Page 62 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

He came a step closer, looking down into her face. ‘Yes,’ he said softly, ‘I see you know it, you feel it. You are my Psyche. I must have you. You will be my inspiration.’

She stared into his eyes, hardly believing. ‘You want me to model for you?’ she managed to say.

‘Yes!’ he said. ‘Will you? Will you be part of this? I can’t do it without you. Together, we can make something that will last for ever.’

Her mouth was dry. She tried to say yes but no sound came out. She nodded. His smile was her reward. He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. For one dizzying moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. But then he withdrew, moved away, and his voice became brisk and practical again. ‘Good. We begin next week. Go home now. Dream Psyche’s dreams until then.’

After a meeting at the Royal Academy, Mawes Morris had stopped in Bond Street to pick up a package for Isabel, intending to cut through Stafford Street to the Underground station. He paused at the corner to light a cigarette, and as he raised his head from his cupped hands he stiffened in surprise. A young woman had just come out from a house halfway along and went away down the street. For one clear moment he had seen her face with its enraptured smile. He knew the house from which she had emerged, because he had often been there, for gentlemen’s dinners and other social engagements; and he knew that look because he had seen it before. What had surprised him was the identity of the young woman.

‘Up to his tricks again?’ he muttered. He shook his head, thought, None of my business, and started on his way. But when he reached the house, he thought again, imagined the repercussions, and sighed. He couldn’t quite turn a blind eye.

The street door, as he had expected, was unlocked. Rather than trouble the housekeeper, he went straight upstairs, tapped at the open front-room door and went in. Wentworth was standing at his desk by the window looking through a sheaf of drawings. His eyebrows rose at the sight of his visitor. ‘Morris? This is a surprise.’

‘I was just passing, and the thought came to me that I should drop in and see how my friend Wentworth is getting along. Are you busy? I was heading for my club – care to come along and have a wet?’

‘In the ordinary way I’d be delighted,’ Wentworth said, ‘but I’ve a meeting in half an hour at the school. And a dinner engagement afterwards. Some other time, perhaps?’

‘Of course, old fellow. It was just a thought. How is Augusta? And the children?’

‘All well, thank you.’

‘Looking forward to having you back for the summer, I dare say? It must be almost the end of term.’

‘Next week is the last week, thank God,’ Wentworth said. ‘We should get together before I go down. Are you going to the Alma-Tademas’ on Friday?’

‘Yes, Isabel and I have been invited. Lepida too, but it’s rather an elderly gathering for her so I shall let her off. You’re going? Even though it’s in far-flung St John’s Wood?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. Everyone will be there. I want to tease Lawrence about his latest work – Ask Me No More. Have you seen it? What did you think of it?’

‘Perfection, as always,’ Mawes said.

‘Yes, as always! I’m trying not to mind that he rather steals my thunder.’

‘He thinks you steal his.’

‘Well, thank God the public appetite for marble and roses never flags,’ Wentworth laughed.

Mawes smiled too, and said, ‘I suppose I’d better let you get on, if I can’t tempt you out to play. By the way,’ he added, as if casually, ‘I saw a young woman leaving your house as I was approaching.’

‘A pupil of mine – one of my specials. She’s just agreed to model for my new work for the Academy’s autumn exhibition, The Bath of Psyche.’

‘Modelling nude, of course?’

‘Naturally. Part of my scheme to strip away the middle-class conventions that hold her back. You know my methods. She’s coming along nicely – has definite potential.’

‘Ah. This young lady – you know who she is?’

A slight frown touched Wentworth’s sculpted features. ‘What do you mean? Of course I do. She’s a Miss Tallant. Have I missed something?’

‘I fear you may have. Tallant is the family name of the earls of Stainton. She’s the sister of the present earl, and in his charge. Favourite niece of Lady Manningtree. Her mother’s the Princess Usingen – a great stickler.’

Wentworth stared. ‘Oh, good grief! I wasn’t told.’

‘I did rather wonder, when I saw her leaving your house with that look on her face, as though you’d been making love to her,’ said Mawes, feeling for another cigarette. He offered the case to Wentworth, who waved it away distractedly. ‘You know, it’s all very well in the normal way, old fellow, but if it should get out, I fear the fur will fly.’ Wentworth was raking a hand through his hair, and Mawes could see he was visualising it. ‘You don’t actually need her as a model, do you?’

‘Oh – no! I have a regular girl. But my plan!’

‘If she should talk…Girls do.’