Chapter 6

“If I were you, Miss Sollier, I’d hold a memorial exhibition for your father’s paintings, sell them for the highest price possible, and use that money as a dowry to marry into a good family. You could do that, couldn’t you? You’re twenty-five, still young, and so beautiful.”

It was advice Melanie had given Clarette several times before. After taking a sip of wine, Clarette replied politely.

“Hosting a memorial exhibition for my father would be wonderful, but I don’t want to send those paintings away to other homes. Not yet.”

“But realistically…”

“And I intend to keep working as a painter. If the nobles won’t buy, so what? As long as someone wants my work, I’ll keep painting.”

Hearing Clarette’s resolute tone, Melanie sighed deeply. As expected, Clarette was difficult to persuade.

“Miss Sollier, if you keep being stubborn, things will only get harder for you. I’m saying this sincerely, woman to woman. Female painters typically only get to paint children or women. You know all too well that there are limits for a woman in this industry.”

“First of all, Ms. Bouvier, I just want to know how much my father’s paintings are worth. That’s the only reason I agreed to meet today.”

Melanie spread her hands as if to say she understood. She adjusted her glasses and answered Clarette.

“I’m glad you’re open to a memorial exhibition for your father. The price will be most accurate after the exhibition. If we hold a show to build up popularity, you’ll get much more for them.”

“How should the exhibition be arranged?”

“I can host it for you, of course. On the condition that our gallery has exclusive rights to the sales. What do you think?”

After considering for a moment, Clarette nodded.

“…Alright. I’m keeping all the works myself, so you can proceed quickly if you like.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ll contact you as soon as the schedule is set. You’re still living in that studio, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve lived alone for years now. Don’t you feel lonely?”

Clarette hesitated to answer. Lonely? She barely had time to think about loneliness, so absorbed was she in her art.

She painted commissioned pieces, copied her father’s works, and practiced things she’d never drawn before. By the time she finished, the sun had set and a new day had begun.

“I suppose I’m just not the type to feel lonely.”

She murmured quietly, and Melanie spoke gently.

“I only asked out of concern. I’m glad you’re alright. Now, let’s talk about your work.”

“My work?”

“Yes! There’s a job I think you could apply for.”

It was good news for the first time in a while. Straightening her posture, Clarette saw Melanie smiling with satisfaction.

“It’s a mural commission. A mural painted as a portrait. The client is…”

Clarette listened intently to Melanie’s explanation. If she could earn as much as the lost sponsorship, there would be no problem.

Determined to secure the commission, Clarette finished her meaningful lunch.

* * *

Many windows were covered with dark red curtains, but the inside of the studio was not dark at all. Thanks to the round windows set high beneath the ceiling.

Lionel looked up, admiring the sunlight streaming through the high windows.

‘It’s almost like a sanctuary.’

At night, would the moon and stars be visible through those high windows? Lionel could easily imagine Clarette gazing up at the narrow night sky. That kind of atmosphere suited her well.

As he walked further in, a strange scent tickled his nose. Not exactly pleasant, but more like a suspicious mixture of something.

The source of the smell was a closet. When he opened the door, he found it packed with jars stained with colorful brush marks. Knowing nothing about art, Lionel slowly examined the unfamiliar items.

Brushes, palettes, charcoal, pastels, bottles of various oils, still-white canvases, mysterious knives, mysterious liquids, mysterious sand…

If all this was for painting, just preparing and managing the supplies each time must take a lot of effort. He didn’t know the exact prices, but her claim that material costs alone ran to 100 gold each month was surely true.

‘Well, I’ve checked the storage. Over there on that wall…’

One wall of the studio was lined with large canvases set on racks. Smaller paintings covered an entire wall, hanging side by side.

Every single one bore the signature of Arno Sollier.

‘Impressive. So that’s why she needed such a big space.’

Lionel couldn’t help but admire the overwhelming number of paintings. To store more than fifty works properly, a gallery would be needed.

<The house I live in is a large two-story home. The rent alone is 400 gold…>

He remembered Clarette’s anxious eyes and smiled faintly. Throughout their conversation, she must have been thinking about all these paintings.

The lyrical, warm colors and gentle forms of Arno Sollier’s works.

Arno’s cozy, happy paintings unfortunately were not Lionel’s taste. But most people would probably like them. They seemed valuable.

All this was money, and if she refused to sell, she was left with only one option: to earn a living by selling her own paintings.

But, were Clarette Sollier’s paintings good enough to sell?

Lionel searched for her works, looking around until he found a separate space divided by white curtains.

It was Clarette’s workspace.

The area was so small that it might just fill one person, an easel, and a canvas. Palettes and buckets nearby were well cleaned; brushes were neatly arranged by size. On the spotless easel, a canvas was covered with a cloth.

Lionel smiled at the tidy atmosphere that reflected her personality.

‘Let’s see how good she really is.’

Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled back the cloth from the canvas.

But contrary to his expectations, Clarette wasn’t painting a portrait.

The background was not an interior, but a rocky mountain somewhere. A half-n*ked man was chained, gazing up at the sky.

The expression on the man’s face was so delicately rendered that even the sketch conveyed his agony and pain.

‘…Not bad.’

Even Lionel, who knew little about art, was impressed by the detailed face. He could almost understand why collectors paid high prices for paintings.

‘She’s supposed to be a portraitist, but she paints things like this too. Is this a scene from a myth?’

Lionel wasn’t much of a reader, so he couldn’t immediately identify the character in the painting. He was simply captivated by the tragic atmosphere of the sketch.

But despite the striking mood, the man’s n*ked body in the painting was not properly depicted, left vague and unfinished.

It wasn’t just unpainted—it looked like the drawing had been abandoned halfway, the lines much messier. As if she’d failed at it.

‘Strange. She clearly has basic skill; the face and background are well done, but the body is rather ambiguous.’

Does she only paint faces well, being a portraitist? But full-body portraits are common, so she must have painted bodies often. Maybe she left it vague on purpose.

Lionel tilted his head, studying Clarette’s painting carefully.

For the first time in his life, he was seriously appreciating a painting, but he couldn’t find an answer.

He covered the canvas again and stepped back, looking at the empty chair. The space felt very lonely without her.

It would have been nice to meet her.

‘Well, next time.’

He decided he would meet Clarette again and left the easel behind.

He’d seen most of the first floor; only the second floor remained. As Lionel stepped onto the stairs—

Click, the sound of a key turning in the door handle. He turned around, startled.

Clarette Sollier had come home and was opening the door.