Page 3 of Painting Ghosts

I spotted the canvas on the easel, situated by one of the large, arched windows. The sun flooded the room, and yet it was chilly. Goosebumps formed on my arms underneath my long-sleeved shirt and suit jacket. The skin below my linen trousers prickled.

“Gosh,” I muttered. “I know old houses are cold, but this takes the piss. Is there an air conditioner on somewhere?”

Theo entered behind me, and he sighed. “Yes, Tyler. In an old, eighteenth-century manor, there are air conditioners in every room.” His amused tone indicated I was somewhat of a plonker. “Together with the tropical wet rooms and the televisions built into the walls.” He did the thing I hated most – snapped my trouser braces so they stung.

“Ow, you freak. That hurt. And has anyone ever told you sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?” I stared at him frostily. “Honestly, don’t you feel the cold in here?”

Theo shrugged his broad, magnificent shoulders. “I suppose I have got used to it.” I knew when he painted, nothing else registered on his artist radar.

I harrumphed and walked over to the easel. “May I?” I indicated the cover, and Theo once again sighed resignedly.

“Even if I said no, you would sneak in later and disobey me,” he murmured. “Naughty boy.” His deep brown eyes glinted with affection.

Those words sent another type of shiver across my body, this time one altogether more pleasurable. I was a teacher after all, and the scenario in my head played out vicariously. I could almost feel the gentle slaps against my behind as Theo’s warm palm made me warmer and warmer...

“Ty, are you okay? You had a funny look on your face. Do you need a laxative?”

“What?” I squawked. “The hell, Theo. Why would I need a laxative?”

Theo raised his hands with a grin. “You looked constipated. You had your face all scrunched up like this...” He tried and failed to do any sort of qualifying impersonation, ending up looking as if his balls were being squeezed, and not in a fun way.

“I don’t need a laxative, and can we please not discuss bowel habits?” I said primly. I lifted the cover off the painting and stood gob-smacked at what was revealed.

“Jesus, Theo, that’s fucking gorgeous. How can you say you don’t like it?” I leaned in, fascinated by the rich oil painting of the ballroom in all its past glory. Theo’s fingers were magic, no matter what he did, impassioning his take on what he saw onto canvas and creating something otherworldly. The colours leapt out at you, striking and bold, yet sensitive in areas where he’d painted calm and tranquillity.

I squinted at something in the front left corner of the painting, not sure what it was. “Did you paint someone into this one? You never put people in your paintings.”

Theo moved closer to me, his breath fanning against my cheek as he peered at it. My nether regions gave a happy sigh.

“That’s the weird thing. I’ve painted over it repeatedly, and still that shadow seeps in.” He gave an annoyed growl, his warm, ginger flavoured breath against my skin making me want to catch his lips and suck them in. Theo loved ginger beer and drank it ad nauseum. “I thought it could be a flaw in the canvas or even the lower layers of paint, but nothing I do makes a difference.” He moved away, and I could breathe again. “It sucks because this could quite possibly be one of my best efforts.”

I squeezed his shoulder. “It’s phenomenal even with that glitch. In fact,” I narrowed my eyes to see better, “I think that figure adds a touch of mystique to the whole thing. Sort of like a painting puzzle.” I grinned at him as one sexy dark eyebrow was raised. “You know, letting the viewer see it and wonder what it is, how did it get there, is there a story behind him/her?”

Theo didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know. I’ll try to paint over it again later and see what happens.”

He turned to stare at the painting again, and as he did, something cold touched the back of my neck. At first, I thought it was only a breeze from somewhere, but when it happened again, and then something icy pinched my earlobe tightly, I screeched and leapt backwards.

“What the hell?” I looked around at Theo. “At least warm your damn hands when you touch me, you freak. Have you been rinsing your hands in ice water or what?”

Theo looked at me, eyes wide. “I never touched you. Shit, you frightened me stupid with that shriek of yours.”

I rubbed my earlobe. “Well, something nipped me, bit me, whatever. Do you have bats in the building?” A sense of dread permeated my limbs. I hated fucking bats too. Evil little flying squirrelly creatures.

“In your belfry, maybe but not in the house,” Theo muttered sotto voce. He grinned at me and pulled me in for a cuddle. God, the man was so touchy-feely he was going to be the death of me. I sank into the close contact, and confess I closed my eyes and pretended he was my boyfriend, and I was about to be kissed stupid.

My lips may even have puckered a little.

“Uh, Ty?” Theo sounded uncertain. “What’s up with your mouth?”

I pulled away and flapped a hand, restoring my lips to their normal state. “Nothing, nothing. I think I had a hair on my lips. Pah.” I pretended to spit out the offending non-hair. “So...” I regarded the painting and tapped my lips thoughtfully. “I think you should leave the figure in.”

Theo cocked his head to the side. “You think?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded fervently. “It’s perfect as it is.”

He didn’t look convinced but nodded. “I’ll think about it. Now, come on in to the office and tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do about all this fucking brand building Chrissie is on about.”

He winked and strode over to the corner of the ballroom where his laptop resided on a fold-up trestle. One tatty office chair was behind the desk, with a plain wooden stool beside it. Theo gestured to the stool as he sat down. “Have a seat, and I’ll show you the email she sent me. I don’t even understand half of what she’s on about.” He scowled. “Why can’t I just paint my stuff and she sell it? I mean, what’s so tough about that? I’m the one doing the hard work.”