Chapter 2

Silence can be noble. Kurt ascertained that whenever visiting Danee's art gallery. In the first half of a weekday, there were only a few visitors, but at the weekend, it was almost impossible to get here.

Catherine Danee, the gallery owner, had excellent taste and incredible flair. Often, paintings of completely unknown young artists, whom she'd discovered, became a sensation in the art world. Kurt loved to come here and look at the paintings in silence going deeper, guessing in the riot of colors and the elegance or abruptness of the lines, the traits of the artist's character.

Among a group of pictures, he could accurately determine the picture that belonged to one artist, guided not by genre or technique, but only by the characteristic movements of the brush. They were unique as handwriting.

But sometimes Kurt froze at the picture and immersed into it, detaching himself from the world. Some paintings were filled with warmth and light. Plunging into them, his heart beat with appeasement. Other paintings burned like fire, called for action or screamed in pain. And Kurt liked to taste these emotions, to savor them. Because human emotion was fleeting, but here it got caught in a network of colors and displayed to be explored as long as necessary.

Kurt noticed a bustle at the end of the hall. Workers were engaged in changing a part of the exhibition, and next to them, there was a tall and beautiful woman. Kurt recognized her immediately; Catherine Danee was impossible to forget. Kurt decided to approach her.

The workers performed their job as she watched them calmly. Her age suited her amazingly! Kurt knew that she should be a little more than forty, yet she had a peculiarly womanly figure, radiating softness and appeal. And as a quality, it permeated her being - in her blue eyes, graceful slow movements, sincere smile, even in the way that she stood. Kurt liked her a great deal, and he regretted that there were no pictures created by her hand.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Danee. Forgive my imposing, I just wanted to pay my respects and express my admiration for your gallery," he bowed slightly.

She accepted his compliment without affectation and coquetry but with a calm warm smile, as Kurt had expected. "Thank you, Mr...?"

"Rhein, Kurt Rhein," he introduced himself and shook her hand lightly.

"I've heard about you, Mr. Rhein. Are you a psychologist?"

"I am."

Meanwhile, the workers hung a picture and removed the covering sheet. Kurt glimpsed it first from the corner of his eye and his attention was captured. He turned to look closely. It was a portrait of a young man. And at the first sight of the inexperienced spectator, it was only a portrait, flawless, but ordinary. But not for Kurt.

The man's eyes on the portrait attracted him like a magnet. His look contained something animal-like. Power and aggression were visible. Even fury. Kurt was surprised at first. He smiled and turned back to Catherine. "What an extraordinary portrait."

"I am exhibiting the picture of my son for the first time."

"This is your son?" Kurt asked, surprised.

"Not in the portrait. My son is the artist, and this is the portrait of my stepson, John."

"An amazing portrait," said Kurt.

"I'm flattered, thank you." A young voice made Kurt turn around. The voice belonged to a young lad standing near Catherine. Kurt immediately noted their remarkable resemblance.

"Are you the artist?" Kurt asked.

"Yes," the young man nodded. "Philip."

"Very nice to meet you. I'm Kurt Rhein."

The workers moved to the other end of the hall. "I must go." Catherine smiled politely and followed them.

"I never thought I would start my career from my mother's gallery," Philip smiled.

"Does it bother you?"

"You mean the rumors about the patronage of my mother? As if I could avoid them anyway." Philip's smile was surprisingly sincere and kind, just like his mother's.

Kurt turned back to the portrait. "Are you so close with your brother?" He looked at Philip; now he wanted to study his face. Therefore, he noticed the rapid movement of the corners of his lips right away and knew the answer before Philip said it aloud.

"Not at all. And never were. We are half-brothers," Philip pauses. "You must be wondering why I painted his portrait then? Because I hate hypocrisy. My brother entangles and fools people so quickly, no one can resist him, and no one can look at him soberly. But here, you can look at him closely; he won't besot you, and you can see his real self."

"I believe you did a great job," Kurt grinned.

"You don't think so?"

"I'm afraid I have nothing to compare to. I'm not familiar with the man in the picture."

"You've never met John? John Fenrir?"

"No..."

"Then consider yourself lucky," Philip smiled.

Hearing this, Kurt looked at the portrait again. Excitement spoke in his blood. In Kurt's thoughts, in his personal art gallery, the portrait of John Fenrir had been hung. He examined it with passion. A new mystery was beckoning him.

"And how can I get to meet your brother?" Kurt asked a little later, after returning from his thoughts.

"Why would you? I doubt you'd enjoy the kind of gatherings John arranges."

"Oh, no. I am interested more for scientific purposes. Your brother is a very interesting case."

"Oh... You're Kurt Rhein, the psychologist?"

Kurt nodded.

"I wondered why your face seemed so familiar! Look, you'd better not get involved with John. Nothing good is likely to come out of it."

"Why are you so-"

"Angry with my brother?" Philip finished for him. "I have lived with him under the same roof almost all my life. Believe me, I know John. I saw how he treated my father, my mother, me, and all the people around him. And believe me, since then nothing has changed. People are his playthings, and he treats them as such."

"That's what makes him worthy of my attention. Could you please tell me if there is a way to get to one of his famous receptions?"

"You are sure stubborn," Philip shook his head, letting out a sigh. "I can try and get you an invitation. But I must warn you. My brother can influence people in a very peculiar way. First, you hear the siren song and can't resist, and then it's too late to collect the wreckage of your ship."

Kurt grinned. "Believe me, I have enough knowledge and experience not to fall for anyone's charms easily. Besides, I'm not captivated by idle curiosity. I need to help a patient."

Philip sighed and looked incredulously at Kurt, who already knew what he would say.

"Do as you feel best. Where should I send the invitation?"

Kurt dictated his address. "Goodbye, Philip. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure is all mine," Philip smiled sincerely.

Kurt walked out of the gallery onto the street. While in the carriage, Kurt withdrew into his inner art gallery, where he stood in front of the portrait of John Fenrir and stared at his eyes. He could not wait to look at the man in the flesh.

Would he see what he'd seen in the portrait? Would he fall under so often mentioned John's charms?