I’m reading Bride of Diamonds by Emma Darcy, which centers around a mysterious painting:
“It was a strange picture, savage but fascinating. The sun was setting behind a limestone range, throwing a coral-rose stain across the sky. In the foreground was a traw-pale plain, swathed with a misty blue from which struggled the gnarled limbs of giant baobab trees. In the top left-hand corner was a woman’s face, weirdly integrated with the patterned sky, part of it, yet apart, and somehow projecting a timeless ache that could never be appeased.”
This cracks me up because it sounds exactly like an old Harlequin Presents cover. Though better if you add some doves and a bullfight.