“No, I can wait until it is finished now. I’m a patient man.”
She thought this was probably true. As she painted with her inner eye attuned to her subject, she saw no indication of an impulsive nature, more that of a man who would judge his timing, which was probably why he had been so successful in business. Greed was there, conveyed unwittingly by the eyes, but his hooded lids and brushlike lashes disguised it sufficiently for it not to appear obvious in her portrait, although if he had been looking directly at her, instead of his gaze being lodged elsewhere, it would have been registered. Nothing could hide the fleshy fullness of the lips, indicative of a lustful nature, nor would her painting, for this was not a likeness depicted for his conceit. One of the first lessons Hendrick had taught her was to set down the truth of what she saw.
“Shall you be glad when the portrait is finished?” Sybylla asked.
“What a question!” Francesca gave a happy laugh. “I’m totally interested because it is my first commission, but I’ll know when I apply the last brushstroke that it’s the eve of one day less before I leave to begin my apprenticeship.”
Sybylla made a little grimace, unable to think of anything more dreary than setting off for three years of concentrated work.
When they arrived at the mansion Francesca found Ludolf, resplendent in his black-and-gold garments, waiting for her. “I have a morning free of engagements,” he said, “and so I’m at your command.”
“How fortunate! I particularly wanted to detail your hands today and your rings.”
He talked even more than usual from the rostrum. At midmorning hot chocolate was brought. She moved with him to take one of the chairs, each with a silk velvet cushion in beautiful colors, which were placed on either side of the fireplace that was giving such a steady warmth to the room. No peat was burned in this house. The flames were constantly replenished with expensive logs, no doubt from cargoes of timber imported from Norway, a country with which Holland did much trade. A boy servant was detailed exclusively to take care of the fires and the one in the studio was timed to be at its best when refreshment was taken.
After all the conversation of the past hours Ludolf was silent as he held his porcelain cup and looked into the flames. There was no sound except the spitting and crackling of the birch logs. Then he looked across at her.
“I hope that during the time we have spent together here you have come to know me well.”
“A bond does form between artist and sitter,” she conceded. “That is inevitable.”
“Have you not forgiven me for my indiscretion?”
“Of course I have,” she said generously.
He looked again into the flames. “You have seen for yourself that I am a lonely man. Amalia has been wife to me only in name for over four years. My compassion for her has kept me faithful and devoted. I do all in my power to ensure she has everything possible to relieve the burden of her ill health, but I have to confess that my own life is empty. Can you wonder that I forget myself completely when I am alone with you?” His eyes were on her again, full of appeal.
Her sound common sense told her to be wary and not to be fooled. She had glimpsed too much in his eyes and studied his face too closely not to have summed him up as a man of lusty appetites who would not settle easily to celibacy. But then maybe he had spoken the truth; men who loved could be faithful in the most difficult circumstances. There were many beautiful things in Amalia’s suite that were gifts from Ludolf, not only on birthdays and special occasions but also when he happened to see something he had thought would please her. Even the Pieter de Hooch painting was to have been hung in a prominent display elsewhere in the house, but Amalia herself had said that specially to please her Ludolf had placed it in her dayroom. At his orders spring flowers were delivered to her daily, her suite always full of pale hues of the delicate blooms, and there were tulips of every color. More than once Sybylla had told her of seeing him arrive home with an extra posy. The occasional gift might be in keeping with a married man’s troubled conscience, but so many gifts were an expression of fond concern. In any case, Francesca did not think he would be bothered by qualms about any indiscretion.
“I told you,” Francesca said gently, determined to be fair-minded, “I don’t consider that incident to have formed a barrier in any way.”
“I’m in love with you. But,” he added quickly, seeing her dismay, “I ask for nothing from you in return.”
She breathed quickly, having been fearful he would spring from his chair in an attempt to embrace her, but he had made no move except to put his cup aside and spread his hands wide as a man might do to show himself unarmed.
“Let us not talk of this matter ever again,” she declared, still fully alert.
“Nevertheless, as your father’s patron and through my feelings for you, I want to shoulder a certain amount of responsibility for his well-being and that of his family.”
“That is not necessary!” She was adamant. “Buying my father’s paintings puts you under no obligation whatever.”
“But I want him to know that if at any time he is in trouble or difficulty he will turn first to me. Will you tell him that?” When she did not reply, her face turned resolutely away from him, he continued, “I think you should. Who is to say what he might not drift into with you away at Delft and no one to keep hands on the household reins?”
That startled her. “I have everything organized.”
“I don’t doubt that, but I have come to know your father well enough to see that he has his weaknesses.”
Her filial loyalty surged. “Do not dare criticize him to me!” she gave back angrily.
“That was not my intention. I’m speaking of him as a friend. To the best of your knowledge does he always keep his word?”
Her jaw set rigidly. “I don’t want this discussion to continue. I have my father’s assurance that all will go well in my absence and I trust to that.”
“If it should not be, you can be sure I will stand by him. That should give you greater peace of mind at Delft.”
“I know you mean well—”
“I do and I implore you to remember that, Francesca. No matter what happens, and if any calamity should befall you, I would lend all my strength and power to make things right for you again.”
The vehemence of his declaration alarmed her. It was almost fanatical. She decided to calm things down immediately. “I will remember what you have said. To satisfy you, I’ll pass your message to my father. Now I think I should get back to work.”
Her reassuring words had the desired effect. He kissed her hand as a mark of his gratitude before the sitting was resumed. Later, on his own, he estimated how long it would take Hendrick to come to him for a loan. He knew from well beforehand there was no one else in the city who would be prepared to lend Hendrick—or any other artist for that matter—the sum required. He had been certain from the start that Hendrick would ask him, but time was short and he didn’t want any dithering about.
There was no doubt that the little talk he had had with Francesca had gone even better than he had hoped. He was certain he had won her over now. All Amsterdam knew of his kindness to Amalia, his solicitous attention to her comfort, and of the doctors he had brought from far afield to see if anything new could be done for her. When she died—as she would when her gradually declining strength finally ran out, according to every medical opinion—he wanted it to be seen and known that his hands were clean. Her death had to be natural and in its own time.
It was why he had wanted Amalia to have her personal maidservant always in attendance by day and within earshot by night from a truckle bed at the foot of her four-poster. When he had spent most of Amalia’s fortune and she was no longer of any use to him in bed, it would have been easy enough to hire someone to rid him of her, but never again should there be suspicion about him as there had been once in the past. In any case it was of no consequence to him how long Amalia lived. He went his own way and there was nothing she could do to interfere. Being a lady in the true sense of the word, she never spoke of their estrangement even to her closest friends. Only Neeltje, waiting on her day and night, would know of the emptiness of their relationship, but even she could not deny his solicitude.
He hoped to make Francesca a willing mistress. He wanted her to come to him eagerly with outstretched arms and let him do whatever he wished to her. It was not easy being near her day after day while she was at her easel and only the Chinese screen divided off the four-poster bed. If she had responded with encouragement that first day he would have swept her up onto the bed and possessed her then and many times each day afterward.
O
NCE AGAIN
H
ENDRICK
sat with his head in his hands. Beside him on the parlor table was a bottle of grape brandy and a glass, which he had refilled and emptied several times. He had had a terrible day and had been ill received everywhere. Interviews that had started off pleasantly had soon changed in atmosphere when his purpose became known. Sometimes he was blatantly shown the door and at others a thin veneer of politeness had not softened another disappointment. The promise of a few hundred florins from an old friend and fellow artist least able to afford it was all he had to show for his day.
“Master,” Griet repeated when he took no notice of her addressing him the first time, “you have a visitor.”
He looked up blindly. “What?”
“Heer van Doorne is here to see you. He came yesterday afternoon, but you were in the studio.” She thought he did not seem to be grasping what she had said. “You had a model there. That man who’s posing as the tax collector, and so I didn’t disturb you.”
Hendrick passed a bandaged hand across his forehead. Yesterday? Was it so short a time ago that he was painting there without a care? It seemed like a lifetime. He didn’t want to see anyone. “Isn’t Francesca at home?”
“Not yet, Master. But even if all three of your daughters were here it’s still you he’s asking for.”
Hendrick groaned under his breath. “Show him in, then.”
When Pieter entered the parlor he experienced a sense of shock when he saw the grayish pallor of Hendrick’s face. “Are you not well,
mijnheer
?”
“Well enough.” Hendrick waved Pieter to a seat. “If you have come for conversation I’m afraid I’m not good company today.”
“I’ll make only one request and then I’ll go.”
“What is it?”
“Would you allow me to court Francesca and visit her sometimes at Delft?”
Hendrick stared at him with bloodshot eyes. Delft? Francesca? But that was finished. He was going to tell her later and would have to drink himself almost into a stupor before he found the courage to do it. “Didn’t you know it’s her wish that I never give my permission to any suitor wanting to call on her?”
Pieter was undaunted. “That was for others. Not for me.”
“Why should she think differently about you?”
“No reason that I can give you, but I’m sure she does.”
Hendrick had had enough of this persistent young man. He wanted to be on his own to plan in his tired mind how best to break his daughter’s heart, for that was what it would amount to. Unhappy memories of the times he had brought Anna to tears were persecuting him at this moment. He had never thought he would ever have to inflict any misery on their firstborn and he was being torn apart. He gestured impatiently, remorse pulling grotesquely at his mouth.
“If Francesca is willing I raise no objection. Marriage would be good for her, because her apprenticeship is no more.”
“I don’t understand. I thought everything was settled.”
Hendrick shook his head, rocking as if mortally wounded. “There’s no money anymore. I’ve been a fool, Pieter. I lost myself in a card game that ruined me.”
“Surely it can’t be as bad as that. The bank—”
“I’ve been there. In fact I’ve been everywhere I can think of today. This house will have to go. I’ll have to rent a small place somewhere.” Hendrick’s voice cracked completely. He put a shaking hand over his eyes and gestured that Pieter should leave, too choked to say any more.
Pieter only drew a chair up close to Hendrick. “I’ll loan you the money for Francesca’s apprenticeship. Interest-free. You can pay me back whenever you like. If that never proves possible, so be it. She must have her chance.”
Slowly Hendrick raised his head again. He looked dazed, as if unable to comprehend what had been said. “Did you say—?”
“Yes. Tell me the sum required.”
With effort Hendrick cleared his thoughts. Something momentous was happening and he must deal with it without confusion. “An initial payment was made by Willem de Hartog when the indentures were secured. That came from my sale of Francesca’s portrait, but it doesn’t end there. The rest of the fee for her tuition and working materials has to be met biannually and there’s her keep in lodgings.”
“As I said before, tell me what you need for her.”
Hendrick, still undecided, looked at him askance. “There’s no evidence that she’d have you at the end of it.”
A deep flush of anger swept over Pieter’s face. “It’s not by putting her under an obligation that I intend to win her. Far from it! You’ll tell her nothing of this arrangement between us!” There echoed in his mind all that he had fixed with Aletta, equally to be conducted without Francesca’s knowledge. He felt he was wading in again toward sabotaging all that he wanted to be with her, but once more this was an exceptional circumstance.
“In that case I’ll accept your kind loan.” Hendrick saw a first ray of hope. Maybe all would be well in the end after all. Not only were there more sources to tap, but right here in his own home, without even looking for it, the funds to solve his first immediate problem had come to him. The awful dilemma of having to shatter Francesca’s dreams had been dispersed. It meant he need not tell her of his present dreadful difficulties and she could go off to Delft in blissful ignorance. If the facts did have to come to light, he would try to keep them from her as long as possible. But could he dare to believe that his luck had taken an upward swing again?