When she steps back, she greets Ellis just as warmly.
“It’s always lovely to see you, Elin.” He charms her with a kiss on the cheek, and I don’t miss the flash of colour that paints her alabaster skin.
“We ate at Safe Harbour a few nights ago. Our meal was perfection, as always. You’ve got something special there, Ellis. We recommend you to everyone.”
Ellis smiles and with a slight nod, replies, “I appreciate that. Word of mouth is vital to small businesses.”
She returns his sentiments. “You can say that again. High summer is what sees us through winter. Although, David has got us online and that’s picking up some great sales, especially now we’re hosting artists like Ocean Wilde. Are you familiar with his work at all?”
With a sheepish grin that makes him even more charming, Ellis shakes his head. “No, but I’ve heard he’s set for big things.”
Elin looks around at her busy gallery, throngs of people walking from piece to piece admiring all the works on display.
“Yes, he’s certainly created a huge buzz around his work, and I have to say, it’s merited. His pieces are so relevant right now. You don’t need to be a connoisseur to appreciate them. He’s made fine art accessible to all. A bit like Banksy has for street art.”
“Do we get to know his true identity if we buy a few?” I ask cheekily.
With a rueful smile, Elin shakes her head.
“No, it’s in his contract. He likes the anonymity. I even suggested he could come and say a few words from behind a screen or wearing a mask like the poet, Atticus, does. But he said he prefers to stay away from the retail side of things. He only wants to create. He doesn’t want to be a star.”
“You’ve got to respect him for that. Too many people these days see fame as the goal and success the by-product. I’d rather success over fame, any day.”
Elin nods in agreement with Ellis’s words.
“Well, I’ll let you have a browse. Come back and see David or me if something catches your eye. As the sponsor, you get first pick of the pieces on display, and many have already have second reserves on them should you choose not to purchase.”
“Thanks, Elin. I appreciate that. We’ll have a look and pick a few out. I’m sure they will be perfect for the manor once she’s done.”
She places a hand on my arm and squeezes. “I’m so glad that place found a buyer. I can’t wait to see what you do with it.”
“You’re welcome over any time.”
With another smile, she nods and takes a step back. “I’ll take you up on that. I bet she’s as glorious inside as she is out.”
Once she leaves, I turn to Ellis and see him already checking out all the activity around us.
“Want to split up, cover more ground? Or do you want to go through and look together?”
He narrows his eyes and chews his bottom lip in thought.
“If we split up, would that mean we get to go home faster?”
I laugh. “More than likely.”
“Then, what are you waiting for? Go and find some art.” Ellis nudges me in one direction as I chuckle with laughter, and he takes the other. I watch him go, and every time he turns back to look at me, he finds me following him with my stare.
“Go,” he mouths, his hands making dramatic shooing motions from across the room. “Find art.”
With a quiet laugh, I turn my back on him and begin to take in the various sized canvasses on the walls.
Ocean’s collection is called ‘What the world needs now.’ Each piece is focused on various themes related to that subject.
The first I come to is a small boy with no shoes, holding a rotting piece of fruit. The next, a nurse in the hospital healing wounds with sticky tape and blue tack.
The pieces are ethereal but powerful, and I could happily buy the whole lot. The emotions captured by the artist are so thought provoking, they make you pause in wonder and question what you know about life and who you are as a person.
Is what you do enough?
But the primary emotion evoked by every single piece of Ocean’s art is love.
This artist has managed to capture with paint and canvas his passion for his fellow humans. He tells stories of pain and of heartache, of despair and of injustice, but he does so with a compassion that bleeds from the canvas and seems to run down the stark white walls until it pools at my feet.
His work is incredible.
Eventually, after using my phone camera to take snaps of the pieces that catch my eye so I can share them with Ellis and get his thoughts, I come to the centre of the open-plan gallery and stand alongside a man, who less than half an hour ago couldn’t wait to escape from here. A man who is now utterly transfixed by an image on the wall before him. So absorbed is he, I’m not even sure he knows I’m standing next to him.
Tearing my eyes away from his awe-filled face, I turn my head to see what has so thoroughly caught his attention.
The canvas on the wall before us stands about four-foot-wide by about three-feet-high. The main subjects of the piece are dead centre, sitting on the ground facing each other, arms and legs entwined, mouths fused together in an all-consuming kiss.
One of the lovers is painted to look like he’s made from the night sky. Constellations decorate his black skin in bursts of brilliant white. His legs hook over his lover’s, his hands gently cupping their face.
The other lover, in contrast, is pure white, their body outlined in shimmering silver, and their hands wrapped around their paramour’s hips.
The differences between each of the lovers is glaring—one pure white, almost other-worldly, the other jet-black and fashioned from the stars—but it’s their similarities which bind them.
Yin and yang.
Night and day.
Halves of the same whole.
Two men born to find and love one another.
The lovers on the canvas are us.
I see it, and I know Ellis sees it, too.
“This one,” he whispers, never once taking his eyes away from the men on the wall before us. “You should buy this one.”
Chapter 22
Ellis
My days have changed somewhat over the last few months with Macsen.
Whereas before my time was spent exclusively at Safe Harbour, now I find myself over at the manor house more and more.
With the addition of new staff, there has been less need for me to be at the pub twenty-four-seven, and although I never did take Macsen up on his offer to run the place for him, we’ve kind of drifted into this new routine.
He spends all his nights in my bed, even the ones when I don’t finish in my kitchen until late. Walking in to see him under my sheets, asleep and waiting for me, will never get old.
We wake together. We walk down to the shore together, and he’ll sit and watch the sunrise while I surf.
Then, we come home and shower together. At least one, if not both of us, will end up on our knees or pushed up against the tiled wall while the other worships with hands, and mouth, and tongue.
Then we make sure to share breakfast together.
Macsen leaves to start his day, and I go downstairs to start mine.
Only, I never end up staying there for long.
Soon, I’m making the short trip to see what he’s doing at the manor, always finding a reason to be where he is.