They were under strict instructions to keep out of the studio. She had no desire to venture into that place, which hid no secrets yet was still secretive.
It was divided from the rest of the house, at the end of a dark, narrow hallway. The children avoided playing there. But. The housekeeper needed the teapot and had informed her that Master had taken it into his work quarters last night. She was the only one who could retrieve it.
So here she was, in almost darkness. The smell of turpentine lingered. She pulled back one of the curtains, letting in harsh winter light. It revealed the teapot in its woollen cosy on the floor, amongst stacks of discarded sketches. They were all of her. The latest muse; newly arrived and unimpressed. She had not yet woken up although it was nearly midday. This one liked her beauty sleep, apparently, and was not interested in much else. She did not like housework or the children. She was fatigued with boredom.
She was even more beautiful than the others, this woman who was no mere artist's wife. From each corner of the room her catlike stare was mesmerising. The contours of her body displayed on each canvas, captured in varying golden hues. They portrayed an unearthly being of colourful silk and untold riches, jewels from another land.
Clutching the teapot closely, she retreated from the room. She would not enter it again.
LC
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