Chapter 62

By the time I finish reading it, I am shaking. I think I am more scarred by the intimate paintings of my mother than the implications of the article. In all three paintings, Kathryn is in different poses, utterly naked. Vulnerable and yet disturbingly beautiful. I can't wipe the images out of my head even if I tried. That was my mother. It is not exactly far- fetched from what I knew she was capable of, but to see evidence of it, so stark and shameless, it takes my breath away. The paintings are life-like. Detailed. And so disturbing, fucking hell.

The artist, Arthur Beau doesn't ring a bell for a short second before I am remembering an afternoon in Linc's office where he was turning me away, asking me to move out of the mansion, talking about guilt and my mother's infidelity and this name. Oh God. He said the artist was asking him for money or something, else he would share his affair with my mother with the world. And I remember thinking why he should be bothered about that.