Chapter 2
-Eve-
Here she was, just burst through her delicately frail door, handbag swinging on her arm, shock plastered all over her face. She knew immediately from the immaculate, expensive look of her clothes that she was more than likely very wealthy. Eve was acutely aware of the low cut blouse revealing just the slightest hint of cleavage, at which she simultaneously both glanced and looked away at.
And then she opened her mouth, issuing out a posh, high-voiced accent, which seemed to fit her dress sense well, anyway.
'Sorry-sorry about that.'
Eve didn't think she would be able to bear it; yes, they were in London, but hardly living at Buckingham Palace. Half of the people she knew born and raised in the city didn't speak so well as that.
Like her name, she presumed it was an act.
She studied her better as she lingered at the door, not knowing whether to venture further in or run off completely.
Her hair was dark blonde, maybe honey, tied back into a ponytail. She was slim, about 25-26 and had very delicate features, her eyes sort of cat-like; wide, but alert.
She gazed harder, like she would when scrutinising the brushstrokes of a painting. Her lips were full, her neck long, her cheekbones high. The skin was smooth and bright, and Eve thought about how perfect her complexion would look if it was painted. There was also a lost look in her eyes, that remained focused, yet inaccessible; all of this Eve could read from her face, her posture, her expressions, being an artist she could pick up on them easily. Yet she was completely inaccessible in the way she looked, like she was in a trance or a daydream. She was, Eve reluctantly admitted, attractive.
'You can come in.'
She made her way to the centre of the room, looking about her still. Her posture was incredibly straight, and she looked terribly awkward standing like that in amongst the chaotic mess of Eve's office.
'Look, frankly, I didn't want to do this and I'm sacrificing a lot of my free time, so if you tell me what you want to learn I can get through it quickly.'
'Why didn't you say no to it then?'
'Because it was too short notice. I only knew you were coming yesterday. What do you want to learn?' She repeated.
'Everything.'
Eve sighed automatically. People can never give you straight answers anymore; its either maybe, or perhaps, or probably.
'I was afraid you'd say that.'
'Why?'
'Because it's impossible to show you every last painting, every last artist there is on earth. I cannot simply give you the knowledge of millions of lives.'
'Well, yes that's true, but you've taken it completely out of context. Teach me everything it tells you to teach me for the course. Show me how to paint, tell me what to think about a piece of art or an artist.'
'Now, the first I can do. The second, I'm afraid, I can't. I cannot tell you what to think about a piece of art, that is entirely up to you.'
'How do you possibly go about it, though? How do you judge whether art is good or not? How do you form your opinions?'
Eve held a cigarette in her hand, now bringing it to her lips, 'you ask a lot of questions.'
'What do you expect? I'm completely new to this.'
She seemed to look a little aggravated, switching her leaning leg to the other. Eve could barely help herself sweeping her eyes over her form, the perfect contrapposto of her leg supporting her weight a sculptors dream.
'I didn't expect a student at all. I would be much happier being at home right now with an unpronouncable bottle of scotch and the TV volume on 100.'
'Well, you have me now. So wouldn't it be best if we could get to the part where you teach me to paint?'
Eve simply stood there, dragging on her cigarette looking at Villanelle for a considerable time. It made the other woman tense, actively freeze up.
'Why do you want to do this?' She asked finally.
'Because...I'm 27, I have no life other than a job and a husband that I don't love. Is there anything else you want me to tell you about my private life?'
'Yes,' Eve said, disregarding the sarcastic tone completely, 'why don't you love your husband?'
Eve was interested at this point, in the mention of her husband. It reminded her of Niko.
Villanelle looked completely off put by the question, but replied in any case.
'Because he doesn't...excite me anymore.'
'And you're after excitement, are you? A thrill?'
'I'm after a better life. I need purpose, truth, a skill, an actual talent.'
'Well, painting will do that.'
Again, another pause. It was almost as if the air around them had condensed itself into one thick blanket they had to wade through to find one another.
'Can I have one?'
'Have what?'
'A cigarette.' She said suddenly, her eyes lit up by the thought.
'Is this part of you starting to go wild and seek a thrill?'
'We've all got to start somewhere.'
Eve felt those words wash over her, as if they had punched her directly in the gut. She held out a straight for her to take, suddenly overwhelmed by her being so close.
She slipped it between her fingers, and for a second it seemed like Eve would offer her the lighter, yet Villanelle's words stopped her. Up close, her eyes were a mix of hazel and green, like a forest floor filled with fallen chestnuts. Her face was so close she could feel her breathing.
'I've never smoked before.' She looked at her with an innocence that reminded her of a child. Eve lit the flame, Villanelle leaning in to catch the spark. Eve's hands were cupped over her hands, merely centimetres away from her face, and she was pretty sure their bodies were millimetres from touching. Within a second, she was gone, drawn back to the open room. Eve observed her take a drag with all the coolness of an experienced smoker; miraculously watched as she blew out the smoke with perfect poise and without complaint.
Eve raised an eyebrow, impressed.
'What about you, then? Do you have family?'
'No.'
'No one at all?'
'I keep my private life separate.'
'That's just another way of saying you don't have anyone to keep private.'
Eve looked on coolly, but inside she felt the shock to her core.
'Trust me...' she took a drag, 'I know.'
She regarded her, with such an intense stare it threw her off her balance. She hadn't known anyone to challenge her like this in such a way for a long time.
And in fact, she could admit that her first impressions of a socialite, ditzy, and perhaps even dense young woman were entirely misplaced. Even from the minutes they had known each other Eve felt as if something was just beginning; she didn't know what. But then she thought about her past, the effort she'd have to put up with for months and months just to teach high school level basics. She was suddenly transported from these thoughts immediately by Villanelle's voice.
'So, are you going to show me what to do, or do I have to stand around here waiting, Professor?'
-Villanelle-
It had angered her, initially. It had made her feel stupid, and unwanted; but of course, she had dealt with all of that before, and knew how to handle it. So when she glanced at the cigarette in Eve's hand, she had guessed it was the direct source of all her suavity and confidence. She had been told many times before she was gifted in understanding character or people's feelings. And so, to give herself that same confidence, she had asked for one. It was horrible, like ash hitting the back of her throat in bitter notes, but she didn't give this away.
It emboldened her to take charge of the conversation, of the connection they now shared; where a few minutes ago she had been anxious and timid, now she felt empowered and in control. Not many people knew quite the extent of how persistent she could be when she had a drive to do something, an idea, a question. Only her husband overpowered her; with everything else, she had an iron will and determination.
'So, are you going to show me what to do, or do I have to stand around here waiting, Professor?'
The other woman finally lifted herself off of her desk, walking slowly towards her. Despite the height difference, she looked as tall and overawing as a skyscraper.
'You can just call me Eve.'
'Eve.' She repeated, letting it out on one whispered breath. The professor turned away from her, walking up to the wall where countless artworks were displayed in all manner of ways; hung proudly, leaned against the wall on the floor, stacked on top of one another. Villanelle followed her, her eyes catching each striking colour, each composition, every pair of eyes in the portraits.
She could feel Eve's gaze upon her as she moved her head left and right, trying to take in everything she could.
'The first thing you need to know before beginning to paint, is what to paint. And in what style. You must first look at examples, analyse, criticise and evaluate other works before you create your own.'
Villanelle looked at her, then up at the paintings again.
'Which ones do you not like?'
'Not? What about the ones I do? I don't know, I mean, they're all so beautiful.'
'Wrong. There are beautiful paintings, and there are less beautiful ones.'
'I thought art was supposed to be subjective?'
She caught her eye smugly. 'It is. Your favourite painting may be my least, but it proves my point; there are beautiful ones, and less beautiful ones, and it's all about choices. Your own perception, what you think is good and what isn't.'
'Well, I suppose...' she tried to look at them again with fresh eyes, shutting them closed before reopening and testing where they landed first, 'I like that one the most,' she pointed to a picture high over their heads, 'and I don't like this one much.' She nodded her head at a canvas placed on the floor.
Eve seemed to visibly react, and then asked why.
'There's something in the eyes....and it's different to the others. Most of these are landscapes, so I think this portrait is very interesting. The colours are different to all the others, they are all bright. This one is sort of...dimmer.'
Eve shook her head, as if to assent to her words.
'And I'm not as taken with this painting because I guess I'm not a fan of modern art. I don't like the simplicity of it.'
'Elaborate on that feeling.'
She grew more confident as Eve encouraged her.
'I never understood all of the....squiggly lines and paint splatters. What does it all mean?'
'Expressionism as a movement usually comes to represent a certain emotion, or tell an abstract story. Sometimes it is used to bring out the subconscious of your mind, what you are feeling and how you are thinking.'
'Ah, that makes sense. I never thought of it that way before. Who painted it?'
'I did.'
Villanelle turned to look at her in horror, her face betraying the awkwardness she felt inside, 'I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it wasn't good, it is, I like all of them here and-'
'It's fine,' Eve shrugged, 'we all have our own opinions. Frankly, I agree with you. Sometimes modern art can be completely without purpose, except simply to satiate the desire to create something.'
'What emotion were you feeling when you painted it?' She looked at Eve, watching her look at her own artwork and back up at her with a frank smile.
'Anger.'
Villanelle scrutinised the canvas again, looking carefully in more detail. She saw red streaks resembling blood running down a pure white square, and paint splatters of all different colours framing the outside.
There did, in fact, seem to be a painful anger in the brush strokes.
'I see it now,' she commented, 'the colours. They're all bold and loud and disruptive. And completely different to the dark ones in the portrait.'
'See, there you go. Already you're making judgements on art. It's a good start. You asked me to tell you, but it looks like you don't need to be told what to think.'
Villanelle exhaled with a breathy laugh, 'yes, you're right. I get that enough at home anyway.'
The end of the sentence finished with a hint of pain slipping through, her head shifting to look up at the ceiling.
Eve didn't say anything, which was for the better.
'I wonder what you were thinking,' she carried on, crossing her arms over her chest, 'when you made that painting.'
'I'm not sure you would want to know.'
Villanelle leaned toward her, her smile widening, 'murder?' She raised her eyebrows, 'revenge?'
Eve side-eyed her, but she could tell she was amused.
'And what would you do? If your husband left you?'
'Give him a tenner for the taxi ride.'
Eve smiled then; actually smiled. Villanelle was quite taken aback, noticing how her whole face seemed to change. It was entirely endearing to her.
'Did you love him?'
'Look whose asking the personal questions now.'
Tilting her head, eyes on Eve's, 'maybe I'm interested in you.' She said.
'Hah, well. I don't know why you would be. But yes, I did.'
'What happened?'
She didn't answer for a while. Her teeth seemed to grind behind her lips and her eyes set straight ahead of her, as if that very same anger that inspired her to paint was coming back to her.
Her features turned suddenly darker. 'If you want to be taught art, I begrudgingly have no choice but to tutor you. I didn't choose it at all. You didn't come here to ask me about my past.'
Villanelle turned to stand face to face with Eve, directly opposite her.
'I think you're a fucking hypocrite.'
There was a tension. It was charged, it was something that fizzled on both of their lips, it was maddeningly intoxicating.
She was the first to move away, grab her bag which had been sitting on a chair, and walk through the door.
-Eve-
There was something in those eyes, something that made sense. They accentuated her rosebud lips, shone when she had eventually smiled at her whilst making a joke; they had danced over the paintings with a careful consideration.
And when she had stormed off, there was electricity in her wake. She left it in every step she had walked away from her.
And somehow, even though it had barely been twenty minutes of knowing her, she felt her absence.
She thought over their conversation, her words. Maybe they had been harsh, cutting; hypocritical, like she said. God, maybe she'd been a dickhead.
Eve stood there, fully aware that she hadn't felt so awake in someone's presence like that before, tasting the aftermath of her on her tongue.
Five seconds, ten seconds, twenty seconds. By forty five seconds Villanelle would have reached the main entrance door.
As if she had been struck by lightning, she fled from the room, practically running down the corridor. She stopped at the top of the stairs, watching the blonde walk away.
'Villanelle!'
She whipped round with a shock, standing perfectly silhouetted in the door frame.
'I'm after a better life too. Come tomorrow.'
All she did was smile faintly, and step out of view. It was only then that Eve realised she was tensed, and let all of it go with one shaky sigh.