Selling a Painting

It seemed so simple but the Comptesse had other ideas

This in entirely a work of fiction

Some sound woke Max but the siesta had left him completely disorientated. His unfocussed eyes first detected a blurred figure perhaps ten feet away but when everything finally snapped into focus he realised it was a woman and only then that she was completely naked.

The female was posed with arms stretched upwards as if to welcome the sunlight and although he had only a rear view it was obvious even to his bewildered brain that she was something pretty special.

Of course it was now far too late to rise from the half hidden seat without seeming a voyeur. So he remained motionless.

But who was she? A servant or maybe even another guest? Her lack of clothes gave no clue as to her status although there were no telltale interruptions to the tan which covered her sensuous body.

However his dilemma was put even further on hold when she dove head first into the pool and swam towards the far end. So as he watched her measured breast stroke he backtracked in an effort to clear his mind.

Had she been tall or was it just her lissom body which had left him with that impression? Tall or not he had certainly gained a strong sense of elegance but also athleticism. And what of her features? He had only seen the tip of a nose peeping out from a curtain of long chestnut hair.

Well he would discover all when she turned to swim back but she stayed at the far end clutching the top step of a ladder before suddenly rising from the water in one sinuous movement to settle prone on a poolside lounger.

He still had not seen her features clearly but her breasts were now revealed in all their glory. Shapely and firm even when supine.

Then as his aching muscles forced an involuntary movement her head rose and she called out.

"Che cosa stai facendo qui?"

The outburst was not surprisingly in Italian but he understood enough to emerge slowly from the shade as she stood up and wound a bath towel around her body.

"Who are you?"

She spoke again with no trace of embarrassment in her manner nor any hint of anger in the voice.

"Max Weinberg."

"Ah, of course. The American who has come to sell me a painting."

At least he now knew that this was his hostess.

"I arrived yesterday."

"And now you spy on me."

He held up his hands in a mixture of horror and apology.

"I fell asleep in the shade...far too much wine at lunch...you cannot believe how embarrassed I am."

"It is of no matter. How do you do Mister Weinberg?"

"I'm in very good health Comptesse, but still feeling mortified."

"Do not be," she beckoned him closer and he obeyed although still in a daze, "please call me Martine."

He was now facing the woman only to be greeted by a further inquiry.

"Does my appearance meet your approval?"

Max, as can be expected, was surprised at this intimate and very direct question so stumbled over his answer.

"Ah...yes...very much."

"You are not put off by my features?"

Now her brusque behaviour was making more sense.

"In my position, given that I am here to sell, I find it impossible to even comment."

"But I insist."

He took a deep breath and despite the likelihood that his long journey could be instantly in jeopardy spoke the truth as he saw it.

"With your back to me I saw only grace and perfection but having now seen your face I can truthfully say that your disfigurement has done nothing to change my initial opinion."

She searched his eyes as if to figure out his true feelings until convinced that he spoke frankly replied spiritedly.

"I am glad to hear it for I cannot bear to see pity in anyone's expression."

"That you will never see in mine."

Her eyes opened wide at this reply and her attitude softened.

"I think you truly mean that."

She did not flinch as his gaze then explored the incomplete plastic surgery to one side of her face.

"What happened, I mean how did the injury occur?"

There was then a silence, in fact he thought immediately that he had overstepped the mark, but she drew in a ragged breath and replied.

"It was a car crash...well it was more the fire which followed. My doctors wanted me to go through yet more surgery but I refused."

He plucked up the courage to be honest once again having decided that this unusual woman would not appreciate any comment which smacked of insincerity.

"I think you were absolutely right not to let them carry out any more reconstruction."

"E perché è quella?"

The question was forced out of the Comptesse but she immediately saw the incomprehension on his face and switched to English.

"Why is that?"

"At present I can still see how beautiful you must have been before the accident but if you had any further surgery the original splendour would disappear entirely...you would merely end up as a different person."

...

There were just the two of them for dinner that night which was served on a terrace under vines and overlooking the sea. She was wearing a simple linen wrapover dress but one which oozed style and expense and he merely a Macy's cotton shirt and trousers.

"I apologise for not being here when you arrived, I only got in after lunch."

"It didn't matter Comptesse, your housekeeper made me very welcome."

He was still feeling uncomfortable given the fact that it was only an hour or so since she had been naked before him but in contrast to that occasion Martine had now scraped her hair back severely making no effort to hide the scars which cruelly pulled and distorted the left hand side of her face. Indeed she seemed to relish parading the disfigurement.

Max had come to Italy merely to sell a small but choice sketch by Salvador Dali and was staying at what was described as her guest villa somewhere between Positano and Amalfi. But because of the misunderstanding earlier and the subsequent very personal conversation their relationship had seemingly changed from one of pure business to something far more intimate.

And it was about to get even more complicated because as the maid served the primo course this extraordinary woman made a surprising request.

"I am to dine out tomorrow night. Would you do me the kindness of being my escort?"

"Of course Comptesse, it would be a pleasure but sadly I haven't packed any suitable clothes."

"It's an informal occasion."

"Then I would be honoured."

He was aware that she had been watching him closely but again the Comptesse caught him on the wrong foot by changing the subject.

"Before this sorry debacle," she passed an elegant hand over the ravaged side of her face, "I found it difficult to tell if a man was just after my body as opposed to my wealth but in the end I decided that there was no real difference between the two. Both were equally demeaning and ultimately inescapable for a woman such as me."

Max remained silent but his level of discomfort was rising steadily.

"Now for obvious reasons," she again raised a hand to her cheek in a descriptive gesture, "I know for sure that men pursue me solely for my money."

But by now Max was becoming seriously disturbed and reacted sharply.

"Why are you confiding such personal details to a perfect stranger?"

The Comptesse seemed to consider her words carefully before replying with obvious sincerity.

"Because for once in my life I sense that I'm in the presence of someone who accepts my injury without judgement and one who can see beyond the scars."

...

He was sitting much later at an open window and looking out across the sea towards Capri when there was a tap on his door. She entered the bedroom and immediately made an apology.

"I did not mean to inflict you with my problems."

"You have no need to apologise, least of all to me."

She came over and took his hand.

"And I am surprised to find that a brash New York salesman is proving to be so sensitive, even kind."

"Hardly," he said ruefully, "If you saw me closing a deal you would never think that way."

"Perhaps it's just living in New York that makes everyone blunt to the point of rudeness?"

"Maybe?"

Then seemingly making a decision she amazed Max once again.

"Will you please make love to me?"

He was shaken to the core for despite everything that had happened Max had never dared consider the Comptesse as being sexually available. But not loathe he gathered the pliant body into his arms while being well aware that it was the undamaged side of her face which was now pressed against his cheek.

"I have no protection with me but at least I'm clean..." He was speaking softly into her ear but she raised a finger to his lips and stopped him dead.

"Thank you for your consideration but there is no danger of pregnancy. According to my doctors I have been sterile ever since the accident."

She disengaged from the clinch, kicked off her shoes then unwrapped the dress which fell to the floor. Once again he was privileged not only to see the perfection of her body but to touch the silky smooth olive skin and then the engorged nipples before she moved decisively towards his bed.

"Take off your clothes." She ordered having laid herself out on the mattress, then watched in blatant anticipation as his erection sprang free.

"There is no need for foreplay..." This was a mere whisper as her index finger circled an obviously erect clitoris. "...I've been ready ever since this morning at the pool."

She came quickly with her legs wound around his buttocks to urge him on, in fact almost as soon as he entered.

"How long will you last?" She breathed in his ear as her spasms lessened but Max was only just getting started.

"Who knows?"

This totally unexpected offering of her body had come from left field leaving Max virtually mindless, floating on air, so her second cumming took him totally by surprise and finally triggered his own tumultuous discharge.

Later still, as she lay in his arms, he trailed his finger tips over the scars but not surprisingly felt her body tense up in response.

"It's strange for I find these," he kissed the healed wounds fleetingly, "no barrier to my desire." He sensed that in response she was about to move away so he tightened the embrace to keep her close. "Tonight I found that I no longer even noticed the injury."

However she put her hands on his chest to forcibly remove herself from both his embrace and the bed but once she had retrieved her clothes the Comptesse turned to face Max.

"Men are so good at soft honeyed words."

Then she was gone leaving Max with the impression he had been used solely for her own sexual gratification. But after closer reflection he decided that the coupling had in truth been rather more than mere rutting.

...

Max did not see Martine again until the evening of the following day. Before he got up from a bed which still smelt so strongly of her perfume he had heard a car leave from the garage way above the house. It returned eight hours later.

His hostess then appeared on the terrace trailed by a servant carrying a tray of cold aperitif's. Tom stood in welcome although Martine remained silent until the woman had left but then fleetingly stretched up to kiss his cheek evidently making yet another apology.

"You will find some clothes in your room which I hope you will wear this evening."

He turned in surprise and mounting anger but she forestalled his protest.

"Look, it's the least I could do having virtually insisted upon you accompanying me."

"I have already told you that I consider it a pleasure, so I insist upon repaying whatever you have spent."

"No, I will not hear of it because I do have an ulterior motive," she had the grace then to look embarrassed, "so you are at liberty to back out once I explain."

Martine stalled at this point and Max was forced to ask.

"Confess what?"

"It's all too sordid for words but I need you to play a part tonight," she paused and then repeated her previous proviso, "however I have no right to expect your help."

"Play a part? How?"

"There will be a politically powerful man there tonight who believes that I will soon be forced into becoming his mistress."

"Surely a powerful woman such as you can just blow him off?"

She merely shrugged resignedly.

"Sadly that is not the Italian way. In his overweening superiority he is confident that I will never get another offer and seems unable to accept that I have no wish to join his political empire let alone get into his bed."

Max sipped his drink while struggling to come to terms with this extraordinary woman and the situation in which he now seemed to have become involved. But a willing accessory he was forced to conclude as he glanced around the opulent surroundings which were in such contrast to his poky walk up apartment back in New York.

"So apart from being an escort what are my duties this evening, although I must warn you that I have no experience in getting rid of objectionable suitors?"

Martine smiled but it was followed by a look which bathed him in gratitude.

"I will simply make it plain by my actions that you are my current lover," Max sat up straighter at this bombshell but she was not finished, "and just a hint to the Principessa upon our arrival will help greatly."

...

He was woken the following morning by the distinctive perfume as Martine slipped into his bed and almost before he could come fully to his senses she was already astride his hips and taking in his morning erection.

"Thank you for last night."

Her mouth was at his ear and her nipples were brushing his chest as she bent low over his torso.

"Did it do the trick?"

"Oh yes," then she grunted as he drove upwards nearly unseating the woman before continuing, "I feel sure that I shall hear no more from him."

...

"Having seen the reproduction I want to confirm my interest in the Dali but I must see it in the flesh before making up my mind."

They were drinking coffee in a little square whilst watching a noisy wedding party descending the long flight of steps from a church far above. Earlier and against his genuine protestations she had taken Max shopping and made him a present of yet more designer clothes at a price he could never have afforded.

The Comptesse had overruled his protests citing her gratitude for his help but he still felt the lingering unease of being used. Of being used not only to satisfy her sexual lust but also to get the importunate man off her back.

But business first.

"The gallery will never consider shipping the canvas until a deal has been concluded."

"I understand their reservations so I shall fly over to view it."

He was relieved and began mentally calculating the value of the commission he would receive once the deal went through, but first things first.

"Can I put a date in my diary for your visit?"

She leant forward and squeezed his hand the long hair swishing forward to conceal her mutilated face.

"You shall fly back with me in a couple of days' time."

Overcome by her obvious assumption that he would do her bidding Max said nothing as with a raised arm she then summoned her car. The chauffeur threaded his way through the milling crowds to stop not six feet from their table.

Martine did not come to his bed that night and was gone when he breakfasted surrounded by lemon bushes which filled the arbour with their scent.

Having worked out the time differences he later rang the East Side gallery to warn them of the Comptesses imminent arrival then spent the rest of the day lazily wondering without much concern when she would return.

But she finally swept in at noon on the following day looking cool and composed in the blistering heat of high summer and sat down with him to take a simple lunch.

"My plane is at Capodichino Airport so we can leave tonight."

"Your plane?"

She looked at him failing for a moment to understand the thrust of his question before the penny dropped.

"I have my own executive jet," she pulled back a swath of hair to reveal the injured side of her face, "apart from the convenience it saves frightening the other passengers."

He actually opened his mouth to speak before closing it with a snap which was not missed by Martine.

"If you were about to be gallant then save your breath for I have been flattered by experts."

"No I will never make that mistake. I merely wished to say that I have seen far worse."

He then saw the warring thoughts which crossed her face, first anger at his presumption then an overriding curiosity which soon resulted in a reluctant query.

"You have?"

"I was a marine combat medic in the Iraqi war."

This simple statement stopped her dead. She dropped her eyes and finished her juice before rising emphatically.

"Will you join me for a siesta?"

It was the first time he had been in her private suite which although large was furnished minimally with only the basics on show. No feminine fripperies were visible merely spartan furnishings.

She drew him into the bathroom then into the shower where the initial soaping of each other's bodies predictably changed quickly into a mutual sexual exploration.

...

It was early evening before he woke to find her sitting cross legged at his side and watching him steadily.

"So you have seen worse?"

"I have seen both men and women with their faces and bodies stripped to the bone or with such terrible burns that you wonder they survived at all," he shivered at the memory and paradoxically it was Martine who then moved to hold him tight in an instinctive offer of sympathy, "and when I returned to the States I saw previously loving partners who were now unable to cope and rejected their loved ones...but I also saw those whose love transcended everything."

...

Max paid in his commission to the delight of his bank manager and tried to put to the back of his mind the delights of the trip to Europe and of having sex with the Comptesse de Settimigla. However this was a task much easier said than done for to be truthful he had found the only two woman that he had slept with since his return somewhat wanting in comparison to Martine.

Now as fall approached he thought less frequently of his brief episode with the unattainable Comptesse who had by now became merely a delightful memory. It was only when he happened to wear the clothes that she had pressed on him or when he saw the back view of a similar woman that he grew hard at the memory.

That was until his telephone rang early one morning.

"Allo Max."

"Comptesse, is that you?"

"Max, how are you?" Did he detect a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"I'm fine, and you?"

"Okay and I'm in New York."

"Are you here to buy more paintings?"

"If I find them, but enough of that. Would you be free for dinner?"

Now he could clearly detect the sound of hope in her voice.

"Tonight do you mean?"

"Yes please."

"Of course," he would ring and cancel his date, "Where?"

"Come to my hotel first, shall we say six thirty." She named a prestigious 5* hotel overlooking Central Park.

...

"The Comptesse de Settimigla please."

The desk clerk looked down his nose at Max but dialled the room.

She was nowhere to be seen when the staff butler admitted him to the suite and then poured him a glass of champagne but appeared within a couple of minutes to dismiss the man and stand looking at Max.

Her hair was pulled back and held in place with a diamond encrusted snood. No attempt was made to hide her scars which act of bravery he silently applauded as she came forward and took his hands.

"You see. I am taking your advice."

"But can you cope with the thoughtless people who cannot control their eyes?"

"So far so good but I have to admit that it does get easier with time, however if you prefer I will let my hair down for tonight?"