‘Inevitable?’ Joe was angry enough to interrupt his flow. ‘How can you say that? Do artists have some unchallengeable droit de seigneur over the girls who sit bored out of their brains before them, day in, day out?’ He regretted his outburst instantly but consoled himself with the thought that Orlando would have suffered a much worse tirade from Lydia.
‘No, you’re right,’ said Orlando mildly. ‘You can’t always depend on it. But it’s not the out and out exploitation you suggest, Joe. You’ve never painted a woman, have you? You wouldn’t understand the feeling that develops between artist and model. It’s a very special one. Fraught with difficulties but rather intimate. It’s more than just the clothes that come off. And it’s not all one way! You can talk to each other while the painting’s going on, you know. Pour out your troubles, air your fantasies. You’d pay five guineas an hour for the sympathetic ear of one of those psychiatric chappies in London. And he wouldn’t be so easy on the eye.’ Orlando pursed his lips, sighed and confided: ‘She was a generous girl. Her emotions were not involved. Unless you count pity as an emotion. Is it? Anyway, her urge to compassion fulfilled, I think she quickly found someone else to occupy her time. Yes. I’m pretty sure there was someone else … someone important to her. I can usually tell when a woman’s in love … And Estelle, I would say, was in love.’
‘What were the signs?’
‘A certain undirected euphoria. She smiled a lot. Of course, that could have been the cocaine … but I don’t think so. She dressed perkily, she chattered in an alluring and attention-seeking way at table, she went missing for long periods at a time, several times a week. Boring job—sitting about in the nude, not able even to read a book—who shall blame her for seeking a little excitement? But—and here’s the odd thing—I haven’t the slightest idea with whom she was involved! Why do you suppose she would keep something like that quiet? In a company like this—bohemian, I hear you sneer—who would care? It’s a case of love and let love in this little world.’
Joe remembered the conversation he’d overheard in the ladies’ dormitory. ‘Some are more censorious than you’d allow, Orlando. They enjoy the idea of freedoms for themselves but still don’t much like to see other, more attractive creatures, seizing their opportunities with both hands. Or their men! Perhaps the man involved was married? There are two married couples accorded the luxury of rooms of their own, I understand. The Whittlesfords and the Fentons? Jacquemin, when I left him, was putting them to the bottom of his list. Married couples tend to notice if one of them’s donning a stinking old cloak, picking up a hammer and sneaking off for an hour in the middle of the night.’
‘Returning, breathing heavily, in a state of excitement? Oh, I’m not so sure … And anyway … Mrs Whittlesford would have no idea what her other half was up to at night! And you can bet your boots Mr Fenton was unobserved by Mrs Fenton!’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Two rooms. Four people. Married couples, but not necessarily coupling within the marriage, if you take my meaning.’
‘Good Lord!’ said Joe.
He forced himself to pursue his enquiries since he’d got Orlando into a discursive mode. ‘So—we don’t know who Estelle was mooning over then, but was there anyone she disliked particularly?’
Orlando, feeling himself on firmer ground, was prepared to consider this. ‘Not really. That’s not Estelle. She tried to like everyone. Made an effort. Good manners, you know—early training shows through. There was no one she shied away from. She couldn’t stand some of the women but then we’ve all wanted to strangle Cecily. Ghastly woman! Girls can be terrible bullies, you know. Cecily rather put the boot in from day one, I’m afraid.’
‘Ah, yes. I thought I sensed a bit of bad blood between them.’
‘All on Cecily’s side. Upper-class twit of a girl, spoiled rotten, I suspect, by her doting daddy. No expense spared to launch her in her chosen career. Unfortunately for the rest of us, Cecily happens to have talent. I’ve always thought it unfair—the way talents like this are handed out by the Almighty. Great galumphing girl she may be but those road-mender’s hands of hers have got a certain skill.’ Orlando’s lip curled. ‘Of a marketable sort! A queasily romantic sort. Fantin-Latour would call for the smelling salts. But you’d be surprised how many Parisian and New York boudoirs are graced by one of her overblown Peony Portraits. This season she’s unleashed her enthusiasm and loaded her palette to celebrate the Flora of Provence.’
‘What about the other women?’
‘Jane Makepeace terrifies us all and Phoebe Fenton has a laugh that would make anyone want to cut her throat. Estelle really tried even with the ballet girls as they chasséed through. She always learned their names and made time to chat with them—’
‘The men, Orlando, it’s her relationship with men I’m interested in.’
‘She was close to the photographer—Nathan. Met him in Paris. Obviously something going on or had been going on there … One doesn’t ask. Then there’s Frederick the fresco man.’ He paused. ‘Hard to say. She never spoke of him. Well-set-up young lad. Talented—he trained at the Slade with the best of the new crop. Good background. All the charm in the world. And the real thing—not like that three-coats-deep glaze the Irishman shows to the world. Estelle did some work for Fred a week or two ago. She sat for some of the preliminary sketches he was doing for The Devil’s Bride. The two of them disappeared for days together. Hired a motorcycle from the village, had picnic baskets packed and off they went with Estelle on the flapper seat. “Location hunting,” he told me when I enquired. “We’re looking for the descent into hell. I think we may have found it!”’
‘Why don’t you go back and start at the top—with the lord,’ suggested Joe. ‘How did she get on with him?’
‘The lord? Silmont?’ Orlando gave a dismissive laugh. ‘I don’t think she had much time for him! But then, he doesn’t have much time for us. She always went very silent when he was around, now I come to think of it. And I don’t think she had much respect for his cousin, de Pacy, either.’ Orlando furrowed his brow, remembering. ‘I always had the feeling she had something on him … Knew something she shouldn’t have known … Hard to recall at this stretch of time but there was some remark she made once. “Oh, if only you knew! That man’s not what he appears …” That sort of comment. I would never suspect Estelle of the slightest malicious intent but she was a bit odd about de Pacy. She made the expected overtures when she arrived. Sailed in, all guns firing. The women all do, you know. He’s a good-looking man—war hero—and he has that authoritative air about him that the rest of us so envy.’ Orlando sighed and glanced at Joe. ‘You’ve got it, too. I say, you didn’t …?’
‘No such luck!’ said Joe quickly.
‘Well, she went through the motions but, experienced lass that she was, caught on rather more quickly than the other ladies who fancied their chances with him and sheered off.’ Orlando paused, wondering quite how to proceed.
‘She did confide—even warned me, you might say—that he is a man who likes handsome men,’ Joe prompted, electing to use Estelle’s own euphemism for a male condition not spoken of in company. He could not be certain of the extent to which the happily sexual Orlando was aware of inversion.
‘Well, there you are, then! She found out quickly enough—and the hard way, no doubt. Can rock you on your heels, a rebuff of that sort. Leads to loss of self-esteem and insecurity if one is not hardened to rejection,’ he replied with complete understanding and acceptance of Joe’s suggestion. ‘That would be the moment she started to avoid him. Oh—nothing done in a marked manner, you understand. She wouldn’t deliver a set-down. Not her style. In fact, anyone less interested in the girl than I, wouldn’t have noticed. Little things. She always managed to seat herself at the other end of the table, never joined him on his fur-pile—’