Free Half Moon Chambers by Fox Harper Page A

T-shirt on a winter's day, and that tang of turps kept the rooms from being stuffy. "Something's changed in the Maric case, and I wanted to..." I trailed off. We'd moved from the dark hall into the living room. We were in one of the turrets -- sunset light was blazing in through one large casement window and two round ones set into a curving alcove . "Bloody hell , Rowan. Are these yours?"
    "No. They were here when I moved in."
    The walls were covered, floor to ceiling and up across the arching roof, with painted murals.
    The coverage was so bold and complete that at first I hadn't taken it in. Now, though, they almost knocked me off my feet -- I took a step backward and steadied myself against a chair. The designs were huge, powerfully simple in form but so vividly coloured that they seemed to reach out to meet perception halfway -- to be in a kind of arrested motion that renewed itself at every fresh glance . I let go a low whistle. "Incredible. He wasn 't shy, was he -- whoever did these?"
    Rowan had gone to lean by the window. He was watching me curiously, as if interested in my reaction . "Do they offend you?"
    I shook my head. The idea of being offended hadn 't occurred. It had taken me a while to realise I was looking at vision after vision of men in erotic embrace . Their delineation was almost abstract, and yet when you got the idea of it, became almost shockingly real. Limb twined with golden-skinned limb . Strong hands clasped round muscular backsides . And all this was happening in a kind of paradise garden, or as part of it. A loving embrace became a vine. Upraised shafts sprang from velvety petals. Mouth met open mouth in a vertiginous swirl of foliage, night sky and stars.
    My eyes adjusted to the light, and I saw that the hallway I'd passed through was also a wilderness of sensual plants and forms. "They make me think of Georgia O'Keefe, if she'd been a gay man, or Tamara de Lempicka." I caught his glimmer of surprise . "What?" I asked defensively. "I'm a copper , so I'm not supposed to know my arts from my elbow?" The fact that I'd only acquired my cultural knowledge when the time had come for Jane's kids to acquire theirs was none of his business . Their father had shipped out, and up until six months ago I'd tried to fill a bit of the gap, from football to trips round the galleries and help with projects for school.
    "And are you?"
    "Am I what?"
    He shrugged. "Well, what you said about O'Keefe -- and it's not the stupidest comment I've ever heard... I wondered if you were seeing these as a gay man. From that perspective, I mean. I made my assumptions when I saw you with Brad Pitt, but maybe I was wrong."
    Did it matter to him? There was an odd undercurrent to his casual tone. I shrugged in my turn . "Brad and I might just have been friends. As it happens, though, he was my partner. Work type and lover type, before you ask."
    "Oh. And was that... Is that tough, in the police ?"
    "Not dramatically so." Another passionate collision of flesh and muscle caught my eye and I answered him distractedly. "It's still a bit don't ask , don't tell . We're about five years behind London with that, same as with everything else." I stopped myself. I couldn't understand how he'd got me talking even this much about my own life -- I was there to interview him, not the other way round , and we were way off topic. I turned my back on the seductive paintings. "Sorry. I'd better get to business. Can we sit down for a minute?"
    "Were you okay the other night, after I left you ?"
    "I was fine. I have to tell you about -- "
    "Would you like a coffee?"
    "Rowan."
    He ran a paint-daubed hand over his hair, making it stand up in spikes, and glanced at me in sheepish acknowledgement. "Okay. Clumsy effort to put you off has failed. I do, however, have some great coffee perked. There's no milk or sugar in the flat , so all I have to do is chuck it into mugs. And there 's no fire escape from the kitchen, I promise."
    I set myself not to