Page 10 of Things We Do for Love and Science
Several paintings of bucolic scenes hung scattered across the walls. Elaborately dressed people were languishing underneath fluffy trees in a landscape undefined by any recognizable landmark. Art wasn’t her area of expertise. The man lived in a museum. But maybe not for much longer.
Local gossip had it that he was more or less bankrupt. Should she bring up Emmy’s teeth today? Maybe she could talk him into accepting payment for the second sample.
“Are you comfortable?” He entered, a white length of cloth over his arm, carrying a tray with two mugs and a packet of chocolate digestives.
Excellent choice of biscuit. He crossed the room and placed the tray on the flimsy side table. Would the slim and delicate table legs support the weight of it? She prodded the tabletop with her finger. Yep, solid enough.
“May I?” He held up the white sheet. She nodded, and he draped the cloth over her lap.
With a firm grip, she lifted a mug off the tablet and cupped her left palm underneath it. Spilling black tea wouldn’t be a good idea, linen sheet notwithstanding.
“Thank you.” She sat ramrod-straight in her armchair. “A bit unpractical, this outfit.”
He pulled up a chair beside her. “Thank you for humoring me. It does so very well for the painting.”
“No bother.” She sipped her tea. “How are you getting on with it?”
“Oh, beautifully. I mean it took me a while to get back into the swing of things, but I’m making good progress now.” He glanced at her. “You’re a disciplined model.”
“Am I? Good, I have no idea what’s normal.” She placed the cup on the side table, took a biscuit, bit into it, and brushed a few stray crumbs off the white sheet on her lap. When she looked up, she found him studying her face with his disconcerting blue eyes. “Are you going to sell this painting once it’s done?”
“No, I’m not selling any paintings, new or old. Not much money in these.” He gestured toward the pictures dotting the walls. “I’m selling everything else, mind you, including all you’re wearing at this moment. Sorry, that sounded creepy. Forgive me. My great-great grandmother started the Renwood collection, and subsequent generations made sure to continue with the tradition.”
“That’s a lot of dresses.” She smiled. “Shall we continue?”
Both cups were empty, and she was eager to get back to the business at hand. A knot formed in her stomach. She dreaded having to bring up John’s request.
“Yes, brilliant, and let me know when it gets too much. After this stint, we’ll call it a day.” He took the white sheet from her, draping it across the backrest of his chair.
She positioned herself in front of the window as before, one hand on the table the other on the windowsill.
He considered the picture before him. “Nearly perfect. Do you mind if I...?”
“Go ahead.”
He nudged her right hand and gently adjusted the angle of her face then retreated behind the easel to paint for another half an hour. The light changed, prompting him to put down his brush. “I think this is enough for today.”
“Yes.” She hoped she hadn’t sounded too enthusiastic, but she was ready for home and a hot shower to relax her strained muscles. That would get her in the right frame of mind for preparing her upcoming lecture series on forensic DNA analysis.
He left the room to give her privacy to change into her clothes, but try as she might, she couldn’t undo the zip. There was nothing for it, she needed his help if she didn’t want to damage the dress. “Gabriel?”
“Yes?” came his muted reply from the corridor.
“Either your granny was a contortionist or your granddad was at hand to help. But I’ll be damned if I can get out of this dress alone. This old metal zip seems to be stuck.”
“Oh, dear, yes, of course.” He re-entered, placed himself behind her, and pulled at the tab, careful not to get too close. The metal teeth remained gritted; the zip didn’t budge.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more forceful.”
“Yes, probably.” He employed both hands, one to hold the fabric, the other to tug and, with a bit of wrangling, managed to open the zip. He cleared his throat. “The rest should be fine. Only the top inch was a bit sticky.”
“Ah, thanks.” She stood stock still while he fled the room.
Once alone, she changed into her sheath dress then laid the ballgown on the chaise longue.Phew, first session done, five more to go.
Later that night, she tapped listlessly on the keyboard of her laptop. The outline of the lecture series was finished, but her head was elsewhere. She’d chickened out of asking Gabriel for the second DNA sample.
John wouldn’t rest until he had the countess’s teeth to complement those of her husband. That much was clear. She questioned the scientific necessity of having the additional sample, but nevertheless, she’d have to steel herself to bring it up next time she saw Gabriel. The thought alone made her stomach roil and her throat constrict.
