Her forehead creased into a small frown, as if she didn’t believe his answer, but then she gave a small lift of her shoulders, indicative of a decision to leave well enough alone.
A few more twists and turns and... ‘Voilà.’
The stone and marble building of the Scuola Grande di San Rocco was a truly impressive example of Renaissance architecture—a fitting home for its incredible interior.
Kaitlin’s green eyes widened, her movements slow and deliberate as she stood in front of each painting. ‘It’s almost as if I am being pulled in by the depth of emotion, the fervour. It makes me feel...humbled.’
‘This one defines the meaning of awesome,’ Daniel said. ‘In that it fills me with awe and incredulity at its sheer...vastness.’
Tintoretto’s attention to detail combined with the overall message each image portrayed showed him to be master of artistry and allegory.
‘It stuns me that one man could create all of this in one lifetime. The detail, the anguish, the dedication...’ Her voice was soft with reverence. ‘But also the intelligence and the thought he must have put into it—the way each individual picture is part of the overall panorama.’
She turned away from the paintings and looked up at him, her face alight with curiosity.
‘Is that how you feel about your company? That it’s like a work of art, or a sculpture that you’ve built up piece by piece?’
It was an interesting concept. ‘I’ve never thought of it like that.’ The burn of ambition had motivated him to focus on growth and money, but in a way Harrington Legal Services was a work of art—a tapestry of success. ‘But, yes, HLS is my creation.’
And he was proud of it for reasons other than its success—he was proud of what it represented, of the fact all his employees shared its ethos and principles.
‘One that you were driven to create. Just like a lot of artists paint because they have no choice.’
‘I have a choice.’ Didn’t he?
‘Do you? Your life is all about work. You don’t holiday, you don’t want a family...’
Her words were matter-of-fact, yet he fought an absurd urge to fold his arms in defensiveness.
‘I’m not a holiday type of person. I get edgy. Bored.’
The thought flitted in his brain that he hadn’t been bored in Scotland or here in Venice. Obviously because this was a working holi
day, even if the work wasn’t associated with the law.
‘I prefer to work—it’s a choice. As for family—that is also my choice. It’s not for me.’
Kaitlin shook her head. ‘How often do you drive your sports car? Or cars?’
‘Often enough.’
But quite possibly not often enough to warrant their price tag. In truth his cars were simply tokens that marked his climb up the ladder of success—an indication that he was as successful as his step-family, proof that he had enough lucre to support his mother and his half-sister in the lifestyle they had become accustomed to.
‘I don’t think you do. You told me that my panic imposes limitations on my life—maybe your drive to succeed imposes limitations on yours.’
As she walked over to placard headed ‘The Life of Tintoretto’ she gestured for him to follow.
‘Look. Tintoretto had it all. He lived a long, prosperous life, married and had eight children, and even trained three of them to follow in his footsteps. Yet he managed to paint all this and way more. He had balance. I—’
Her words came to an abrupt cessation, her animation replaced by a frozen mask of terror, her body preternaturally still. He turned to follow her line of glazed vision, saw that a group of English tourists had entered—a man and two women, the man dark-haired and bearded with his sunglasses still on. His voice was loud and argumentative, and clearly he had been dragged here by his companions against his will. But he was paying no heed to Kaitlin, and he couldn’t see what there was to trigger her panic.
No matter—Kaitlin swayed slightly and he could almost see her fight-or-flight instinct come to the fore.
‘We’re out of here,’ he said, keeping his voice calm and even as he approached her. ‘Come on, Kaitlin, start walking.’
She flinched away from him, backed up a step.
‘I’ll get you out of here. No problem. I’ll keep you safe. No need to panic.’