This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

“Claire and I have found a small flat just off Gower Street, only half a mile from the Slade.”

“Sounds ideal,” said Samantha. “When will you be leaving us?”

“In about a fortnight’s time. If that’s all right with you, Pops.”

“Of course it’s fine,” said Samantha.

“No, no, no,” repeated Jake, pointing his spoon at Jessica.

“Don’t point, Jake,” said his mother.

25

“TODAY’S LIFE DRAWING class has been canceled,” said Professor Howard. A groan went up around the room when the professor added, “Our model has once again failed to turn up.”

The twelve students were beginning to gather up their equipment, when a young man Jessica had never seen before rose from his seat, strolled into the middle of the room, stripped off, and sat down on the dais. A round of applause followed, as the first-year students returned to their easels and set about their work.

Paulo Reinaldo was the first man Jessica had ever seen naked, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was like a Greek god, she thought. Well, a Brazilian god. She sketched a charcoal outline of his body with a few sweeping movements, an exercise that would take her fellow students considerably longer, and without the same results. Next, she concentrated on his head, which she began to capture in greater detail. Long curly dark hair that she wanted to run her hands through. Her eyes traveled down his body and she began to wish she was a sculptor. His torso rippled, and his legs looked as if they were built to run a marathon. She tried to concentrate as her tutor looked over her shoulder.

“You’ve caught him,” said Professor Howard. “Most impressive. But I need you to think about shadow and perspective, and never forget, less is more. Have you ever seen the drawings Bonnard did of his wife climbing out of a bath?”

“No.”

“You’ll find some excellent examples in the academy library. They are the proof, if proof is needed, that if you want to know just how great an artist is, you should study their preliminary drawings before you even consider their masterpieces. By the way, try not to make it quite so obvious how much you fancy him.”

* * *

During the next week, Jessica didn’t come across Paulo again. He was never to be found in the library and didn’t seem to attend lectures. After Professor Howard’s remarks, she made no attempt to find out more about him from her fellow students. But whenever his name came up, she stopped talking and started listening.

“He’s the son of a Brazilian industrialist,” said a student from the year above her. “His father wanted him to come to London and brush up on his English, among other things.”

“I think he only intends to hang around for a couple of years, then go back to Rio and open a nightclub,” offered another, while a third said, somewhat testily, “He only comes to figurative drawing to scout out his next victim.”

“You seem well informed,” said Avril Perkins.

“I ought to be, I slept with him half a dozen times before he dumped me,” the girl said casually. “That’s how he spends most of his time, except the evenings.”

“What does he do in the evenings?” asked Jessica, unable to remain silent any longer.

“Makes a close study of English nightclubs, rather than English watercolors. He claims that’s the real reason he’s over here. But he did tell me he plans to have slept with every female student at the Slade by the end of his first year.”

They all laughed except Jessica, who was rather hoping to be his next victim.

* * *

When Jessica turned up for life drawing the following Thursday, two other girls were already seated on either side of Paulo. One of them was Avril Perkins. Jessica sat opposite him on the other side of the semicircle of students, trying to concentrate on the model, a middle-aged woman who looked bored and cold, unlike Avril.

Her eyes eventually returned to Paulo, to find he only needed one hand for drawing, while the other rested on Avril’s thigh.

When Professor Howard suggested a midmorning break, Jessica waited for Avril to leave before she strolled around the circle of drawings, pretending to study her fellow students’ efforts. Paulo’s wasn’t bad, it was dreadful. She wondered how he could ever have been offered a place at the Slade.

“Not bad,” said Jessica as she continued to look at his drawing.

“I agree,” said Paulo. “It’s awful, and you know it, because you’re so much better than any of us.”

Was he flirting, or did he really believe what he’d just said? Jessica didn’t care.

“Would you like to come out for a drink tonight?” he asked.