Page 23 of The Quiet Wife
She’d caught for Freddie almost immediately and her pregnancy had been difficult, so marital relations ceased for quite some time, and her husband had never been quite so enthused since those early days.
“Where have you gone?” Lizzie gestured at her. “You’ve disappeared on me.”
Frances startled. “I’m sorry!”
“What on earth were you thinking about? You’ve turned positively pink.”
Frances could feel her cheeks burning and shook herself.
“Nothing to worry about,” she squeezed Lizzie’s hand.
Before Lizzie could quiz her further, there was a tap on the door and Mr Whistler walked in.
“Ah, there they are.” He nodded to the pictures that she held.
Frances managed a smile. “I’m sorry. Were you looking for them? They are extremely good likenesses.”
He grinned. “I’m glad you think so.”
“My husband is terribly serious in all of them. Did you not persuade him to smile?”
Mr Whistler laughed. “No, I don’t do any persuading. I want to see him as he is. That will help when I come to paint the portrait. What he’s like when he’s thinking, when he’s relaxing with his family, playing with his children, talking to his wife…” he flashed her a quick smile, “when he’s working. Things like that. I’ve got lots more of him.”
It seemed to Frances that Frederick appeared the same no matter what he was doing. “How do you think you will paint him?”
“I imagine the portrait will have… solemnity. He’s a serious man, a very successful man. I don’t imagine he has a lot of time for larking around.”
Frances was sure her husband had never ‘larked’ in his life. “Very true. Perhaps you should talk to him about shipping. He becomes quite animated about that.”
Mr Whistler looked as though he might comment but seemed to think better of it.
“Will it take long?”
“Probably. I’m a bit of a perfectionist. I’ll do it, and do it again, and again… until I’m happy with it. Until it’s right,” he said with a faintly apologetic shrug.
Frances was intrigued by the artist’s process.
“I’ll do my best not to cause too much upheaval, but I think it will take a while because I can’t imagine your husband wanting to stand still for long.”
“Perhaps you should sketch him in the office.”
Mr Whistler laughed. “I suggested sketching him at his place of work, but received a very firm, no.”
“I can imagine, but I suspect you would find a very different man were he to allow it,” she suggested.
“Well, if you are sure I’m not in the way?”
“Not in the slightest. The children adore having you here. You’ve quite won them over. They live for the moment that you might sketch and paint with them again.”
“Then I shall arrange it. May I start sketching you?”
Frances’ heart thumped uncomfortably, knocking against her ribs in a way that was almost painful.
“You have sketched me. I’m in most of these,” she countered.
“Ah, but those are sketches of your husband with you in the background. I want to sketchyou.”
She cleared her throat and attempted to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. “Of course.”
