Page 29 of The Labours of Lord Perry Cavendish

While Perry ate, and to avoid any more silences, Jonny took charge of the conversation. He asked Perry about his day, bombarding him with questions, before launching into a series of humorous stories, which, eventually, Perry unbent enough to laugh at. Slowly, gradually, Jonny began to feel a sense of ease grow between them again.

By the time it got to five o’clock, Jonny had several pages of quick studies—Perry’s head in numerous different positions with his face wearing a whole range of expressions; outline sketches of his whole body, some showing him sitting, others half-reclining; a few of disembodied parts of his body.

“Why do you do so many?” Perry asked as he studied a sketch of his hands laced around one knee. “You’re not going to use these in the final painting, are you?”

“I might. What I’m doing now is like exploring,” Jonny said. “At this point, I have ideas about how I might paint you, but I haven’t decided exactly what I’ll do. And I don’t do all my studies in pencil—sometimes I’ll paint them. Sometimes I’m exploring what the composition will be. Other times it will be about the colours or the light. It all helps me visualise how everything will go together. I work in watercolour paints rather than oils, you see, and they’re a bit less forgiving of mistakes—at least, they are the way I use them.”

“So these are like test pieces? To help you plan what the final work will be like?”

“More or less,” Jonny agreed, though in truth it was more than that. For him, drawing someone, painting them, was a way of learning that person, inside and out.

“How many studies do you do for each painting?” Perry asked.

“It depends. Sometimes I decide quite quickly what I want. Other times, it takes longer. Lysander was very tricky—I spent several weeks doing studies of him. It took so long, I never even managed to start the bloody painting before I had to go back to London.” He chuckled.

“Why so long in his case?”

“Partly it was pragmatic reasons. He had other work to do, so getting time with him wasn’t particularly easy. And then there was his fidgetiness. Just finding a pose he could maintain for long enough was near impossible. He’s very unlike you in that regard.”

“I was quite surprised at how easy I found it,” Perry admitted.

“You were remarkably still,” Jonny said. “Which made it very easy for me.” He smiled at Perry, but Perry did not return the smile. Instead, he stared at his hands, frowning, and Jonny realised with dismay he was going to say something about the day before.

“Listen,” Perry began without looking up. “About what happened between us yesterday…”

He stopped and ran an awkward hand over the back of his neck.

Jonny could not bear the stretching silence. “I’m sorry,” he said impulsively. “I should not have made advances on you. It won’t happen again.”

Perry did look up then, blinking. “Ah,” he said. Then after a few more beats of silence, “Right, yes. Yes, I see.”

Jonny wanted to die. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, but he made himself sit there, silent and waiting. This was his doing—his fault—and it was only right that he should be the one to apologise and bear the humiliation of this moment.

At last Perry said in an uncertain tone, “Do you still want to paint me?”

“I do,” Jonny said with quiet sincerity. “Are you willing to continue?” He knew he would not be able to rest until he’d peeled away all the layers that made up Peregrine Cavendish and then put them back together.

Perry considered that for several moments. At last he met Jonny’s gaze.

“Yes, all right,” he said. “It’s not as though I have any other pressing engagements.”

* * *

In the week that followed, Perry spent every afternoon with Jonny at the studio.

There was no repeat of intimacy between them. Jonny was as good as his word—he made no advances on Perry and did not even mention what had occurred between them on that first day. They both behaved as though it had never happened.

It was a bit awkward at first, but as the week wore on, it became less so. On the third day, Jonny screwed up the courage to ask Perry to get down to his drawers again, and even that was all right, after the first admittedly uncomfortable disrobing. After that, Perry disrobed most days.

Sometimes, as they sat together, Jonny found himself wondering what Perry’s secret thoughts were on what they had done together that first day. Had he really thought their bed sport was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him, or had that just been the sort of foolish talk that men spouted in the blissful aftermath, then regretted later?

Jonny strongly suspected it was the latter and that, in the cold light of day, Perry was probably relieved at how things had turned out. After seeing Jonny’s easy tears that night, he’d probably guessed that Jonny was the emotional, demanding sort.

He was probably counting his lucky stars that he’d escaped Jonny’s clutches.

Prior to coming to the studio each afternoon, Perry would usually either go riding on his own or with Lysander. The harvest was now fully in, and Lysander finally had more time for his friend. A long spell of fine summer weather had allowed them to spend long hours in the saddle together exploring the surrounding area.

Jonny didn’t feel jealous about the time Perry spent with Lysander—that would be ridiculous—but perhaps he did feel a little… wistful when he caught sight of them together sometimes. Perry always seemed easy and comfortable with Lysander in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. Their long history of friendship meant they could communicate certain thoughts to one another with no more than a look—just as Jonny and Adam could—and they had silly shared jokes that no one else understood. And yes, sometimes there was a glimmer of hero-worship in Perry’s blue eyes when he looked at Lysander that did, perhaps, make Jonny feel alittleenvious. After all, Lysander was so very beautiful, with his lean, muscular body and golden hair. Honestly, it would be more surprising if Perry didn’t haveanyfeelings for his oldest friend.