"David Garnett - Still Life" - читать интересную книгу автора (Garnett David)

happen. The only time while she was still alive, that was for certain.
Her name was already spoken of in the same terms as the greatest of
British painters, Turner and Constable. It was all hype, Corinne was well
aware, but it was very nice for people to say it was true. And she was only
thirty-nine years old.
"It feels," she answered slowly, as she glanced around the huge entrance
hall and saw all the reproductions of her work for sale, from postcards to
posters, "pretty good." She tossed back her long auburn hair and smiled
for the cameras.
"Can you tell us, Miss Dewar," said the reporter, "which is your favorite
painting?"
She was tempted to answer the Mona Lisa, but this was no time for
jokes. It was an old question, and one she was tired of. She gave her most
frequent answer. "The next one," she said, with a hint of laughter.
The reporter nodded and smiled back. "And which is your favorite in
this exhibtion?"
"That's hard to say," she replied and it was. Whatever she chose, it
would be wrong. Every one of her paintings was a portrait, and so many of
her subjects would be here today тАФ and they would all believe their own
picture was the best. It had become quite a status symbol to be painted by
Corinne Dewar. The rich, the famous, the cream of Who's Who must have
sat for her over the years.
 She could tell that she wouldn't be able to evade the question. The best
solution was to choose the most popular subject, and that meant the royal
family. But who? The three-year-old heir to the throne? Or the late king?
Corinne had painted the monarch only a few months before the
assassination. Or the new king with his popular young bride?
"I think it must be the coronation portrait of His Majesty," she said. "It
was a great honor for me to be asked to paint the portrait, of course, it
isn't only that," said Corinne. "The country тАФ indeed the whole world тАФ is
going through a bad time. The king represents all that is best in Britain,
and he's a symbol of the nation, showing that we can all pull through these
troubles and that the country will once more be safe and at peace."
Corinne noticed Robert watching her, grinning sardonically, and she
glanced away.
"Thank you, Miss Dewar," said the reporter, and he stepped aside to
allow Corinne to pass through.
Robert caught up with her, but said nothing.
There were several galleries devoted to the exhibition, and all eyes were
turned toward Corinne as she entered the first hall. There was a brief
flutter of applause. Five hundred invitations had been sent out, and there
already seemed that number present. The more important guests, the
most famous of those Corinne had painted, were due to arrive shortly.
Meanwhile, the others paid more attention to the champagne than to the
canvases that hung on the walls around them.
Over the next hour, Corinne greeted the new arrivals and those already
present, shaking hands and accepting kisses on the cheek and hand,
seeing in the flesh again so many people whom she could now remember
only as paint on canvas. She seldom recalled her subjects; all she was ever
concerned with was their faces. Politicians and diplomats, sportsmen and