The Woman in the Painting by Kerry Postle

Author:Kerry Postle [Postle, Kerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2020-04-14T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

‘Are you here to start the stufetta?’ The Cardinal held out his ring. I bowed, kissed the ring.

I am P-P-P-Pietro, Monsignore. I come from m-m-m-maestro Raphael’s w-w-w-workshop, Monsignore.’ I was nervous. I remembered him from last night.

Bibbiena sniffed. The stufetta was the Cardinal’s personal bathroom and Raphael’s workshop was busy planning a design for it. Giulio and Giovanni were very excited about the project and the drawings I’d seen for it so far – of a naked Venus, a lusty Vulcan, and an aroused Pan – were verging on the indecent. They were not so very far removed from the shocking drawings that Giulio was working on with Marcantonio and Aretino.

‘N-n-n …’

‘Spit it out boy!’

‘N-n-no. I-I-I h-h-have a note explaining here.’

He read it. Shrugged a bit and adopted his best face.

‘I imagine Raphael did not get off to a slow start this morning. The man’s a force of nature,’ he said with a low laugh.

‘Yes, C-C-Cardinal Bibbiena. He was starting work on a portrait of a young woman.’

‘A young woman?’ He laughed again.

‘Y-y-yes, Monsignore.’

I don’t know why I told him about Margarita. Perhaps it was because I understood her feelings for Raphael. She loved him as much as he loved her. Did either of them realise that their feelings were reciprocated? I hoped not. And I sensed, when I’d walked in on them last night, that there was no love lost between the Cardinal and the girl.

‘Pretty, I’ll be bound. And young,’ he continued.

‘Y-yes, Monsignore.’

‘Dressed in velvets and pearls?’

‘N-n-no, Monsignore.’ I said no more. The Cardinal waited.

‘Then what, boy? What did this young, pretty girl have on? Anything?’

He laughed. I laughed back. Uneasy.

I wanted to say that she wore what she always wore. Instead I said, ‘Light brown dress and white blouse.’ I noted the Cardinal’s red robes. Margarita was so drab, I thought, when compared to this.

He shot up. I dropped my materials on the floor.

‘What’s her name?’

‘M-M-Margarita L-L-Luti, Monsignore.’

His eyes narrowed. He started to pace the room.

‘Was she at the party last night?’

‘I-I-I think so, Monsignore.’

‘You think so? You think so? Oh, I know so.’ He frowned; his eyes became slits as he scrutinised me.

‘Don’t I know you, boy?’

‘I-I-I-I don’t think so, Monsignore.’

His robes slithered across the floor, back and forth like a serpent’s tail.

‘Does Raphael seem to like her? This Margarita Luti?’

‘I-I-I-I can’t really say, Monsignore.’

I started to shake. The alcohol in my body wasn’t giving up without a fight but the Cardinal’s face in mine may have also had something to do with it.

‘Listen, Pietro, isn’t it? Yes, it is,’ he said before I could answer. (He was one of those people who liked to answer their own questions, as is so often the way with people who can’t stand the idea of not knowing everything.) He stepped back to play with the ring on his finger. I waited. After last night, the inside of my mouth tasted like the bottom of a birdcage.

‘I have something to ask you.’ The Cardinal’s face was in mine once more.

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