The Adept Read Online Free PDF Page B

hessian drop-curtain. The smoothness of the sudden movement caught Peregrine completely off guard, and he instinctively reached out a hand as if to grasp at Adam’s sleeve, only recollecting himself at the last moment.
    “No—please!” he protested, his hand fluttering helplessly to his side as Adam started to lift an edge of the cloth. “I’d—really rather that you didn’t—I mean, I don’t like anyone to see my work before it’s properly finished—”
    Adam gave the younger man a sudden, piercing look. It stopped Peregrine in his tracks, his voice subsiding abruptly into silence. Adam returned his gaze to the canvas. With studied deliberation, he lifted aside the hessian drop so that the painting beneath was exposed to full view.
    The canvas was an almost surreal fusion of scenes that might have been taken from two totally different pictures. Adam knew the three Kintoul grandchildren. In the fore ground, Walter, Marjory, and Peter Michael gazed happily out at the world with bright, laughing eyes. Their portion of the canvas was vividly aglow with warmth, life, and color. The expression of mischievous innocence in young Peter’s round face elicited an involuntary smile from Adam. The smile died as his eyes traveled upward to take in the other half of the portrait.
    The graceful figure presiding in the background was that of Lady Laura. The likeness was faultless, but where the children’s forms were bright and solid, Lady Laura’s was pale and insubstantial, like an image printed on water. The expression in the eyes was sweet and sad, the mouth wistful as a word of farewell. The scene glimpsed through the window behind her was of a white winter garden sleeping under a blanket of fallen snow.
    Adam stared at the painting for a long moment in unbroken silence. Then he released the curtain so that it settled gently back over the canvas.
    “Now I understand,” he said softly, still facing the painting. “You see it. Don’t you?”
    Behind him, Peregrine gave a small, strangled gasp. Surprised, Adam turned to look him squarely in the face. Behind the wired lenses, the younger man’s eyes were full of pain and bewilderment. Quite clearly, Peregrine Lovat had no idea what had prompted him to paint what he had painted.
    “I am sorry,” Adam said softly, his own dark eyes softening with compassion. “I see now that you didn’t actually know. But yes, she is dying, Mr. Lovat. I doubt if half a dozen people in this world know—and she doesn’t want them to—but you can see it. Or rather,” he finished quietly, “you can’t help but see it.”
    Peregrine’s gaze widened. He took two steps backward, then halted, visibly shivering. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.
    “My dear boy, it’s all right,” Adam murmured. “There are many ways of seeing; some of them are tantamount to knowing. This faculty of yours is a gift, not a curse. You can learn to use it, rather than letting it use you.”
    Peregrine made a small, defensive gesture with trembling hands and swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said hoarsely.
    “No, it’s clear that you don’t—at least not now,” Adam agreed. “But for your own sake, I hope you’ll at least consider what I’ve just said.”
    A small stir at the eastern end of the gallery prevented either of them from saying more. Lady Laura’s maid soon joined them to announce that coffee was now ready, up in the morning room, where the countess was waiting to receive them. Peregrine excused himself from accompanying Adam, claiming that he would follow as soon as he had a chance to wash his hands. Adam made no demur, but went on to the morning room alone, leaving the younger man to regain at least some semblance of composure.
    The morning room, in contrast with the more formal gallery, was cheerfully done up in sunny shades of gold and leafy green. Adam arrived to find Lady Laura comfortably ensconced on a chintz-covered sofa before the