Page 117 of The Quiet Wife
“Do you like it?” he demanded when they walked in.
All three of them stared in disbelief.
He’d painted fabulous gold peacocks on one wall that she particularly admired but now, he’d painted over them, and the new peacocks were fighting,slashing at each other with claws. There were what looked like silver coins by the feet of one of them. Pieces of silver came to mind making her terribly uneasy. The amount of gilding had doubled and now really did look garish.
“You’ve changed it,” Frances managed.
“I have. Would you care to know why?”
Frances nodded, her concern rising.
“He paid me. Your husband paid me.”
Lizzie and Frances exchanged looks. “I’m pleased to hear it,” she said.
“Well, you shouldn’t be. Leyland paid me half the sum we agreed, and he’s paid it in pounds.Pounds!As though I’m some damned tradesman like he is.”
Frances put a hand to her mouth not knowing what to say. Art exchanged hands for guineas. Not pounds. It was a significant insult.
“So, I’ve redone the design. I feel your husband needs something more in keeping with his origins in the slums of Liverpool. He isnota gentleman.” He was breathing heavily.
Frances’ heart broke for him. “Come and have tea with us,” she said.
He shook his head and threw the brush down. He ran a hand over his mouth and appeared frighteningly helpless.
“Lizzie, would you take Alastair to the parlour? Jemie and I will follow shortly.”
Alastair seemed unconvinced but escorted Lizzie from the room.
“I’m so sorry,” she rushed over to him when the door closed behind them.
“Why are you sorry? You’ve done nothing.”
“I’ve ruined things for you.”
He closed his eyes and sighed.
She touched his cheek. “What will you do now?”
He leaned into her touch. “I have no idea. I’ve other commissions that I’m working on and…” he shrugged. “I want to run away with you. That’s what I want to do.”
She smiled gently at his whimsy and ran a thumb over his cheek. “Where would we run to?”
She couldn’t decipher his gaze. “Vienna. I’ve been invited to go and work in Vienna.”
Frances’ smile faded at the thought of being parted from him. “Will you go?”
He shook his head. “Not unless you came with me.”
They were quiet for a moment or two. Frances was the first to speak.
“Is the argument with Frederick over now?”
“The argument is over, but I’ve done a rather nasty portrait of him, and people have seen it.” He stared into the fire.
Frances groaned.
“It’s good. I’ve called it Frilthy Lucre.”
