Together they sauntered through Nathan’s home. Spacious hallways led to beautifully decorated rooms. But it was the lighting that immediately captured Emma’s attention upon entry. The windows and lighting were Nathan’s influence, had to be, for they contained a “feel”. It was as if walking into a painting each time she entered a room, even the bathrooms were beautifully and effectively lit. Yes, she could definitely see an artist’s eye at work here. A mixture of muted or defused light shone appropriately around the room, enhancing the decor and cozy feel within. It was easy to imagine living, relaxing, and just “being” in any room in the house since you were instantly bathed in a sensation of welcome and comfortt. The furnishing throughout were modern and luxurious adding to the ambience of understated wealth. Emma’s photographic memory captured the beauty and essence as well as the appurtinances.
Nathan watched closely. Emma wasn’t in a hurry and although she often glanced around a room, her eyes traveled back as if imprinting what she saw, in her mind. She contentedly allowed him to guide her, his arm wrapped around her waist, while he provided details pertaining to the craftsmanship, part and parcel throughout the creation of his home.
Having her so near filled him with an aching need and desire for more. Nathan envisioned having her close, very close, intimately so. And although he wished he could prolong their tour, he didn’t relish bringing the tour to a close. However, time was of the essence. He had a plane to catch later tonight to Geneva and it wasn’t something he could defer another day.
Nathan led her into a cozy room, much larger than a den, but smaller than a living room. Wrapped in evening light, it glowed. She chose a chesterfield and he an opposite chair. The moment they sat down, someone brought a coffee laden tray. “Thanks, Martene.”
“Before we begin, I hoped you’d enjoy some refreshments.”
Nathan rose and poured coffee and Emma added her own cream. “May I tape our conversation, Nathan? It’s only a back-up as I’ll also take notes, but it prevents missing information or misinterpretation.”
“How long have you lived in this magnificent home, and was this a hands on project? The lighting alone speaks to an artist’s interpretation.”
“As a matter of fact, I lived on sight as soon as possible and other than directing the work, I had skilled people involved beginning to end.”
“The artistic appeal would be impossible to miss. The moment you step inside, it’s as if you stepped inside a painting. The kitchen, a garden, the dining room, an alcove, even the living room bespoke the same feel.”
“I love beauty. I have the means and artistic eye that afforded an opportunity to create exactly what I most appreciate. It was never intended to be a momentary or fleeting enjoyment, but with substance and longevity.”
“I didn’t mean Alice in Wonderland, in case you’re wondering.”
“No, indeed, I know what I’ve created here.” His eyes warmed at the touch of embarrassment he’d witnessed when she thought she’d created a faux pas.
Quickly sipping her coffee and slightly burning her tongue she thought, ‘That’ll teach you for waxing poetic. Get your head back in the game, girl!’
“That sounds as though this is a permanent residence. Do you have other homes or is this your base of operation?” At his quizzical look she added, “Your a painter. I wondered if this was where you do most of your painting. You have an incredible assortment of art, and if I’m not mistaken, most of it is yours.”
“Yes, I use my home as an art gallery of sorts, although I do have a studio in Milan and Paris and homes there as well.”
“I’m surprised you granted this interview since it seems it’s not a usual event for you. I could find very little on the web and certainly nothing alluding to your artistic talents.”
Emma felt the heat from his molten eyes like a punch in the stomach that radiated outwardly enveloping every part of her body. “I keep my private life, private. I have no need for the spotlight although on occasion I have given interviews such as this. If it were anyone other than you, it would not happen.”
She wanted to ask, ‘Why me?’ but held back. “So your wealth is primarily from selling your paintings? How do people hear of your work, for that matter, view your work if you don’t hold exhibits or events where they are on display?”
“I have people for that.”
“Surely, those buying your work want to know the artists, it’s a given. People who write books, novels are at some point expected to make an appearance. It adds to the appeal of the novel.”
“I have no need for appeal. If people buy my art, I’m delighted, but I won’t disrupt my life unnecessarily to pander to the curious and crass.”