Art Lessons.
Mr Pietri stepped back from the canvas and smiled. "I like it. Do you like it, Harry?"
Harry was a little uneasy. Two nights before, he and the forger's daughter had done things of which her father would probably not approve and he felt as if it were obvious in every word and glance between them. He looked at the painting, hoping that his face was not as red as it felt.
Before he could answer, Daniel spoke. "I don't know how you do it. Last week a Renoir, now a Canaletto, such range and such precision!"
"It's so simple." said Mr Pietri, "Get to know the brush strokes and the heart of the artist and you can do as they would do."
Now, Harry could not even look at Linda. It was too fresh in his memory, the discussion of her work, the invitation to feel the brush strokes of each artist on his back and he was seventeen and having his shirt off in the presence of a beautiful girl was pretty new to him and the sensuous nature of the strokes had been impossible to ignore.
"Harry seems unimpressed." said Mr Pietri, "I think the young find less appeal in Canaletto."
"No, no, it's good!" said Harry quickly.
"Harry's very artistic." said Linda.
"Grigg should have the provenance papers ready by Friday." said Daniel, "I'll send Harry with them."
Harry looked quickly at Linda, then as swiftly away. Her smile was inviting and he tried desperately not to blush more.
"Problem, Harry?" said Daniel.
"Definitely not!" said Harry, "I'm free all day on Friday."
"If it's a problem, I can bring them over." said Daniel.
"Daniel, you know it's never a problem to do something for you." said Harry. He smiled at Mr Pietri, "Will you be in all day on Friday?"
"Doesn't matter, Linda will be. You can always give them to her." said Mr Pietri.
"I can tell you more about the Impressionists." said Linda.
His throat went dry and he blinked several times. He was torn between excitement and terror, because he was sure that everyone in the room could hear his every thought and he thought he could hear Mr Pietri's and they were full of fairly horrific punishments such as only an Italian could inflict on the defiler of his daughter. Then he looked into her eyes and thought about that evening and wondered if it would make a difference that she had been the one doing the defiling and he had just been a rather willing victim of her seduction.
"Get us some drinks, please, Linda." said her father.
She tugged on Harry's sleeve. "Come on, you're better at opening bottles than I am."
He went with her into the kitchen. As soon as the door closed behind them she kissed him. "What are you so scared of?" she said.
"Do you think he knows?" he asked.
She laughed. "He might start to wonder if you keep looking so terrified."
"I never ... I mean, I haven't ... " he hesitated. Charles thought he had slept with a host of gorgeous girls, Daniel knew better, but most of the world believed his wild tales and he didn't want to say that his first time had been at the age of seventeen with a girl who had definitely made the first and indeed most of the subsequent moves.
She pushed back her beautiful dark hair and smiled. "Harry Chalmers, I like you. You make me laugh. You kiss well. You're very good in bed."
"I am?" he said.
"My father says technique can be taught, but the creative spark, that's either born in you or it is not."
"I hope he means painting." said Harry.
She chuckled. "He does, I don't. You want to do a little more art on Friday?"
He grinned. "Never hurts to brush up a little on technique."
This time he kissed her and his heart bounced around his ribcage, stopping suddenly when the door opened.
"Harry," said Daniel, "When you've quite finished discussing the Impressionists, there are people here in desperate need of a drop of Chianti."
The End.