The next morning Richard found Alex swimming laps in his pool like a machine. The artist drank in the sight of the young man. Alex was butt naked, thinking if he was going to spend the day posing for Richard there was no point getting dressed in the first place. After an hour of laps Alex climbed out of the pool. Richard sat reading a book and sipping his third cup of coffee. Alex liked the fact Richard did not try to help. He let Alex get on with his stuff, respecting his space. Alex had left his legs in the studio so walked on his knees to the patio and sat down before helping himself to coffee.
"Good morning Alex. You swim very well." commented Richard.
"I've had lots of practice. It was a big part of my physical therapy to get me fit and well after my accident." Alex sat back and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on his skin.
"Car?" Richard speculated on the scaring and loss of limbs.
"No boat. My foster parents were killed." Almost the truth about Tom and Belinda slipping from Alex's lips.
"Foster parents?" A life in care. That alone would make a survivor.
"I was orphaned as a baby. I could say I was looked after by my uncle until he died when I was fourteen, but I was brought up by nannies and then a series of housekeepers." Alex now knew what parenting involved and his experience of Jon and Tony's warm, quiet, understanding, acceptance and love. Ian's best efforts were sadly lacking.
"Ah, the english disease. Neglect in the most well off homes." Richard quipped.
"Yeah." Alex not adding any details of life being trained as a spy from the the moment he could walk and talk.
Richard observed a change over Alex, from open and relaxed to hurt "What did your uncle do?"
"He told me he was worked in banking." Better not come straight out and say he worked for MI6.
"Told you? So it was a lie." Alex was obviously bitter about his uncle
"Yes, Ian was very good at lying."
Richard had the feeling that he'd just been told something significant. Not the whole story by a long way, but a fragment of truth. The artist noted the play of emotions flickering across Alex's face.
Alex added "My birth father and uncle weren't nice people. Professional liars and cheats." Alex did not follow that statement with killers.
"Ahh, Are you worried you're a chip off the old block?"
"I can lie, cheat and steal as well as anyone I know. I think I would prefer to have some meaningful and productive relationships rather than be a complete emotionless shit." Alex shifted in his seat and drank his coffee.
Richard was unsure how to follow that statement, so he picked up his pad and sketched this young man with his hard face, set with dark emotions. "Nothing positive about your dad."
"Everything I know is hearsay. He stuck by my mum, but had lovers."
"Not a good husband."
"No."
"How did your parents die?"
"Plane crash."
Going out on a limb Richard guessed "Not an accident."
"No." Alex could remember telling Yassen about his parents death. Yassen had looked at Alex with such intensity, Alex knew he had told Yassen something significant. His parents had been going into hiding, a new life in France cutting all ties to their past.
"Were you in foster care long?"
"No, seven months, a short spell in boarding school, three sets of foster parents, after then I was adopted." Alex looked up and smiled. "I got to be normal for almost two and a half years."
"Then what happened?" Richard was busy trying to capture the zephyr before him.
"My dad, Jon died. He worked for the GCHQ and was seconded to the peace keeping forces on the Afghanistan / Pakistan border. He was a communications specialist. Wrong place, wrong time and a road side bomb. Tony, his partner, was destroyed by his death. I was old enough to cope on my own, which is what I've been doing ever since." There you have it Alex thought 'My life since January'.
"Travelling?" Richard asked concentrating on sketching.
"Among other things."
"So, were you at the Paralympics?" Richard had actually surprised Alex. Not many normals knew about the alternative games, the Richard continued "Spectating or competing?"
"Bit of both." Alex remembered the day watching the athletics, when Steve had fallen in lust with the American T44 Blade runner.
"Swimmer?"
"Yes. Freestyle and Individual Medley. I'm better at Freestyle.".
"Maybe I should try some Hockneyesque pool paintings with you?"
"I don't think thats your style." Alex held Richard's intense stare, suddenly wanting this man too unravel all his secrets to know him fully.
In a quick motion Richard started a new sketch "So, brat, What is my style?"
"Getting to know something intangible and painting it. You want interesting, unique or just plain broken."
"Not broken, a survivor. My father was a survivor of the Japanese Prisoner of War Camps in Burma. He was a survivor. Silent, Strong."
"What does not kill you makes you stronger." Alex did not really believe this statement. Six months in operations had nearly broken Alex. The person that emerged from those trials had been almost lost in the real, normal world.
Richard recognizing the quote from Neitzsche "Exactly I'm a philosophical painter."
Alex laughed at this statement of pure bullshit.