‘We’ve got a quiet space set aside for you.’
Taking hold of my elbow, he guides me to the back of the gallery. I seat myself on a velvet-covered bench and Mindy Summers sits opposite me. Gordon stands back, with Lucy at his side.
‘You’re not watching,’ I tell them both.
‘Why not?’ Lucy demands. ‘It’s all going to be public sooner or later.’
Mindy Summers pulls out some sort of recording device. Switching it on, she consults her notes and then levels me with a gaze that tells me she’s totally in control.
‘We’d like a picture if that’s okay.’
Oh, and a sexy voice to boot. All New York and sassy.
‘Of course.’
‘Our photographer’s out front. I’ll call him in when we’re ready.’
‘Fine.’
‘So … I’d like to start with the triptych, if that’s okay.’
‘It’s the logical place to begin.’
‘Can you explain the ideas behind it?’
Bugger it. Can I?
‘I just wanted to explore something personal.’
‘Sexual?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’ she prompts.
‘Like I said, it’s personal.’
‘And like your friend said, you’re making it public.’
‘That doesn’t mean I have to explain,’ I snap. ‘People are free to make their own inferences.’
‘Maya.’
Gordon’s voice interrupts us. I look up at him.
‘What?’
‘Give us a moment, Mindy.’
Urging me to my feet, he puts a hand to my back and nudges me into a corner.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he demands, more than slightly agitated.
‘She’s being nosy.’
‘She’s a journalist. That’s her job. These people can boost your career, but you need them on your side. Be helpful, not difficult. Work with them, not against them.’
‘But I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then think on your feet. And be honest. Don’t be afraid to show the real you.’
‘The real me?’
‘That one.’
Reluctantly, and with a few deep breaths, I resume my place on the stool.
‘Okay,’ I begin. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a bit jet-lagged. What was the question?’
‘I asked you to explain a little about the triptych.’
‘It’s about pleasure … and pain.’
‘Masochism?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You’re into it?’
I catch a glint in her eye and for a split second, I wonder if she’s into it too.
‘A little.’ I swallow. ‘I met someone. He introduced me to it.’
‘He inflicted pain on you?’
Good God, yes. Mental pain. Heaps of it. But I’m not about to go there.
‘It wasn’t abuse,’ I explain quickly. ‘Let’s get that straight right from the start. It was consensual. I always had the option of stopping it, but I didn’t. Because I liked it.’
‘Liked?’
‘Maybe that’s the wrong word. I don’t know. It gave me something.’
Miss Summers readjusts her position, leaning forward slightly.
‘I’m interested.’
I’m sure she is.
‘I’m not a freak. There are plenty of people indulging in this sort of thing.’
‘Oh, I know.’
The bright red lips part, but no more questions come out of them. Instead, she waits for me to elaborate. I have no idea what to say next, and then suddenly I find myself mimicking Dan’s explanation, clinging on to his words.
‘Some people like the adrenalin rush. Some people use it to block things out. And then there are some who do it because they think they deserve it.’
‘And you?’
‘A mixture of all three.’
Good grief, did I just say that? Well, judging by the anticipation that’s currently lurking beneath that ultra-short fringe, it seems I did. Okay, so I’d better move on, explain a little. For a few moments, I flounder, struggling to find the right words. Finally, something begins to slip out, something I recognise … and I think it might be the truth.
‘I loved the adrenalin, feeling alive, alert, in the moment. When you’re in the moment, nothing else matters. It’s exhilarating.’
‘And blocking things out? Deserving it?’
I focus on the floor, wishing I’d just stuck with the adrenalin thing, because now I’ve backed myself into a corner.
‘Oh, I get it. You want to know about the tortured artist. Yes, I’m screwed up, but then again most of us are.’
She laughs.
‘Oh, I know. But right now, I’m interested in this particular screwed up artist. This is amazing work, Maya. I want to know what brought you to paint it.’
What brought me to it? Panicking now, I check with Gordon. He nods, prompting me to go on.
‘Say it as it is.’ He smiles gently.
Easier said than done when you’ve avoided the truth for your entire life. So, where do I begin? I need to dig back in time, before Dan, before Tom, before Boyd. Further back.
‘Some people are blessed with self-confidence,’ I begin, ‘right from the start. Some people are born with it. Some have it bred into them.’
‘And you?’
‘Neither. I wasn’t naturally self-confident. There wasn’t much in my upbringing to encourage it. I was a loner, didn’t have many friends, never felt confident with boys, that sort of thing. I didn’t understand why I didn’t fit in. I just carried on, hoping there’d be something better one day, hoping I’d find somewhere I felt at home.’
In Dan’s arms. That’s where I finally felt at home.
And now he’s gone.
‘But you had your talent.’
‘I wasn’t even sure of that. My parents praised my art. They knew I was good, but they never really thought I could make a living out of it. They said I’d be better off getting a proper job, settling down. I’m not blaming them. It’s not
