The Golden Tulip (25 page)

She saw the line he was following again. “It would probably surface just as hatred or greed or anything else that would show when the face of a sitter is studied long enough. If anyone should ask if there was one thing taught me by my father that I valued above all else, I would say it was the development of that inner eye, but I have yet to master it and bring it under my control.”

“Is that what you expect to happen at Vermeer’s studio?”

She relaxed and a look that was both meditative and joyous came into her face in her yearning to be there. “I hope for everything at Delft!”

It was a further rebuff, whether she knew it or not. He could see that it was not going to be easy to win her, but that only incited further his resolve to make her his own. With an amiable remark and a show of good grace that was far from his true feelings, he returned to the chair and she took up her work again.

Chapter 9

A
T
L
UDOLF’S HOUSE THERE WAS NO REPEAT OF THE INCIDENT
of the first day. It was between Francesca and him as if it had not happened; his conversation with her was easy and friendly and devoid of any innuendo whether during the sittings or when she and Sybylla ate the noon meal with him. She reminded herself there were many men who could not resist an opportunity for seduction, and she judged him to be no better and no worse than most. It was to his credit that he had taken notice of her clear indication that she wanted none of it.

As the days went by the routine settled down. When Sybylla continued to accompany Francesca to the house every day, the novelty showing no sign of palling, it seemed time to mention the matter to Ludolf.

“I hope you have no objection to Sybylla being here so often,” she put to him.

He was quick to reassure her. “Indeed not. I’m extremely pleased that she should be here, because I can see that already my wife delights in her cheerful company. And who would not?”

Francesca was equally glad that a friendship had been struck between his wife and her sister that took no account of the difference in their ages. Amalia had an interest in fashion that matched Sybylla’s own and they had long discussions about it and other topics, including the interests of the Visser family.

“It’s splendid that Francesca should have obtained an apprenticeship in Delft,” Amalia remarked one day. “She must be a truly gifted painter.”

“Oh, she is,” Sybylla assured her. “I wish you could see the painting she did of my sister and me playing in concert, Aletta at the virginal and I on my viol.”

Amalia’s face lit up. “The viol? Are you telling me you play the viol? It was my mother’s favorite instrument and as a child I spent many happy hours listening to her playing.” She hesitated. “I suppose—would it be asking too much—I mean could you possibly play for me occasionally?”

“Of course!” Sybylla was genuinely enthusiastic. “That would be marvelous, because I love playing. I’ll bring my viol with me in the coach tomorrow morning.”

“Your sister’s lively company,” Amalia said to Francesca a few days later, “does me more good than any physic the doctor brings. She is like a ray of sunshine whenever she comes into my apartment and we share a love of music. I can’t tell you how much pleasure she gives me when playing her viol.”

If Amalia needed to rest Sybylla would visit Ludolf’s library or wander about the house or garden, only his study and apartment closed to her. Once she happened to see Neeltje coming out of the study and locking the door after her. Sybylla, who was sitting curled up, her feet under her on a window seat, would have thought nothing of it if the woman had not glanced about swiftly before darting away, putting the key in her pocket. She did not notice Sybylla, who wondered if she should mention the incident to Amalia, for it was obvious that Neeltje should not have been there, but after consideration she thought better of it. For all she knew Neeltje had been there at Amalia’s instruction, finding out some matter of interest that Ludolf had no wish to disclose. Perhaps Amalia suspected him of having a mistress, which was more than likely. She had seen the sly way he looked at Francesca, and even with herself he was too fond of seizing any opportunity to slip an arm about her waist and glancing at her bosom as if he could see right through her bodice. She often felt his eyes following her naturally swinging hips when she left his presence.

One of the times of day that Sybylla enjoyed best in the van Deventer house, apart from being with Amalia, was the noon meal, for there was always delicious fare served from silver dishes. Mostly she and Francesca were alone to eat, Amalia always taking her meals in her apartment and Ludolf frequently not at home. Adding to her enjoyment of being in this fine residence every weekday was the knowledge that Maria could not get at her for all those boring domestic chores.

Francesca’s work went well until the morning when she was to meet Pieter. Then her glance strayed constantly to the clock. She had the studio to herself, Ludolf being elsewhere and Sybylla keeping Amalia company, which meant she had nothing to distract her except her own unwarranted rise of anticipation as the hour for his arrival at the house drew near. Slightly ahead of time she discarded her painting smock, checked her appearance in a mirror and then hastened downstairs to be in the reception hall when he came. She arrived exactly as he banged the knocker. A manservant went forward to open the door.

There was Pieter on the doorstep, outlined against the sunny morning. He had not seen her yet, speaking to the manservant as he was admitted and giving his name.

“Heer van Deventer is expecting me.” Then he did see her, dazzling her with his look of surprise and pleasure. She believed with regret that had she wished it, there could have been something very deep between them. As the manservant went to announce his arrival, she explained the reason for her presence.

“I’m sorry, Pieter, but I can’t leave my work to meet you later today. I’m here on the understanding that I complete the portrait within five weeks and that means using every minute.”

Before Pieter could reply, Ludolf’s voice rang out from the far end of the reception hall. “I wouldn’t think of being the cause of any disappointment to you, Francesca. Heer van Doorne is more than welcome to take the noon meal with us. Then at least in the time available you will have the chance to keep part of your appointment.”

It was not what either of them wanted, but Pieter accepted the obviously well-intentioned invitation. Then Francesca returned to her work in the studio and he went out with Ludolf by another way into the garden. Upstairs she put on her smock again and went to the window. The two men stood in deep discussion at the top of a flight of steps leading from a stone-paved terrace, Ludolf’s gestures indicating that the position of the flower beds and lawns were not to his satisfaction. Now and again Pieter nodded, making notes in a workbook he had taken from his pocket and occasionally pointing in various directions himself. When the head gardener joined them Ludolf went back indoors. After a short conversation the gardener left and Pieter was on his own.

Until then the wide brim of his hat had half hidden his face from her sight, but now he looked up sharply and unerringly at her window. It was as if some extraordinary communication between them told him from the first second that she was watching him, for he had not known where her studio was located or seen her go upstairs. He waved and she waved back before slipping away from the window, for he had work to do and she had hers.

She stole a moment a while later to look out at him again. He was on one knee by a distant rose bed, examining the soil. Ludolf happened to enter the studio while she was at the window. He made no comment about her not being at her easel, simply taking his place in the carved chair. It had become a pattern of his sittings that he came to the studio whenever he had time to spare.

“There’s half an hour left before the noon meal,” he said, settling himself comfortably. “I thought you could put my presence to good use.”

“Even ten minutes is a help,” she replied, switching brushes and colors, having previously been filling in some background detail. He only changed into his black and gilt-braided clothes when he was able to sit for longer periods, but his hat was kept in the studio and he put it on each time.

When the noon hour struck they left the studio and went downstairs together. Sybylla came from Amalia’s apartment and was the first to find Pieter waiting in the reception hall while passing the time looking at the paintings on the green silk walls.

“Good day, Pieter! So you’re here, are you?”

“I’ve been invited to stay for the noon meal.”

“What fun!” She giggled mischievously. “Are we to sit together at table?”

But that was not to be the case. Ludolf sat at the head with Francesca at his right hand and Pieter next to her. Sybylla was shown to a chair opposite Pieter, who gave her an impudent wink. He was telling her with-out words that the table was too wide and they were too far apart for her to misbehave this time. Her mouth twitched with barely controlled laughter. She was not able to calm it until she had had a sip of wine. Always a chatterbox, she was irrepressible today, more at ease through Pieter being present than she was when Ludolf was on his own with Francesca and her at the table.

Francesca noticed that Ludolf never minded her sister’s garrulity in the least. He laughed at her joking remarks and even argued with her most amiably over some small matter. Sybylla was always at her most entertaining self when she held male attention.

Pieter had no chance to have a few words alone with Francesca, for when they rose from the table Sybylla took him to see Amalia, who wanted to discuss the landscaping of the garden.

“I would like you to include a sheltered corner for me,” Amalia said to him. She was feeling better that day and was seated in a chair by the window, which was a rare treat. “I have not been outside since last summer, because unless there is a day without a breeze there has been no place for me to sit.”

“I’ve already thought of that, ma’am.” He proceeded to point out through the window where he thought a little bower should be. She became quite animated as he spoke of a gently sloping terrace to eliminate stone steps, the protection of a wall and bushes, the shade of trees. Sybylla, listening intently, thought how closely he had considered the needs of an invalid, even planning that the bower should be close to the house for easy access and yet giving as much privacy as was required. Then Amalia echoed her thoughts.

“It sounds perfect,” she said, pressing her thin hands together. “How soon will it be ready?”

Pieter inclined his head slightly. “That depends on whether my plans meet with your husband’s approval. If they do, you may be sure that your bower will be finished first.”

She had become subdued at the reference to Ludolf and nodded with dignity. “I would appreciate that.” Then she changed the subject, asking if he lived in Amsterdam, and he stayed talking to her for quite a while.

When he left her apartment Sybylla went with him to guide him through the corridors and he interrupted her chatter to ask where Francesca’s studio was located.

“Upstairs,” Sybylla replied, “but I can’t take you there now. Heer van Deventer is sitting for her again and he wouldn’t want you taking up the precious time he allows her. He’s a busy man.”

He frowned. “Doesn’t your father object to Francesca being alone for hours with van Deventer in that studio?”

She trilled with laughter. “Why should he? Vrouw van Deventer is always in the house. I’m here too, much of the time. Servants go in and out with coffee and refreshments and to mend the fire. In any case, when Francesca is at Delft she will be leading an independent life subject only to the rules of apprenticeship. Father knows she has a sensible head on her shoulders and can take care of herself or else he’d never let her go.”

“How long is it now before she goes away?”

Sybylla reckoned up. “Ten days and that’s not counting the day she leaves. Just before her departure Ludolf is holding a grand banquet. Father and I and my sisters have all been invited.” Her glance teased him. “Don’t you wish you could be there too?”

He countered that easily in the same vein. “Only if I could have Francesca at my right hand and Aletta at my left.”

She threw back her head and trilled again. “You’ll never forget that meal at our house, will you! You’re such a joy to torment, Pieter. You can count yourself lucky that I don’t want to marry you!”

They continued to banter merrily until he was out on the steps of the house. As he went away down the street he turned in the direction of the Visser home. Sybylla was too talkative for him to have told her why he was going there and in any case it was a matter between Hendrick Visser and himself at this stage.

Griet smiled widely when she saw it was he at the door. Then she shook her head when he asked to speak to her master. “He’s painting and he has a model on the rostrum, so he won’t see anyone who’s not expected. That’s true,” she added, as if he might remember the excuse she had given him when he had first come to the house with the bulbs and expected immediate payment. “Would you like to wait? All the three young ladies are out, but I’d make you tea.” She was hopeful he would accept.

“I thank you, Griet, but I’ll come another time. Will there be a model here tomorrow?”

She thought carefully, adding up how long her master had been painting his tax collector picture. “It’s difficult to say. The model wasn’t here for several days and this could be the final sitting.”

“I’ll take my chance tomorrow, then.” If he had not fixed another appointment that day he would have waited, no matter for how many hours he had had to drink tea, for he had a sense of urgency about speaking to Francesca’s father as soon as possible. There was so little time before she left home. He wanted above all else to be able to visit her in Delft.

L
UDOLF WAS EQUALLY
aware of the swift passing of the days. He had been congratulating himself on winning Francesca’s confidence and her trust after that first unwise move on his part. She was relaxed in his company now and had responded to his friendliness. He saw he had pleased her with his tolerance of her imp of a sister and she appreciated the frequent sittings he gave her. To lull any doubts she might still have about him, he always talked encouragingly of how she would enjoy being in Delft, her eyes shining as she listened to him while she painted. It was all part of his campaign to make the disappointment more acute when she discovered her apprenticeship there was not to be. That was going to be so easily managed and he dismissed as unimportant Pieter van Doorne’s interest in her. There must be several young men with an eye for her. Hendrick had spoken of having shown the door to would-be suitors at her request, and later conversations with Sybylla on her own had further endorsed his understanding that Francesca was dedicated to a future in art above all else. He believed the way clear for himself by the means he had planned.