This one on the easel here can go to the Royal Academy exhibition; it will make a fine last tribute to an old friend and will probably rekindle my career very handsomely. They won’t realise the flattery they see is more than mere obsequiousness, and will pay to have the same in their own portrait; I will happily oblige them. Then I’ll present this one to your widow; I was the last person to see you alive, your oldest friend; it will be a kind gesture to assuage her grief. She will be grateful and—who knows?—maybe more than gratitude will result. I would make her a better husband than you did, old friend.
THE STORM is reaching its peak. We must hurry; sometimes they blow out so quickly you are almost deafened by the sudden silence as the wind drops from gale force to nothing in a matter of seconds. You must experience its power first hand, otherwise you will never understand what I have been talking about. It will make the days you have spent sitting listening to me worthwhile. You must try, even though you are so feeble now; I will support you and ensure you get there. Do not worry. I will guide you to the best vantage point, so you can see what violence really is.
We will take the path by the cliffs, I think. It is beautiful on a night like this, with the wind blowing and the ground still wet and slippery from the rain. All alone, for no islanders will be out on a night like this. You will feel that surge of danger I have mentioned, and know what it is to be afraid. It is more exhilarating than you can imagine, for it is foolhardy to venture near the edge. Many a man has slipped along there, and there is always the risk of falling into the sea. No-one could save anyone who does, no matter how quickly they run to the village and raise the alarm. Not even a strong swimmer could survive the undercurrents and avoid being dashed to pieces on the rocks, to be washed up, torn and broken, when the sea is finished with him.
Come with me now. I will not take no for an answer.
With thanks to Felicity Bryan, Julie Grau, Lyndal Roper, Nick Stargardt, and more than ever, Ruth Harris.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Iain Pears was born in 1955. Educated at Wadham College, Oxford, he has worked as a journalist, an art historian, and a television consultant in England, France, Italy, and the United States. He is the author of seven highly praised detective novels, a book of art history, and countless articles on artistic, financial, and historical subjects, as well as the international bestseller An Instance of the Fingerpost. He lives in Oxford, England.
Iain Pears, The Portrait
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