บททั้งหมดของ The Art of Jessica Jane: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

Jessica tried to convince herself she was imagining things.For three days she succeeded.Mostly.By the fourth day, she wasn't so sure.Nothing obvious had happened.Nobody had threatened her.Nobody had followed her openly.Nothing she could point to.Yet the feeling remained.That quiet instinct.That whisper at the back of her mind.The one Henri had told her to trust.If something ever feels wrong... trust yourself.The words kept returning.Again and again.On Tuesday evening, Jessica left the gallery later than usual.The exhibition had generated a mountain of paperwork.Invoices.Sales records.Shipping arrangements.The glamorous side of the art world, apparently.By the time she stepped outside, darkness had settled across Paris.The streets remained busy.People filled cafés.Music drifted from open doorways.Laughter echoed along the pavement.The city felt alive.Yet something felt off.Jessica stopped walking.Only briefly.The sensation arrived suddenly.Like a hand bru

The rain returned the following week.Paris seemed to wear rain differently from England.The city didn't retreat from it.People simply carried umbrellas and continued living.Cafés remained busy.Artists remained outside painting.Life carried on.Jessica found herself liking that.There was something stubborn about Paris.Something resilient.Perhaps that was why it suited her.Tuesday morning began quietly.Henri arrived late.An unusual event.A concerning event.Jessica was unlocking the gallery when she saw him walking slowly along the street.Immediately she frowned.The old man looked exhausted.Not tired.Exhausted.The sort of exhaustion that seemed to settle into a person's bones."You're late."Henri smiled."An excellent observation."Jessica folded her arms."You look terrible."The old man looked offended."I am French.""Exactly."Henri laughed.Then winced slightly.Only briefly.But Jessica saw it.The smile disappeared from her face immediately."Henri.""I'm fine.

Jessica slept badly.The dreams returned.Not the old nightmares exactly.Not Uncle Robert.Not Jonathan.Not specific memories.Feelings.Fear.Powerlessness.The sensation of being trapped.The sensation of somebody deciding they were entitled to something that wasn't theirs.She woke before dawn.Heart racing.Sheets twisted around her legs.For several moments she simply sat there.Breathing.Waiting for reality to catch up.Paris slowly emerged through the darkness beyond her window.Safe.Present.Real.Yet the feeling lingered.Like a shadow.The gallery was quiet the next morning.Henri arrived carrying pastries.An obvious bribe.Jessica recognised it immediately."What have you done?"Henri looked offended."Nothing.""You brought pastries.""Perhaps I am generous.""You forgot something."The old man sighed."A meeting."Jessica smiled."I knew it."Henri handed her a pastry."You're becoming unbearable."Jessica took a bite.The old man looked pleased despite himself.For

Jessica didn't touch it.For nearly a minute she simply stood there.Watching.Waiting.As though the flower might suddenly explain itself.People passed behind her.A cyclist rode by.A couple laughed somewhere across the street.The world continued.Ordinary.Unaware.Yet Jessica remained frozen.Because she knew.Deep down, she knew.The rose wasn't romantic.It wasn't admiration.It wasn't kindness.It was a message.A quiet one.A careful one.But a message all the same.I know where you are.Eventually she took a photograph.Then called Henri.The old man answered immediately."Jessica?"Something in her silence told him everything."What happened?"She sent him the photograph.Less than thirty seconds later his reply arrived.Stay where you are.The instruction surprised her.Five minutes later, Henri pulled up outside her building in a taxi.Looking furious.And terrified.Both at the same time.They sat in a nearby café.The rose remained outside.Untouched.Henri had insiste

The exhibition opened on a Friday evening.It was Camille's first major showcase.Not a solo exhibition.Not yet.But enough.Enough to attract attention.Enough to attract collectors.Enough to matter.Jessica arrived early to help with preparations.The gallery buzzed with nervous energy.Artists adjusted labels for the tenth time.Paintings were moved half an inch and then moved back again.Everyone pretended to be calm.Nobody was calm.Camille was the least calm of all.She stood in front of one of her paintings twisting a bracelet around her wrist.Over and over.Jessica recognised the behaviour immediately.Anxiety.The same thing she'd done with pencils at university.The same thing she'd done with coffee cups before exhibitions.The same thing she'd done before almost every important moment in her life."You'll wear a hole in your wrist."Camille jumped.Then laughed."I'm trying not to be sick."Jessica smiled."A healthy artistic tradition."Camille laughed.The sound eased