Part 11 (2/2)
Panic rose in Hendrick. Suddenly he saw Ludolf as a bastion between himself and a poverty-stricken old age. The specter of Frans Hals existing in his last years on charity and poor Rembrandt's pitiful end haunted him in his depressed moments, as did those of other artists he had known who had been reduced to ignominious circ.u.mstances. The old fears surged through him once more. He liked living with a certain dash and it was clear that the luxuries of life would be plentiful under Ludolf's patronage. The cost was his pride, but for once in his life he must sacrifice it. He could not let everything that had been dangled before him that evening slip through his fingers, the painful condition of which was likely to get worse as the years advanced. A tolerant patron, as Ludolf had shown earlier that he could be, would never hasten work when the end result would be all that was desired.
”I don't see this situation as an impa.s.se,” he said in an attempt to sound at ease. ”Francesca's departure for Delft needn't be hurried.” Deliberately he ignored the look of alarm that had flown into his daughter's face. ”No date has been considered yet as to when she will be leaving Amsterdam. There would be time for her to paint you first.”
Francesca cried out in protest. ”Such a portrait could not be rushed.”
”The time will simply be extended until it is finished.” Hendrick beamed at his guest. ”That's settled then. I can promise you'll not be disappointed in the result, mijnheer. I shall personally add any necessary touches. Naturally it won't be the masterpiece you would have had if I were able to undertake the commission, but Francesca has a gift for capturing likeness that is commendable.” Then he reached over to her, acting a show of enthusiasm, and clasped her wrist harder than he had intended. The burning needles of pain driving into his fingers almost made him grimace. ”Thank our new patron, Francesca.”
She had felt him wince and, under her lashes, she saw at close quarters that there was a slightly swollen look about his knuckles, nothing that was noticeable in the normal way, but following that involuntary tremor it was a sign that meant a great deal. Torn by regret, she felt her will to refuse the commission dissolve away in pity and filial love. How long had he been concealing this rebellion of the joints that was every artist's fear, linked as it was to cold studios and drafts and sketching when chill winds blew in from the sea. No wonder he did not want this commission to go by, whatever the toll on his conceit. The least she could do for him was to achieve her best work to date. She swallowed hard, smiled at him and then turned her head to meet Ludolf's waiting gaze.
”I thank you, Heer van Deventer,” she said, feeling like an obedient child instead of a grown woman with an independent mind.
He was smiling benignly, his eyes very bright. ”I suppose we need to discuss details.”
She knew he was referring to the pose he should adopt, the color of his garments and so forth. The financial side would not be mentioned between them, for whatever was received would go to Hendrick. ”We can fix a time one day that is convenient for you.”
”Why not when I come to view your father's paintings by daylight? That can be tomorrow. I'm eager to see them.”
Since arriving at the house Ludolf had formed his own opinion of Hendrick and summed him up as a bombastic, self-satisfied fellow who would be easy to manipulate. He had in his possession at home a full report from an investigation into the artist's background that gave gambling as his weakness. It was Ludolf's policy never to do business with anyone, not even the simple commission of a painting, without knowing all about the person he was dealing with. He had good reasons. There were shadows in his past that he never wanted to stir up again by chance. The knowledge he gained also gave him a tremendous advantage and he compared it to having seen the hand of an opponent in a game of cards before play began.
Francesca was the unknown for him in this house. He was magnetized by her. Her allure was almost beyond physical endurance. It was difficult to keep his eyes from her, the racing of his blood so fast that it was a wonder it did not thunder in his veins like a river in spate. He felt like a man who had been denied the sight of a woman for decades. He wanted to eat and drink her, drown her mouth in his and turn her every way until there was no part of her not known to him. Countless women had aroused him fiercely throughout the years, but never before had he been so fascinated and enthralled, weak as a youth in love for the first time. Had he not been able to disguise his feelings he would have given himself away when he sighted her standing in the stair hall, candlelight falling on her pale, oval face and flaring red-gold sparks in her hair. Although he was already more than familiar with her likeness as Flora, her sensual and unusual beauty in the flesh had all but driven the breath from his lungs. In those few seconds the alarming realization had dawned that he had become totally obsessed by her.
He had had to keep an expressionless face again in the dining hall when Hendrick had declined the commission for himself. Instantly it had become apparent how it would be possible to be alone with Francesca, not once or twice, but for as many hours as it would take in sittings for her to paint his portrait. His ruse had worked and from it all he desired would come. It was many years since he had set out to seduce a chaste virgin. It could be argued that at fifty his s.e.xual mores had grown too sophisticated for such a young man's game, but there was an exception to every rule and she would be a delight to teach and would be quick to learn.
”I'll bid you good night once more,” she was saying to him.
”Good night to you, Francesca. We shall meet again tomorrow morning.”
He would have liked to walk with her to the stairs, to have seized her in the shadows and taken her violently against the wall, thrusting himself into her warm, moist depths while kneading her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his hungry mouth swallowing hers. As she went through the archway his hooded gaze devoured her until she had disappeared from sight. He took a lace-trimmed handkerchief from his pocket and, unseen by Hendrick, wiped his sweaty palms.
Upstairs on the third landing Francesca found Sybylla waiting for her and she was given no chance to speak. ”I listened! Isn't it marvelous news about the apprentices.h.i.+p!”
”Yes, it is.” Francesca laughed happily as she was pulled by the hand into her sisters' bedchamber. Aletta, already in her nights.h.i.+ft and robe, rushed to embrace her.
”You deserve this wonderful chance more than anybody! All my felicitations!”
”It will be your turn soon!”
Aletta stood back and held her by the arms. ”It's a heavy ch.o.r.e for you having to paint that man first,” she said sympathetically, ”but it shouldn't take you too long and then you'll be away. Think of that all the time he's sitting on the rostrum.”
”I will!” Francesca hooked her arm through Aletta's and they sat together on the edge of the four-poster bed. ”I could see Father felt obligated to fulfill his new patron's wish.”
Sybylla, having removed her gown, bounced onto the bed in her petticoats and knelt beside her sisters. ”Where's the money coming from for the tuition? Has Father had a huge win at gaming?”
”I think he's had some small wins over quite a long period, because he has kept my household coffer regularly supplied. It's my belief that my apprentices.h.i.+p is being financed by the sum Father received for The G.o.ddess of Spring.”
”Would that be enough?”
”There is also a little money of Mama's that was placed in trust for each of us when the need arose. I expect my share will be added.”
Sybylla's face lit up. ”I never realized I had a dowry. How is Aletta's apprentices.h.i.+p to come about?”
”That's obvious. When an artist has a rich patron his work is far more sought after. Father can count on a bigger income from now on.”
”I still hope Master Vermeer is paid in advance,” Sybylla stated bluntly, ”because you know what Father is! We'll probably have creditors at the front and back doors again within a month of your going away, Francesca.”
Aletta gave Sybylla a push that sent her backward across the bed. ”Stop that talk! We don't want Francesca to go off to Delft full of worry.”
Francesca's expression changed to one of anxiety and concern. ”Do you suppose I haven't thought of that? I'll organize everything and try to cover any emergency before I leave, first for you, Aletta, and then for when Maria takes over. I'll make sure that Father agrees that this is how it shall be or else I'll not take the apprentices.h.i.+p. Having a new start last autumn with creditors paid and money in the household coffers has enabled me to keep abreast with all expenses. Although Father is still gaming, he does seem to have made an effort as he promised and kept to modest stakes. Now at least when he loses it is not a disaster.”
Sybylla was back on her knees again. ”Neither of you has spoken about letting me be in charge when you're both absent,” she pouted. ”Why should it be Maria?”
Aletta answered her crisply. ”Because you and Father would throw all his money away between you in no time at all. You both need keeping in check.”
”That's unfair!”
”No, it's not. It's the truth and you know it. You're always trying to wheedle the fripperies you want from him.”
Sybylla's face blazed. ”I never received that new cloak, did I? That's how much he listens to me!”
Francesca could see a sharp quarrel was soaring up between her sisters. ”Be quiet, Sybylla! You'll be heard all over the house and we'll have Maria coming from her bed to see what's the matter.” Having silenced Sybylla, she spoke again to Aletta. ”We'll talk about all this again tomorrow, but you wanted to ask me something, didn't you? Come along to my room with me now.”
Aletta shook her head. ”It was nothing important.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see the frantic signals that Sybylla was making behind Francesca's back, indicating that she should go. ”It was a question that has more or less answered itself.”
Francesca looked doubtful. ”Are you sure?”
”Quite sure. Go to bed now and sleep well.”
As soon as Francesca had gone from the room Sybylla sprang from the bed. ”I thought you were going to tell her of your plans.”
”What happened this evening took away any chance of her agreeing with them.”
”How can you be sure?”
Aletta slipped off her robe and climbed into bed. ”She would say that my need to sell my pictures was eliminated by my forthcoming apprentices.h.i.+p.”
”I suppose she would be right.”
”Yes, she would be,” Aletta sighed. ”Now finish getting undressed and come to bed. I can't sleep until the candle is blown out.”
Sybylla came to the bed to stare hard at her on the pillows. ”You don't think your apprentices.h.i.+p is certain, do you?”
Aletta hesitated. ”Mine isn't settled with a studio like Francesca's. Until it is I feel I must carry on with what I'm doing.”
”You're being pessimistic.”
”I see it as being realistic.”
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