Art of Murder Read Online Free PDF

done in your life as a canvas, the most important and the most difficult. We want to be sure you're up to it.'
    All of a sudden she realised her mouth was as dry as her paint-covered skin beneath the gown. Her heart was pounding. The man's words excited her. Clara loved extremes, the dark zone the other side of the frontier. If she was told: 'Don't go,' her body stirred and went, just for the simple pleasure of disobeying.
     
    If something frightened her, she might try to keep it at a distance, but she never lost sight of it. She detested the instructions vulgar artists gave her, but if a painter she admired asked her to do something crazy, whatever it might be, she liked to obey without question. And that 'whatever it might be' recognised few limits. She was obsessed with discovering how far she would allow herself to go if the ideal situation occurred. She felt she was still a long way from her ceiling - or her floor, for that matter.
     
    That sounds good,' she said.
    After a few moments, the man went on:
    'Naturally, you'll have to drop everything else for a considerable length of time.'
    ‘I can drop everything if the offer is worth it.'
    'The offer is worth it.'
    'And I'm simply supposed to believe that?'
    'Neither of us wants to rush into this, do we?' The man put his hand in his inside pocket. A black leather wallet. A turquoise-coloured card. 'Call this number. You have until tomorrow evening, Thursday.'
    Before she put the card into her robe pocket, she glanced at it: the only thing on it was a phone number. It might be a mobile.
    Gertrude's office was small, with white walls and no windows. Despite this, to Clara it seemed as if it had started to rain outside. There was, at least, a muffled impression of rain. The two men were staring at her, as if waiting for her to say something. So she replied:
    ‘I don't like accepting offers I know nothing about.'
    'You don't need to know anything. You are the work of art. The only one who needs to know is the artist.'
    'Well then, at least tell me the name of the artist who wants to paint me.'
    'That's something we can't reveal.'
    She accepted this refusal without protest. She knew the man was telling the truth. The great painters never revealed their identity to the canvas until their work had started: it was their way of maintaining an element of secrecy about the painting they were going to do.
    The door opened and Gertrude appeared.
    'I'm sorry, but I'm going out to lunch and I need to shut the gallery.'
    'Don't worry, we've just finished.' The two men picked up the catalogues and walked out without another word.
    While she was on show that afternoon, Clara's breasts moved up and down with her breathing. She was so nervous that a state of quiescence was much more difficult to achieve than usual. But daydreaming helped her to stay still, because when dreaming one can move without moving. The time went by and nobody came down to see her, but she wasn't concerned, because she had her fantasies to keep her company
     
    The toughest and most risky. The most important and difficult.
     
    Her greatest desire was to be painted by a genius. Various names sprang to mind, but she hardly dared speculate that it might be one of them. She didn't want to raise her hopes up too high, so as not to be disappointed. She kept in her pose in the silent whiteness of the room until Gertrude told her it was time to close.
    Outside it really was raining: a violent summer shower that had been forecast on TV. On other occasions she would have run to the car park entrance, but today she preferred to walk slowly in the downpour, with her make-up bag slung over her shoulder. She realised her tracksuit was clinging to her like a wet sheet, and the beret was dripping on to her face, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. In fact, she welcomed it. Cold diamonds of water showering down upon her.
     
    The toughest and most risky. The most important and difficult.
     
    What if it was a trap? It had been