Sharon and the Beast
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Sharon and the Beast - A clean, sensitive, inspirational, mystery romance, about two kindred spirits, one in torment, and the other searching for true inner beauty.
Not your face, not your stature,
not even your heart intrigues me.
But the beauty of your soul mesmerizes me. (Paula Freda)
Sharon wondered whatever had possessed her to follow, unnoticed by the tour guide and the tourists, the butler carrying the covered food tray through the hidden door behind the tapestry of the golden-haired prince robed in black and red velvet.
The answer, of course, was her curiosity. Her yen to meet the elusive owner of the sixteenth century, moss-tinged, weatherworn, greystone edifice. His paintings intrigued her, and the myths and legend surrounding him.
He'd inherited the castle ten years ago with the passing of his father. But unlike his late father, the son was a recluse who rarely left the castle. The warmth and beauty he expressed in his landscapes and portraits were not at all what she expected from an eccentric artist who signed his works, Beast
He sold his works through an agent. And those few times he'd been spotted entering or exiting his black limousine, had been under the cover of night. Occasionally, he exhibited his works at gallery exposés usually held at local art museums, but only his agent participated at the exhibitions.
Well, that wouldn't do, Sharon thought. She wanted to meet the man himself. Ergo, her presence this morning in the stygian darkness of the narrow hallway behind the tapestry and door she had just entered....
Marianne Dora Rose
About the AuthorDorothy Paula Freda, is also known under her pen names Paula Freda and Marianne Dora Rose. Herbooks range from Fiction and Non-fiction Adventure, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Poetry, Articles, Essays and How-to-Write Instructional complete with Lessons and optional assignments.Homemaker, mother of two grown sons, and former off-the-desk publisher of a family-oriented print small press, (1984 thru 1999), The Pink Chameleon, that she now publishes on line, Paula was raised by her grandmother and mother, and has been writing for as long as she can remember. Even before she could set pencil to paper, she would spin her stories in the recording booths in the Brooklyn Coney Island Arcades for a quarter per 3-minute record. She states, "I love the English language, love words and seeing them on display, typed and alive. A romantic at heart, I write simply and emotionally. One of my former editors kindly described my work, '...her pieces are always deep, gentle and refreshing....'" Paula further states, "My stories are sensitive, deeply emotional, sensual when appropriate, yet non-graphic, family fare, pageturners. My hope is that my writing will bring entertainment and uplift the human spirit, bring a smile to your face and your soul, and leave you filled with a generous amount of hope."
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Sharon and the Beast - Marianne Dora Rose
Sharon and the Beast
by
Marianne Dora Rose
Sharon and the Beast
© February, 2017 by Dorothy P. Freda
Pseudonym Marianne Dora Rose
(Pen Names - Paula Freda & Marianne Dora Rose)
Smashwords Edition
Interior photos and Exterior Bookcover photos licensed by Dorothy P. Freda from Dreamstime.com and iStockphoto.com, respectively
Castles in England, Wikipedia Creative Commons
Attribution Share-alike license
(for individual credit list
see list at the end of book)
About the Author Photo © Dorothy P. Freda
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof. This is a work of fiction; names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or locations, is purely coincidental.
Dedication
With thanks to my Dear Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, I dedicate this book to my husband, Domenick, whose love and loyalty over the past 47 years have kept my dreams and view of the romantic alive and vibrant.
CHAPTER ONE
Not your face, not your stature,
not even your heart intrigues me.
But the beauty of your soul mesmerizes me.
— Paula Freda
No window, skylight or crack, dared to dispel the darkness in the narrow hallway. Even the bend in the wall was invisible in that darkness. Sharon promised herself to remember it on her way out. She wondered whatever had possessed her to follow, unnoticed by the tour guide and the tourists, the butler carrying the covered food tray through the door hidden behind the tapestry of the golden haired prince robed in black and red velvet.
The answer, of course, was her curiosity. Her yen to meet the elusive owner, around whom myths and legends continued to grow. He'd inherited the castle ten years ago with the passing of his father, a well-known and liked man in the community. Not much was known about the mother, except that she lived in London and visited occasionally. Her name, address and telephone number were not listed. Sharon knew that, as she had tried in vain to find her.
The jingle of keys at the end of the hall preambled a sliver of light as the butler unlocked a door. The sliver grew into a vertical slot and widened. Light illumined the hallway. Sharon's black sneakers muffled the sounds of her steps as she hurried toward the opening and reached it a split moment before the door could reconnect with the jamb. Even if the locking mechanism didn't automatically reset, the sound of her twisting the knob to reopen the door might alert the Butler to her presence. She breathed a sigh of relief, and entered a wide lobby, tiled in black and red. She paused a moment viewing another door closing, presumably behind the butler, fortunately without a lock.
For the umpteenth time, Sharon asked herself, why her obsession with meeting the castle's owner.
She considered herself well-adjusted and intelligent, attractive; slender, 5' 10", with hair the color of light amber that she kept shoulder length. Born to a distinguished, financially stable, God-fearing family, she'd never lacked for beaus, but unfortunately for them, none had stirred her feelings and at twenty-six years of age, she remained unattached.
Her obsession had begun one early Spring morning. Daffodils and crocuses fringed the garden area at the back of her dorm. Waking early, Sharon rose, shrugged into her self-tie robe and glanced once more through her window, past the yellows and purples, at the castle in the distance. Nothing more than an aesthetic landscape. But yesterday, while lunching in the university cafeteria, a painting of the castle had peaked her interest. The painting depicted the sixteenth century, moss-tinged, weatherworn greystone edifice, sandwiched between four turrets, and preambled by a dried-out moat.
Long ago, when filled with algae scummy water, the moat had served to hinder further access to the main gate and the heavy wood doors behind the portcullis, the iron grate that dropped vertically. The grate had long ago rusted open, and the heavy wood doors and main gate were normally kept open during the day to give free access to the front courtyard.
Sharon had never paid close attention to the signature in the bottom right hand corner of the painting. Beast. An eccentric artist, she thought, shrugging away her curiosity. But the thought persisted. Casually, she asked Mrs. Jennings, a sweet-natured, petite, chubby-cheeked middle-aged woman who seemed perpetually clad in a kitchen apron. Mrs. Jennings had worked in the cafeteria for several years. With a cheery smile, the woman explained that the painting was a Christmas gift six years ago, from the owner of the castle, who was also the artist.
A copy of this painting also hangs in the lobby of the University, along with a portrait of a beautiful 16th century golden-haired woman who once lived in the castle,
Mrs. Jennings further explained. She regarded Sharon, then, hesitantly, as if coming to a decision, she added, You know, except for the hair color, you bear a resemblance to the woman in the portrait.
Yes, I've seen that portrait, along with several others. I didn't know the present owner painted it as well. But as for a resemblance to me — although honestly, I don't see it,
Sharon laughed, so must at a least a score of other young women attending the University, bear a similar resemblance.
Mrs. Jennings nodded. Yes, that's true. Still—
She let her statement hang. Then, There is a legend associated with the castle and the woman. She was the lady of the castle and the artist had copied her image from a small hand-painted cameo pendant of her great grandmother, who she resembled. If you look closely at the young woman's portrait, you will see the cameo pendant hanging from the gold necklace around her neck.
That same day, Sharon went to the lobby and inspected the painting." She had never noticed the cameo, surreal, palpable, set against the expanse of smooth satin skin. One might imagine her chest rising, see her breathing. And on the right hand corner, the artist's signature, Beast. Definitely an eccentric.
The next day after lunch, she again drew Mrs. Jennings into conversation. The woman eagerly responded to further queries about the artist and present owner of the castle.
Sharon remarked, "I'd like to meet him, possibly purchase some of his paintings. Has he done others? There is such warmth in the woman's facial expression