It was said that Madolyn and Anthony were the perfect couple; although, to be fair, it was Madolyn who said it most often.
She never tired of describing their first meeting. They had been students, she studying art, and he economics. He had pursued her with champagne, roses and midnight strolls along the riverbank. She had kept the wretched man waiting for weeks while she dithered about his proposal. She wanted to be an artist. Should she fulfill her ambition, or her womanhood?
She chose marriage, and Anthony was the happiest man in the world. So Madolyn said.
For, in spite of being the happiest man and the most lavishly adored husband in the world, Anthony was a dour man. He had charming eyes as soft and brown as a Spaniel pup, and a trace of sensuality about the contours of his mouth, but for the most part people in their circle regarded him as a dull stick.
If he had once been the passionate lover Madolyn described, their friends could see no sign of it now. After fifteen years of marriage not a whiff of scandal had disturbed Madolyn’s domestic pond. Anthony was seen standing doggedly at her side through the seasonal round of parties and picking up the tab on her shopping trips. They were not extravagantly rich, but he had made some prudent investments when young. They owned a charming house, and she bought only the very best, on the assertion that it never went out of style and was therefore good value for money. Many privately thought she had chosen Anthony for the same reasons.
So for fifteen years, the pond remained undisturbed. Then fate cast its first stone.
It began at a reception for Gabriella di Franco, the Italian-born artist, whose vibrant canvasses had shaken the art world like a cyclone. Her own beauty was almost as startling. She was a tall, red-haired Amazon with green eyes. Anthony was clearly mesmerized. Madolyn caught him staring at the artist as if she was one of her own paintings, and he was calculating whether he would have enough left over from the budget to buy her.
Soon the two were deep in conversation. Gabriella di Franco had a way of oozing over a man like honey over a warm muffin. Anthony’s eyes looked more Spaniel-like than ever and his mouth shaped itself into distinctly sensual lines.
“Darling,’’ Madolyn murmured, “why don’t you introduce me to Miss di Franco?”
Gabriella regarded her with scant interest.
“Your husband is very attractive,’’ she said in a voice redolent of late nights and men’s eyes. “I would like very much to paint him.’’
“You don’t do portraits,’’ Madolyn snapped.
“Every artist does portraits,’’ Gabriella said, with an artful toss of her flaming hair.
After the reception, Madolyn and Gabriella never had cause to meet socially again. But worrying little snippets of gossip would catch up with Madolyn. Anthony had been seen going into the building where Gabriella was renting a large studio apartment; Gabriella was delaying her return to Rome for unknown reasons; someone saw her walking with Anthony along the riverbank. He did not smell of Gabriella’s perfume, or come home late with lame excuses, and Madolyn never found an auburn hair on his clothing no matter how hard she looked, yet there was something about him that disturbed her. Only another wife, she reflected bitterly, would understand, but she wasn’t going to give those harpies any more fuel for their gossip.
A week before their sixteenth anniversary, Madolyn called Anthony at his office. To her annoyance, his assistant Miss Bloomfield was off sick, and a temp took the call.
“I’m afraid Mr Harvey is out,’’ the temp said. “Can I take a message?”
“Just tell him that his wife called, and will call again later.’’ Madolyn replied. “It isn’t urgent.”
“Certainly, Mrs Harvey. Oh, by the way, did you get the flowers?”
“Flowers?” Madolyn said blankly. “What flowers?”
“One dozen red roses – I’m afraid I got the inscription on the card wrong. Mr Harvey asked me to put `To Gabriella, to mark our first meeting’, and I asked them to put `for our anniversary’. But of course that might not be the same thing at all. I am so sorry.’’
“No, that’s perfectly all right,’’ Madolyn said, and quickly hung up.
She stared at the phone for a while, then, with slow and deliberate movements, she went upstairs and dressed carefully to go out.
She caught a taxi to Gabriella’s apartment, not wishing anyone to see her car parked nearby. Gabriella herself answered the door, wearing a paint-spattered denim shirt, a pair of baggy pants rolled up to the knees, and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked sensational.
“Why, Mrs Harvey,’’ she purred. “How nice.’’
“This isn’t a social visit,’’ Madolyn said, wishing her voice would remain steady. “I want to speak to you about my husband.’’
Gabriella stood aside and motioned Madolyn to enter. She followed the artist up a flight of stairs to a huge, sunlit studio. Several half-completed canvasses in the familiar vibrant style were ranged around the walls. In the center of the room was an easel, covered in a white sheet.
“I am very busy, as you can see,’’ Gabriella said. “But I can spare you a few moments.’’
“Thank you.’’ Madolyn felt horribly ill at ease, but she couldn’t turn back now. Something in her very bones told her that Anthony had been here.
“There’s been gossip,’’ she said. “I have been told that Anthony has been seen entering your apartment, not once, but many times.’’
“Ah – ‘’ Gabriella nodded wisely. “Gossip, such a bore. I prefer to avoid people when I can. So many of them have nothing better to do than talk about others. You imagine that your husband and I are having an affair?”
“Are you?”
“My dear, would you believe me if I said no? If course not,’’ Gabriella went on, not waiting for an answer. “Your husband is a very attractive man, so naturally you fear that another woman will steal him from you. I quite understand. I am a woman, too, as well as an artist.’’
“And I was an artist, long ago.’’ Madolyn glanced around the studio and inhaled the smell of oils and turpentine with a pang.
“I could never give it up for a mere man,’’ Gabriella said. “But I see you are troubled, and it seems I must tell you the truth, even though Anthony has begged me not to reveal his reason for coming here.’’
Madolyn gasped aloud. “So it is true!’’
“But of course. He comes here every day.’’
“But why, what are you doing together>’’
“Is it not obvious? I am painting his portrait. A special portrait. It is intended as an anniversary gift for you.’’
As light dawned, Madolyn gave a gasp of delight, and considerable relief.
“A portrait! How charming.’’ She looked at the easel. “Is that it? Can I look?”
“Certainly not,” Gabriella said. “You mustn’t see it yet.’’ A sharp ringing interrupted her and she clucked her tongue. “Now the phone – do people think I have nothing to do all day? I won’t be a moment.’’
She hurried out of the studio and Madolyn could hear her speaking into the phone.
She glanced longingly at the easel. Surely a quick peek wouldn’t hurt? Carefully she lifted a corner of the white sheet and raised it enough to see the portrait. She stared, her eyes bulging, and quickly dropped it again.
“I am sorry,’’ Gabriella said, sweeping back into the studio. `I have to go down to the gallery at once. I trust your curiosity has been satisfied?’’
Madolyn thought for a moment that Gabriella knew she had been peeking, but it seemed she was only referring to the reason for her visit.
“Yes, thank you,’’ she said. “Quite satisfied. I can’t wait to see the portrait.’’
“I’m sure you can’t,’’ Gabriella said cryptically, and ushered her down the stairs.
Once outside, Madolyn headed for the nearest café, and found a secluded table. She fanned her flaming cheeks with the menu, and reflected on what she had seen under the sheet in Gabriella’s studio.
How could he? Naked! Lying on a red couch without a stitch on, a bunch of grapes in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. Shameless! And that hussy, posing him like that.
Fanning herself even harder, Madolyn ordered coffee and then stared unseeingly at the café walls. My God, she thought, is that how Anthony looks to that woman?
Stripped of his somber suits and hangdog look, freed from his twenty-four hour obsession with expense accounts and tax havens, yes, he did look like that. Really, when she thought about it, it was a most romantic gesture, to give a wife of fifteen years a nude portrait of oneself. She could just see it hanging over their bed. Certainly none of her friends would ever have received such a gift. She could imagine how she would tease them with hints about it. Perhaps she would even allow one or two of them to see it, if they could be trusted to keep their hands off Anthony afterwards.
The days passed. She ignored the gossip. Gabriella finally departed for Rome, and Madolyn’s pond settled into tranquility again.
On the day of their anniversary, the Harveys held a small dinner party for their closest friends. It was a great success, and all the guests commented on the good looks of their host and hostess.
At the end of the meal, Anthony rose and called for attention.
“Darling,’’ he addressed Madolyn. “It’s time to present my gift to you. I have been keeping it in my study all day, so if you will excuse me, I’ll just slip out and fetch it. Gordon, would you give me a hand, old chap? It’s rather large.’’
Madolyn watched him leave the room with his burly friend in tow, and her cheeks burned. Surely he wasn’t going to give her the portrait in front of all their friends? Had he no shame? In exquisite discomfort she watched as he and Gordon came back into the room, carrying the portrait still shrouded in its white sheet. They lifted it up onto the buffet and rested it against the wall.
“I hope you like it, darling,’’ Anthony said. “If nothing else, it will be a good investment for the future. An original di Franco is sure to increase in value.’’ With a flourish, he pulled away the sheet.
The guests clapped their hands and exclaimed their surprise and delight. Madolyn grasped the edge of the table, straining her mouth into a smile, her face betraying nothing.
It was a magnificent portrait, painted in deeper colors than Gabriella normally used. Anthony had the look of a brooding, Goyaesque figure. But it wasn’t the one she had seen in the studio.
This Anthony was fully clothed.
End
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