Page 46

Venice

The painting, only just touch-dry, has been moved to the salon.

This is not what I wanted, but I know it will help with the future, my future with Katherine.

This doesn’t stop how uneasy I feel as guests begin to arrive for the great unveiling.

Katherine tried to stop Forster creating this big event, but he would have none of it.

In his words, ‘I’m launching an artist’s career, and this is how it’s done.

I shall also do a poetry reading to entice people to accept the invitation. ’

Dread fills me. I don’t doubt my work, but I can’t predict people’s reaction.

I rub my sweaty palms down the side of the dress I’m wearing.

He could not have a woman in trousers at such an event in his home.

I’m tempted to point out that the villa is not actually his, but I bite my tongue.

Something I do constantly in his presence.

The gown is the one I wore that night on the train, Katherine’s, and I look like a peacock.

The bird that represents sinful pride. I am proud of my work, and I am sinful too, so maybe it is apt.

Unlike the female, the peahen, which is more restrained in its plumage, this dress has the full bravado of the male.

I do not have that confidence, but I must find it.

‘Sheba.’ Katherine stands in the doorway. Her eyes are glassy. This reveals her concerns about this evening more than words can. I glance at my packed things. I leave tomorrow morning. Forster has paid me handsomely. But of course he spends freely, as it’s not his money, but hers.

Once I’m beside her, she takes my hand for a moment.

I shiver. Our plan is set. She must stay put for the poetry competition, then she will head back to London as if nothing has changed between her and Forster.

I will follow in August and find us a place to live in Cornwall.

Once I’ve done that, she will leave him.

He will never make the connection, and she will be free.

The money he has paid for the portrait will take me home and pay the rent for a year.

All things being well, I should be able to continue to earn enough to support us.

That is why tonight is important. This painting will launch my career.

Not the one I envisioned, but one that will allow me to be with the woman I love.

‘Ready?’ she asks with a tremor in her voice.

‘Yes,’ I say, with more confidence than I feel. The painting is good, but what will people see? That is my concern. I can only hope it is simply Katherine’s beauty.

Together we enter the salon. The first face I see is that of Father Keeney. His smile eases some of my tension, but also increases it. He is perceptive.

Forster clears his throat. ‘Lords, ladies and gentlemen. My wife Katherine and the artist Bathsheba Kernow.’

I try not to wince at his use of my full name.

‘You all know of my appreciation of the arts, and when we met this struggling young artist on the train, I knew immediately that I would help her on her way. Tonight we will see the portrait she has painted of my beautiful wife, which I commissioned after seeing her painting of a street urchin.’ He pauses and walks to the covered painting on the easel.

‘I think you will be astounded by the finished piece.’ With a great flourish, he pulls the sheet off.

There is silence.

Waiting for a reaction, I’m unable to breathe or move. I appear ghostly in the mottled glass of the mirrors in the salon.

Finally, applause. I relax. Forster puffs up more. He hasn’t properly studied the painting yet. He engages in conversation with Lady Diana Saunders while sipping champagne. Katherine introduces me to Conte Volpi again.

‘You have an exquisite talent,’ he says, his glance resting on the curves of Katherine’s shoulders.

‘Thank you,’ I reply, noting Father Keeney studying the painting. The priest looks from me to Katherine and then to the tools of her trade, which I impulsively added when I signed it last week. He knows. I can only hope that he is the only one so observant.

Forster joins me beside Volpi. He looks over his shoulder at the portrait.

‘You’ve captured her beauty to perfection.’ He smiles like a proud parent. Does he notice the paper and pen on the end of the chaise? Does he even know how to read a painting? It was a reckless act but part of the style of the work.

Katherine pulls me away and introduces me to more people. The numbers have swelled, and guests drift out onto the lawn, their attention moving from the painting to the evening parade of gondolas on the Grand Canal. I take a moment to breathe, but the air is heavy and scented with jasmine.

Father Keeney hands me a glass of champagne. ‘That is a very brave painting.’

I accept the glass but don’t meet his eyes, because I’m afraid what I’ll see there. His judgement means more to me than anyone apart from Katherine.

‘It is exquisite, and every person in the room will have been moved by it.’

‘Thank you,’ I mumble, still not meeting his gaze.

He leans closer to me and whispers, ‘Be careful. He may not have noticed yet, but he will, and I believe he can be very cruel.’

I look up.

‘It’s not you I am concerned for.’ He looks out at the garden, where Katherine is laughing with some guests. ‘I won’t enter into a moral discussion, but you may have crossed a line publicly, and you have also answered a question regarding the poetry.’ He pauses. ‘Be careful. This is not a game.’

He leaves me looking at my work as people pause and appraise it. He is right. I have been reckless.

* * *

It is near midnight when Rossi arrives, full of apologies for missing the unveiling.

Il Duce needed him. Guests have begun to leave, and I am beginning to breathe normally after Father Keeney’s comments.

The night has been spent listening to people talk of politics and art.

Herr Hitler’s recent visit is still fresh in everyone’s minds.

Father Keeney comes to say goodbye. His gaze is following Rossi.

‘Do you not like him?’ I whisper.

He smiles. ‘Rossi is a shrewd man who fixes things for people, and he has made a career of being in the right place at the right time. But . . .’ he pauses, ‘if you need a steady friend who is always there for you, I would not choose him.’

I tilt my head and assess Rossi again.

‘I’ve surprised you?’

‘He has been nothing but kind to me.’

‘You are young.’ He softens his words with a smile.

‘Rossi looks after himself. If he finds you are no use to him, or could in any way be detrimental, then he will be ruthless.’ He bows slightly.

‘I must be off, but do take care, Sheba. You move in interesting circles, but they have no patience or tolerance for those who are different to themselves.’ He walks to Katherine to make his farewells.

‘Have you enjoyed your time in our city?’ Conte Volpi asks me.

‘Very much.’

‘It attracts many talented painters like yourself.’ He glances over his shoulder at the portrait. ‘And what do you think of our leader? I could tell you do not approve of Mr Hitler.’

I must learn to hide my feelings. Both leaders care little for the lives of women, especially those who choose not to fit into what they see as our role. ‘I have not had the honour of meeting Il Duce.’

He laughed. ‘Very diplomatic. I look forward to seeing more of your work. I believe my wife might be interested in sitting for you.’

‘That would be an honour.’

‘We will be in touch.’ He walks off and I breathe again. This will all work. People are not seeing anything other than a beautiful woman.

Across the room, Katherine is laughing. She is drunk.

I miss the Katherine who wasn’t intoxicated on anything but life.

The one who showed me the real her. The one who is still a broken eighteen-year-old having lost the man she loved and her child.

Before she’d revealed this, I was fascinated, bewitched even, but now my feelings have grown so much more.

Because of those feelings and my respect for her work, I accept the Katherine who moves across the salon to speak with a guest. Her smile is overdone, her gaze flirtatious.

Forster comes to her side and places a possessive hand on her back.

It says to all, she is mine , but it lies.

I long for tonight to be over. It has been exhausting, and I feel exposed in this peacock dress and with my work on display.

Each nerve ending is raw, and I am jumpy.

Too much champagne and dull conversation.

Thankfully, more people leave, and Forster escorts them through the gate in the garden to the quay.

Gondolas move swiftly with their lanterns swaying, casting shadows against the walls and leaving light reflections in the water.

Everything feels unbalanced. I walk back to the salon, wondering if I can simply retreat to my room.

Once tonight is over, a new phase begins.

Rossi walks up to me holding out a glass. Out of politeness, I accept it. He stares with admiration at the painting, then turns to me.

‘I haven’t had time to study this work yet.’

‘It is the style that Forster wished for.’

‘It is indeed. You have fulfilled the request and yet . . . gone beyond.’ He steps closer to the canvas.

My heart skips as his eyes rest on the paper and pen.

‘Harking back to the tradition of painting the sitter with their tools, so to speak.’ He takes a sip of his champagne.

‘This is indeed a remarkable painting. In it you have revealed so much.’ He looks at me.

‘You have shown what a fool Simon has made of us all.’

Bloods drains from my face as I realise what he has said. I grab the back of a chair so I don’t fall over.

‘Very remarkable, for it speaks of the artist as much as the sitter.’ His glance narrows and he steps closer to me.

I am aware of Father Keeney’s words from earlier.

There is no one around us, but the buzz of conversation has faded away and only a ringing of warning remains in my ears.

How can I stop Rossi saying anything further?

I have shown him to be a fool, and he knows he has made Mussolini look a fool as well.

‘So much talent in such a twisted mind. I hadn’t seen that in you.’

I want to say something but don’t know what. Dread mixes with the realisation that we aren’t alone. Forster is standing and staring at the portrait. Rossi mustn’t talk to him. I must act. I’ve been so reckless. I open my mouth to speak.

‘Only a person in love could have created such a painting,’ Rossi says to me as Forster arrives at his side.

The expression on Forster’s face changes. It is clear he heard.

‘Excuse us, Serafino. It has been a long evening. Shall we meet for breakfast?’

Rossi bows. ‘Of course, and again my apologies for my late arrival.’

Forster sees him out and Katherine sways towards me. She has no idea what has just happened.

‘Katherine . . .’ I begin.

Forster storms back into the room. I have never seen such rage. His face is distorted with it. He looks between Katherine and me, then to the painting.

‘Deviants, both of you.’ He moves towards it, but Katherine steps between him and the canvas.

He stops, his hands in fists, his wild-eyed glance darting between us. I flinch. ‘Leave this house immediately and take that wretched work of filth out of my sight.’

I grab the painting as best I can.

‘Out of my house!’ he shouts.

‘She can’t leave tonight.’ I hear the plea in Katherine’s voice.

‘What do you know, you . . . you whore!’

I’m frozen, wanting to run yet desperate to stay and protect her.

‘I will not have a woman put out on the street tonight. She will leave tomorrow.’ Katherine speaks slowly, and I can see she is sobering up.

‘You are damn right she will.’

She turns to me. ‘Go.’

I flee with the painting and take it through to the dining room, hoping it will be safe there for the night.

Then I race to my room and bolt the door.

My heart is thumping so loudly I can’t hear.

What will he do now? I pull off the gown and get dressed ready to leave.

There is no way I can sleep, but Katherine is right, I can’t set off in the middle of the night.

I take a deep breath to slow my heart rate, and that is when I hear the shouting. Then silence. I’m more worried when I can’t hear them.

What have I done? Below, their bedroom door slams, then I hear their voices as clearly as if they were in the room with me.

‘Be reasonable, Simon,’ Katherine pleads.

I pace the floor.

‘Reasonable,’ he shouts. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word.’

I hear a thwack. I race to the window and peer over the small balcony. But I can see nothing.

Katherine sobs. ‘Simon, I love you. It was just a distraction.’

‘You debased creature.’

Another thwack. I hear her cry out, and I race downstairs to their bedroom.

Katherine yells in pain and I try to open the door. It’s locked. Her screams pierce through me and I pound on the door until I can do so no longer. My throat is raw from shouting.

He hasn’t stopped. His voice changes to groans of pleasure. Katherine sobs.

These sounds will never leave me. I am useless. Nothing I can do will save her. Slowly I return to my room, closing the windows to deaden the sound. I am such a fool.