in layers, fed Beans and myself, and took her outside for a bit, my breath fogging in the air in front of me as I kept my hands stuffed deep into my pockets.

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