The Beauty Within

‘Si. And I will also block out the main shapes, just as I have shown you.’ Giovanni guided her back towards the chair, encouraging her to question him, relieved to discover that by distracting her with the technical details of his craft, the various pigments he preferred, the precise recipe of oils and binding agents he used to create his paints, he could distract himself too, from his awareness of her as a woman, of himself as a man, which had no place here in his studio.

Cressie’s face, which was quite plain in repose, when animated was transformed. He fed her facts, drew her out with questions as to the detail of her theory and sketched quickly, trying to capture her in charcoal and when he had, he replaced the paper with his canvas and repositioned his sitter. This he did quickly lest she remember the purpose of this session and become self-conscious once again.

‘Tell me more of this book you are using to teach your brothers,’ he said as he began to paint in the grid.

‘It is a children’s introduction to geometry. I am hoping that if I have evidence of its practical application I will be able to persuade my publisher to print it. At present, he is unwilling to do so at his own expense, and I have not the wherewithal to fund it myself. Unfortunately, to date my brothers have not exactly proved to be the most interested of pupils.’

‘It seems to me that your brothers have been raised to find only themselves of interest.’

Cressie grinned. ‘That is a dreadful thing to contemplate, but I am afraid it is quite true. Save for my father, they have been raised to care for no one’s opinion but their own.’

‘And your father cares for none but them, you say?’

‘Blood and beauty,’ Cressie said with a twisted smile. ‘Your words, signor, and most apt. Your own father—is he still alive? He must be immensely proud of you and your success.’

‘Proud! My father thinks …’ Giovanni took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, surprised by the strength of his reaction. He never thought of his father. Not consciously. He had no father worthy of the name. ‘What I know from bitter experience is that you might succeed in mollifying your father by doing as he bids, but he will only see it as his right, his due. You cannot make a man such as that proud of you, Cressie. And in the process of trying, you are making yourself thoroughly miserable.’

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