Page 26 of The Quiet Wife
“Not in the slightest. I’m looking forward to meeting her. I’ll ensure everything is prepared for her arrival.”
“Thank you. She’s looking forward to meeting you.”
With a small bow, he turned to leave. She found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to ask a favour.
“Mr Whistler?”
He turned back with a smile.
She tried not to wring her hands nervously. “I… hate to ask you this, but I’d very much appreciate it if you didn’t mention mine and the children’s visit to see how the portrait was progressing.” It shamed her to have to make such a request, but she knew if she didn’t and it came up in conversation, Frederick would be furious.
“I won’t say a word. Many people don’t want anyone to look, so he wouldn’t be unusual in that.”
Frances was surprised to hear that. “Really?”
Mr Whistler nodded. “It’s very common. People can feel very conscious when having a portrait painted and don’t want anyone to see. Often, they don’t even want to see themselves.”
“Has my husband seen the progress?” she enquired.
“Not yet.”
“Then I feel dreadful looking at it and allowing the children to see. I thought he was simply being…” She clamped her mouth shut, aware she had already said too much.
“There is nothing to feel dreadful about at all. Of course, you are all curious. After all, we will start on your portrait soon. You might not want anyone to see yours.”
Frances managed a weak smile.
“Don’t worry so,” Mr Whistler assured her. He hesitated, then reached out and squeezed the top of her arm. He let go immediately, but she felt the warmth of his hand for a long time after.
***
The children’s excitement about the painting subsided, temporarily eclipsed by the arrival of Mr Whistler’s mother. Partly because her American accent was even more pronounced than her son’s, and partly because she referred to Mr Whistler as Jemie. Mr Whistler, nay, Jemie, gave them all leave to use his Christian name too, as did his mother, which sent the children into transports of glee.
At some level, Frances knew that his name was James, but Jemie seemed to suit him better.
“My papa always called me Jamie,” he explained to the children who gathered around him and his mother, utterly enthralled. “But everyone else calls me Jemie. Or sometimes, Jim, but I prefer Jemie.”
“Jemie!” Elinor bounced up and down. “I like Jemie too!”
“Then you shall use it.”
Frances found it hard to think of him as Jemie. Whilst it suited him, it felt far too intimate, and she was sure it wasn’t proper etiquette to be so familiar.
“It’s very kind of you to invite me to stay with you, my dear,” Mrs Whistler said. “It’s clear that you’ve taken extremely good care of my son.”
“We are honoured to have him stay with us, and we are delighted to welcome you too,” Frances sat beside Mrs Whistler, who was a very serene looking woman. Very composed with dark hair, but with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
“It’s wonderful to meet your adorable children, too.”
Frances felt that Anna Whistler was someone she could get along well with.
“Your mother is a delight,” Frances turned to Mr Whistler… no, Jemie, as she watched his mother talk to each of the children and listen to them with care.
“She’s as sharp as a needle. Don’t let that old lady facade fool you,” he warned her with a chuckle.
“I suspected as much. You can see it in her eyes. I imagine she is an excellent subject for you to paint.”
Jemie hesitated, then tilted his head on one side as he searched her face.
