Precious Things (21 page)

Audrey gave a short laugh, almost a bark.

‘Ladies,' said Christian, holding up a hand to signal the end of the conversation. ‘Enough.' He leaned forward. ‘Bella, you've been with me since my paintings started to sell,' he told her, and Bella could see Marco make a note in that little book of his. ‘And Audrey, no one's taking unfair advantage. In any case, I haven't stopped laying my golden eggs . . . In the meantime,' he said, sitting back, ‘eat, drink and be merry.'

Christian raised his glass and motioned for another bottle. The Passito di Pantelleria was uncorked and poured. Bella took a sip, letting the sickly sweet liquid roll over her tongue like nectar.

‘Hear, hear,' cried Alessandro, toasting Christian. His eyes sparkled mischievously.

It's all right for you
, Bella thought.
You don't realise how quickly Christian can change . . .

Why oh why hadn't she left Rome when her parents had wired her the money for a plane ticket back to the States? She'd accepted the money gratefully but deliberately ignored the caveat it came with.
Come home
, they urged.
You belong here.
But Bella had been too proud. She hadn't thought things would turn out like this – an unmarried mother, begging for scraps. Back then, she'd thought herself invincible.

‘Now, Audrey, your portrait,' said Christian, turning to his sister. ‘We'll get to it soon. But for now, Bella has the more . . .
dissolute
presence I'm looking for.' He laughed lightly. Bella tried to figure out whether he was making fun of her.

‘Why do you never use me?' asked Audrey petulantly, turning the stem of her glass between her fingers and affecting a pantomime frown.

‘You're far too elegant,' he said, giving Audrey a strange look. ‘Too perfect.'

Interesting
, Bella thought, filing the glance away. Maybe she hadn't quite understood everything that went on between the brother and sister.

‘You look wonderful tonight, by the way. Very neat,' he said, fingering Audrey's blouse. She blushed. ‘Who gave you that necklace?'

‘They're Dead Sea pearls. Do you like them? They're from Matthew,' said Audrey, patting her husband's hand on the table, as if to remind herself he was there. Matthew's large head wavered, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused – he'd missed the exchange and was deep into another glass of wine.
He's very drunk,
Bella thought, swivelling to whisper the observation in Alessandro's ear.

Alessandro snickered. ‘Poor Audrey – she'll be going without again this evening. That'll be a change.'

Bella laughed, hoping Christian hadn't heard them. But he had cat-like hearing.

‘Enough,' he said calmly.

Bella's laugh petered out and Alessandro shifted in his seat, bored with the conversation all of a sudden.

‘I think it's time to move on,' said Christian, pointedly glancing at his watch.

What time is it?
Bella wondered, sitting up straighter in her chair. She grabbed Alessandro's arm to check his watch: 2 am! As the
tiredness threatened to overwhelm her, Bella turned to stifle a yawn. Christian hated it when they flagged . . . All of them were pawns for his amusement, no more, no less. She caught a snatch of conversation from the end of the table and turned to listen.

‘Twenty-five thousand pounds . . . But that's astonishing!' exclaimed Marco. Donatella, one of Christian's friends, nodded. The petite Milanese dealer caught Bella's eye. There was no animosity there; in fact, Bella and Donatella got along quite well.

‘Sorry – twenty-five thousand pounds for what?' asked Bella, her curiosity piqued.

Marco turned to Bella, excited. ‘For Christian's paintings, apparently. A collector bought three from Donatella recently. You know the ones, from the last series – of you, on the, ah . . . rack. Isn't that brilliant?' The sycophantic pitch of Marco's tone enraged her. He glanced towards Christian adoringly, as though in the presence of royalty.

Twenty-five thousand pounds!
Bella cast her mind back, trying to remember what she'd been paid to model for them. A hundred pounds maybe? Not even in cash, but made up to her in dinners and clothes. She blinked, trying to take in the information.

‘God, Christian, twenty-five thousand pounds, you must be rolling in it!' she said loudly, before she could stop herself. The room fell silent and Christian turned towards her, never missing a beat.

‘You're forgetting dealer's cuts,' he said smoothly. ‘And Giles's cut. He still takes it. After that, I'm lucky to be left with much. But I like to share it with my friends.' He gestured around at the silent friends.

Christian looked around for the waiter. ‘So – where to next?' he asked.

Swiftly done
, Bella thought.

‘Marionella's throwing a party at the
castello
this evening,' Alessandro piped up, brightening considerably. ‘Can Raphael take us?'

‘Of course,' said Christian. ‘
Scusi
?' he shouted, impatient. The owner of the restaurant fussed into the room.

‘Signor Farmer, can I help you with anything?' asked Dino Locatelli, bowing low despite his considerable girth.

‘Wonderful meal this evening. Excellent service, as always. Put it on my tab. And will you find out where Raphael's got to? He needs to drive us to Montagnana.'

‘
Si, si
,' said Dino, bustling out of the room.

Collecting her bag, Bella knew she couldn't carry on. Not tonight. The baby would need feeding in a few hours, and she needed to relieve the neighbour who'd kindly agreed to watch her. Bella had promised to be home early . . .
So much for promises.
Her breasts were feeling heavy and engorged already. At the thought of her daughter, the familiar prickling started up in her nipples. She could even feel a few drops of milk leaking into the wads of fabric she'd tucked inside her bra. Bella hoped it wouldn't stain her dress.

The group shrugged on their coats and gloves, tottering past the rooms with chairs on tables, empty and echoing, out onto the cobbled street. The last to leave, Bella turned around to glance at the table. Sitting there, on the table among the smudged glasses, bottles and empty plates was a crumpled small pile of notes and coins – the tip. It was customary that Christian paid for dinner, but Bella rarely coughed up much extra for service, even if the others did. Checking to see that no one was watching, she snatched up the notes, tucking them into her cleavage. There were still a few coins left behind.
No one will know
, Bella told herself guiltily. The waiters would simply assume they'd been stingy. Certainly, no one from the restaurant would say anything – they'd all be too afraid of upsetting Christian.

Pulling her ocelot capelet tight around her shoulders, Bella trained her gaze ahead and strode out onto the street, following the dark, shadowy figures of Louise and Victor – a wealthy Russian couple she suspected Christian had shady dealings with. The snowy spots of the ocelot fur glowed brightly under the golden light of the street lamps, and she knew it contrasted beautifully with her thick chestnut curls and gloves.

‘I won't go on – but have a good time. I'll see you soon,' she told Christian, reaching up to kiss both cheeks. He received her stiffly, and Bella felt a shiver go through her. She told herself it was only the cold night air.

‘No Bella, you can't leave!' cried Alessandro, linking his arm through hers, cheeks rosy. ‘Christian, tell her, won't you? She has to come. It'll be
molto divertente
. . . Stop being a bore! No one's likely to be as bad as you, bad girl.' He chucked her on the chin. ‘Forget about Christian, we love watching you get up to your antics. We're always wondering what you'll do next, aren't we?'

Christian's face was unreadable. ‘If she has to go, she has to go,' he said coolly, looking around for Raphael.

Bella was stung, but recovered herself. ‘Another time,' she said airily, kissing Alessandro goodnight.

Several others cried off as well, their breath frosting the frigid night air as they said their goodbyes. Bella looked at Marco and could tell he was as excited as a puppy. Another acolyte for Christian – he loved that. Five of them – Christian and Alessandro, Marco, and Audrey and Matthew – eventually fell inside the long black automobile, legs and arms entangling in the back seat. Raphael gunned the engine, eager to be away, and they sped off down the cobbled street. Bella waved them goodbye, feeling the false smile drop from her face as soon as they disappeared.

Turning suddenly, her heel caught painfully between two cobbled stones and twisted her ankle.

‘Damn!' she cursed.

Several storeys above her, shutters banged open. A woman in hair rollers leaned her head out the window and into the night air. ‘
Basta! Stai zitto!
' she cried angrily. Bella stepped back to avoid the bucket of water that rained down on the street.

‘I'm going, I'm going!' she shouted, clutching her cape and hoping it would be all right – the rare fur was the most expensive item she owned.

Limping down the narrow laneway towards home, Bella moved as quickly as her ankle would allow. She thought about the macabre
table display, which seemed to match the strangeness of this evening, and wished longingly for her bed. All she wanted was to curl up beside her daughter and breathe in her pure, milky smell.

Forget tonight
, she told herself. The baby was all the comfort she needed.

‘Where do you want me?' Bella asked, brushing the dust from a patch on the floor and placing the baby in a basket near her feet. She hoped her
bambina
would be good today. By good, Bella meant
please be quiet, please be still
, because the young child was almost always sweet and well behaved. Christian wasn't used to children, so she had no idea what he found reasonable: they were still negotiating the rules of their arrangement. He was never easy at the best of times, and now he seemed to lose his temper at the slightest provocation.

Throwing her overflowing frame handbag in a corner, Bella stripped off her dress with its print of lemon trees and pitched it towards the bag. The frock fell in a stiffened heap over the woven raffia. Bella left it where it had fallen – it wasn't worth fussing, she'd be in and out of it all day. With no girdle to bother with, Bella stepped out of her underwear and kicked it to the corner as well. It came to rest upon a nearby ashtray, and Bella flinched. A year ago, she wouldn't have cared less, but Christian knew she was bringing the baby today . . . Couldn't he at least have tidied up a bit?

Bella took up her position on the stool, naked as the day she was born. She pulled back her shoulders, ready to begin.

Christian still had his back to her, distracted with paying the landlady. Turning around, he did a double-take.

‘Christ, Bella. Couldn't you at least wait until Maria leaves?' He nodded towards the short, squat woman with the large gold cross at her neck. Maria was clutching a set of jangling keys to her chest, staring horrified at Bella. Christian gave the woman a few extra lire to make up for it and saw her to the door.

‘Sorry,' Bella shrugged, not really understanding. Surely the old woman knew they were using the space for a studio? Maybe not. This was a cave compared to others she'd been in. One anglepoise lamp revealed the indigo sheets and empty paint tubes, a hot sun struggling to find its way inside around the covered window frame. There was a small crack of light though, despite Christian's efforts. Bella watched the dust motes dance and swirl in the stale air.

Crossing her legs, she rested one foot on a wooden strut. Her chestnut curls formed a glossy cumulus, bouncing around her head.

‘How would you like me then?'

Usually Christian would rig up all sorts of furniture and apparatus, but today the studio was stark. Apart from the bureau, cluttered with paints, jar and brushes, there was only the stool and a basic cot sitting over in the far corner.

‘Not like that,' Christian said, shaking his head. ‘Stand up,' he commanded. Bella did as she was told.

‘Well,
they've
changed,' said Christian, a sour note entering his voice. Full and milk-engorged even after her
bambina's
morning feed, Bella knew he was right about her breasts. The nipples had grown larger and darker in the last few months and hung low, less pert than they'd once been. Looking down, Bella saw the snaking blue line of a vein pulsate across her chest, in time to the beat of her heart. She walked over to the bureau and took up a packet of cigarettes. Lighting one up, she blew the smoke upwards into the air.
Oh God
, she thought,
it's going to be one of
those
days
.

Motioning towards the canvases stacked against one wall with a flick of her wrist, she tried to flatter him. ‘They're wonderful, Christian – some of your finest work yet.' Bella wondered how much they were worth. Another twenty-five thousand?