Page 14 of The Labours of Lord Perry Cavendish
Once Perry was down to his drawers—a nicely fitting pair that came to just above his knees—he met Jonny’s gaze again. His shoulders were self-consciously rounded, his expression strained.
Realising that he was staring at the man, Jonny cleared his throat and turned away, walking back to the table to examine his equipment. “Let’s start with an easy pose,” he said, lifting up a pencil and examining the point. “Why don’t you sit on the chaise longue over there? Just take any position you think you can be comfortable in for a while.”
He busied himself at the table for a minute or two more, opening up a sketchpad and selecting a few pencils to work with, giving Perry time to decide how to present himself. When he turned back round, Perry was half-reclined, half-sitting on the chaise longue, his left leg extended, while his right foot rested on the floor. His hands were clasped together over his groin, and his whole demeanour was stiff and awkward. He held his jaw tightly, and his lips were pressed together in a faint grimace that Jonny guessed was supposed to be a smile but very much was not. His hazel eyes were faintly anxious, a tiny pleat of unease between his brows.
Such an expressive face he had, Jonny thought. Nothing hidden with this one.
Just as well Jonny was not so easy to read. The poor boy would be shocked if he knew what Jonny was thinking.
He smiled cheerfully at Perry. “That’s perfect,” he said briskly, fetching one of the wooden chairs and setting it down in front of the chaise longue before returning to the table for his equipment. “We’ll start like this and see how we go.”
5
Perry
To Perry’s surprise, Jonny Mainwaring became an entirely different person when he picked up a pencil.
Most of the time, he was very talkative and quite dramatic in his gestures. Very loud and very clever and more or less impossible to ignore. Not that Perry wanted to ignore him. He liked watching Jonny Mainwaring talking. He liked how vivid and quick the man was, even as he found those very characteristics hopelessly intimidating.
But when Jonny set his sketchpad on his knee and picked up his pencil, he changed. It wasn’t an immediate change. For the first ten minutes or so after sitting himself down, he continued to talk to Perry, explaining what he was doing and what he required of Perry—mostly just to stay as still as he could—but gradually, his voice slowed and then stopped altogether. By the time half an hour had passed, Jonny had descended into complete silence. His merry tongue stilled, and his eyes no longer glinted with humour. Now his attention was all on Perry.
Perry felt pinned by that gaze. Pinned down and stripped andseen, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. It wasn’t comfortable being so closely observed, but at the same time, some part of Perrylikedthe attention, even if it wasn’t exactly admiringattention.Jonny’s gaze wasn’t dismissive, but it wasn’t impersonal either. It was… hell, it wasrelentless. To Perry it felt like Jonny saw every bit of Perry, and Perry couldn’t hide a thing from him.
Jonny’s pencil moved steadily as he drew, and his green-wood gaze flicked between Perry and the page. He sat hunched over on the rickety-looking chair with his legs crossed, his right foot wrapped around the back of his left calf and the sketchbook braced on his left arm. It didn’t appear to be a comfortable position to Perry, but Jonny seemed content like that. Or perhaps he simply didn’t notice.
At least Perry was comfortable. Despite wearing almost nothing, he was pleasantly warm, thanks to the sun shining through the windows. And to his surprise, after the first ten or fifteen minutes, the horrible feeling of exposure he’d initially felt when he’d undressed began to gradually melt away. After all, he wasn’t someone who was usually embarrassed about undressing in front of others. He’d spent every summer swimming in the river at home when he was a boy, and he thought nothing of stripping down when he was boxing. Besides, Jonny’s artist’s gaze had an impartial quality to it that made it feel less… embarrassing than he had expected.
Even more surprising than any of that was that Perry found it relatively easy to stay still for Jonny as he worked. Perry simply let his thoughts drift along, without worrying too much about where they might lead, enjoying the way the silence settled and deepened, till finally it was so quiet, he could hear the birdsong outside.
For a long time, neither of them spoke, or much moved, but eventually, Perry began to feel a slight niggle in his left shoulder—and once he’d noticed it, he found he couldn’t ignore it. Eventually, he shifted, attracting Jonny’s attention.
Jonny’s hand stilled on the page, and he met Perry’s eyes. “Are you uncomfortable, my dear?” he asked. “Would you prefer to try another position? A standing one, perhaps?”
“Erm—if you like?” Perry replied uncertainly.
“All right,” Jonny said, “Let’s give it a try, shall we?” He was already up and out of his chair, setting the sketchbook and pencils on the flat wooden seat before he crossed into the middle of the room, beckoning for Perry to join him.
“I have an idea in my mind I’d like to try,” Jonny said, heading for the wooden chest by the wall. “Wait there.”
Perry had been following Jonny, but now he stopped, halting in place where Jonny had told him to wait, unsure what to do.
Jonny threw open the lid of the large chest and began rummaging through it.
“I don’t have everything I’d like here,” he muttered, “But there’s enough to give an impression.”
When he straightened, he had an armful of dark green fabric and a wooden pointer of the sort the schoolmasters used to use at school—usually to poke Perry in the side or whack his desk to stop him daydreaming.
“What are those for?” Perry asked nervously, as Jonny moved towards him.
“These will be your cloak and sword,” Jonny replied. “Or at least a suggestion of them. Can you stand like this for me?”
He demonstrated what he wanted. Standing straight with his left leg forward and his left arm held out to the side, palm open. He crooked his right elbow and held his right forearm horizontally in front of him.
Perry mimicked the pose.
“Very good,” Jonny said. Stepping forward, he pushed the wooden pointer into Perry’s right hand.
“Hold it like this,” Jonny said, adjusting Perry’s grip so that only two inches protruded from Perry’s fist at the handle end and the rest pointed left. “Like a sword. Yes, that’s beautiful.”