I was having doubts about the wisdom of this trip until we arrived, and then I knew it was a bad idea.
But by then it was too late.
He started off as just another admirer of my wife's work, drawn to its intensity and emotional turmoil, to the starkness of the vision it portrayed.
He'd done very well for himself early on, making fortune enough for two lifetimes by the age of thirty, and had spent the decades since as a strong and vocal supporter of the arts.
She was well aware of his foundation, and the generous grants it provided to artists like her, long before he made an introduction through a mutual acquaintance of theirs.
They struck up an immediate friendship and spoke regularly, so it came as no surprise when he invited her (and I) to spend the weekend at his secluded estate.
And now, here we are, standing poolside, bright blue sky stretching cloudless from hills to valley.
So that's it, he says, my modest little villa.
She laughs and puts her hand on his arm. Yes, she says, your humble little abode.
He laughs. I've tried to do the very best I could with what little I've been afforded, he says, laughing.
Your pool! she says, mouth agape, it's so gorgeous I don't know what to do with myself.
Well let's have a dip, he says, sweeping his hand broadly. It's not going to swim itself.
She gives me a chagrinned look. We didn't pack bathing suits, she says. Didn't even occur to me that swimming might be a option.
So much vision and yet so blind to possibility, he says with a laugh. Let me see if I have any spare suits inside, then he turned and strode toward the open double doors of the entrance.
We stroll around the palatial patio while birds sing in the trees overhead. The wind is light but warm and scented with wild herbs.
You're in luck, he says, as he emerges from inside. He's changed from his pink linen suit into a loose and flowing beach robe cinched around his waist, and he carries something in one hand. Well, half in luck. I did happen to find this swimsuit hanging in the back of a closet and I think it just might be your size.
He hands her a glistening neoprene one piece swimsuit dangling from a hanger. It is utterly unlike anything she would ever have been caught dead in, so I brace myself for diplomacy. Her face breaks into a broad smile.
Wow, she says, running her fingers along the shiny fabric. This is gorgeous. I love it! Oh I hope it fits, and she checks the tag, then holds it up to her neck and turns first to him, then to me. I think it might fit!
Only one way to find out, he says and she hurries off inside to change. He turns to me.
So sorry, friend, he says. Couldn't find any spares in your size and I'd loan you one of mine but I don't think they'd fit. Perhaps you could acquaint yourself with the bar and make us all something cool?
A moment later she emerges and slinks down the stairs in the shiny suit. It fits her perfectly, hugging every curve, betraying the shape and contour of all it covers, with delicious and cruel wrinkles forming then vanishing in the fabric when she walks.
I can feel droplets of perspiration forming rapidly along my hairline. My mouth is dry. I quickly grab a bottle of Aperol and a shaker to keep my hands from shaking.
He turns to take her in. His face is serious, the same way he gets when he looks at one of her pieces. Like it was made for you, he says with gravity. You look like one of your pieces, come to life. What perfection.
She laughs and blushes but continues striding slowly, deliberately, until she's standing in front of him. She looks over at me, behind the counter of the outdoor bar.
Nothing for you? she asks.
He shakes his head. I used up all my luck finding that for you, he says. But he's kindly offered to make us some drinks while you and I have a dip.
He unfastens the belt around his waist, slides the robe off his shoulders, and tosses it onto a nearby lounge chair. He's wearing fitted swim briefs made from the same shiny material, the male version of what she's wearing. She looks, then laughs.
You bought this for me, didn't you, she says. He laughs.
You caught me, he says. When you agreed to come for a visit, I figured I'd surprise you. Are you mad?
She feigns shock. Not at all, she says. I love this suit. I feel like I'm some sort of spy. I don't know if you're going to get it back from me, and she wraps her arms around herself.
No no, he says. That's a gift. That's yours to keep, as a memento of your visit. Perhaps I can persuade you to come and spend longer periods here, perhaps even use this like a remote studio. But -- there'll be time enough for the sales pitch later. Now, we swim.
And he leads her by the hand to the stairs, then down in. They swim and laugh, their voices distant, echoing against the jagged landscape beyond.
