Page 43 of The Model Debutante
Once she was inside a sense of familiarity took over from thenervousness and she climbed the stairs to the attic studio feeling calmer. The artist had the large canvas already set up and his palette set and was busily adjusting the bright new lamps around the model’s podium and the old blue screen.
‘My dear, Miss Grey, I cannot thank you enough,’ he exclaimed, bustling forward to shake her hand. ‘I understand how difficult it is for you now, but to be able to complete the canvasses…to know that they will be fittingly hung, even if it is in remote and private rooms, not in a gallery…I cannot begin to explain…’
‘I quite understand,’ Tallie assured him. ‘I will just go and change.’
‘I have set up screens, in the corner,’ Harland gestured to a set of old Spanish leather folding screens from which hung a length of white linen. ‘With the new lamps it is so much warmer up here, I thought it would be more convenient.’
Tallie found the screened area contained a chair, a mirror and a clothes stand and began to undress. She had chosen the evening gown for its ease of removal and was soon draped in the linen and unpinning her hair. The gold filet hung from the mirror and within a few minutes Diana stared back at herself in the fly-spotted glass. Forcing herself to be practical Tallie flicked her hair into the style of the portrait, gathered the linen around her as modestly as she could and went to stand on her mark.
After the first few, strange, minutes it simply became ordinary and familiar again. The attic still creaked, mice still scuffled in the corners and the familiar drafts penetrated even the warmth created by the powerful spermaceti lamps. The artist paced and muttered behind her, once hurrying down to twitch the hem of the linen drape, again to adjust the angle of the lights.
After an hour he observed, ‘Splendid, splendid. Now, Miss Grey, if you would like to take ten minutes to rest then I believe another half hour will see all complete.’
Tallie swathed the drape around her and turned, flexing her shoulders gratefully. ‘How are the other canvasses progressing, Mr Harland? Are you–’
She broke off at the sound of thunderous knocking on the street door and froze. What was happening? It seemed just like that terrifying afternoon when Jack Lynley and his friends had invaded the studio.
Harland threw open the attic door and once again, just like that nightmare day, Peter’s voice rose up the stairwell. ‘No, sir! You cannot go up there. Mr Harland is occupied.’
Tallie grabbed Harland’s arm. ‘Who is it? Are you expecting anyone?’
‘No. Get back inside, I will go down.’
But the sound of footsteps was clear on the stairs. Someone with a long stride was taking the stairs at the run. Frantic, Tallie spun round and began to run across the dusty floor towards the only hiding place, the closet.
But she was only halfway there when the attic door crashed open behind her. She turned again, clutching the illusory protection of the linen drape around her and stared at the doorway where a man was thrusting the protesting artist aside with a peremptory hand.
Mr Harland staggered back and trembling, Tallie braced herself for humiliation, disgrace and the ruin of her reputation.
Chapter Fifteen
His lungs heaving from the effort of taking four precipitous flights of stairs at the run, Nick stood in the doorway and stared at the goddess standing at bay in front of him. In the strong light she seemed bathed in a strange sunlight that gave her an ancient magic all her own and his breath caught in awe. Then he saw her wide, frightened eyes, the way her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, the courage which made her stay there facing him down despite her terror.
He strode forward and seized her arm, forcing himself to ignore her nakedness, her nearness, holding her despite her frantic efforts to wrench herself away. ‘Tallie, stop it. Listen to me, there isn’t much time, Lynley and a pack of his friends are on my heels. This is a trap.’
He saw Tallie turn her eyes on the artist, only for him to shake his head in furious denial at the accusation on her face. ‘Good God no, Miss Grey, I had no idea. Mr Laidlaw’s offer seemed perfectly genuine –heseemed perfectly…’
‘Later,’ Nick snapped. ‘Laidlawisgenuine. He’s Lynley’s cousin, just back from Greece and he must have seemed the ideal tool for his purposes. Harland, where are the back stairs?’ Tallie was struggling in his grip, he tightened it, one part of his mind recoiling at the thought of hurting her, the other ruthlessly aware that he was going to have to force her to obey him for her own protection.
‘There are none,’ the artist wailed, then gave a startled exclamation as the knocker thudded again. He ran towards the door, calling ‘Peter! Do not open it!’
‘Too late,’ Nick said grimly, ‘they’re in.’
Tallie tugged at his hand. ‘Let me go, I must get dressed, at least.’
‘No time. Harland, can you hide her clothes, her reticule?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ He was already hurrying towards the screen. ‘I have trunks full of old clothes, hangings for props.’
‘Nick.’
‘Quiet.’ He dragged Tallie towards the window, thrust it up and peered out into the darkness. The street seemed miles below, the attic of Harland’s house was a clear storey above the other houses surrounding it.
‘Thank Heavens for small mercies, there’s a ledge.’ It was narrow, shining with dampness, maybe crumbling, but it stretched across the width of the house just below the window line. He closed his mind to the possible dangers, focussing on the immediate one. ‘Harland, close this after us. Hurry!’
The artist thrust Tallie’s evening cloak into a mass of multi-coloured hangings, tossed her reticule and shoes on top of a bookcase and hurried towards them.
Nick whipped the linen from Tallie’s grip and gave it to the artist. ‘That will only trip you up,’ he said as he began to climb out of the window. ‘Come on.’
