Leonora - Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Henri invited the mysterious woman into the house. She stepped across the threshold and slipped off her fur coat. As if he were an awaiting servant, she placed the garment into his arms, and the hat immediately followed. Loosening her dark hair, it gracefully fell down to perfectly frame her face. Their eyes met and the artist admired her thick black lashes, her slender nose and the fullness of her red lips. Indeed, she was beautiful, and more than he had previously realised. They had only met once before, but she was no stranger to modelling, and the confident woman came at a price. Henri could have painted the girl next door for just a few measly shillings, but this lady was special, she could turn the heads of a thousand men, and also quite probably, a thousand women. If Venus was personified, she would be called...

Somewhat embarrassed, Henri said, “You must excuse me, but... What is your name? The woman replied, “It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I didn't give my name, but if you must know. It's Leonora.

Still astounded by her beauty, he fumbled on his words but managed to ask, “Would you like some tea, coffee, or even a glass of wine?” She smiled and replied, “A glass of wine would be nice, add three drops of this to my glass. It helps me to sit for long periods of time.” With those words, she passed him a small, brown tincture bottle, there was no label and she said no more about it. Henri chose not to enquire further.

The studio was bathed in soft, natural light. It streamed through tall, arched windows that illuminated the gentle play of textures and shadows. Leonora gracefully reclined on a vintage chaise lounge, her blouse was suggestively undone and draped lazily off one shoulder. This revealed the intricate detail of a deep burgundy basque. The fabric of the blouse caught the light and created faint ripples of ivory against the exposed shoulder.

Henri stood with a practised gaze, his brush poised in mid-air as he studied the subtle contours of her form. Leonora's pose was both vulnerable and self-assured - a heady mix of allure and dignity. Her gaze was soft yet piercing, she met Henri's with an unspoken connection, as if they shared a quiet understanding of the story their collaboration would tell. Around them, the studio held the spirit of creativity – paint-smeared palettes, half-finished canvases were propped against the wall, and the faint scent of linseed oil lingered in the air.

The atmosphere was electric, it was highly charged with Henri's quiet determination and Leonora's effortless elegance. Every stroke of his brush seemed to capture her essence – the delicate interplay between fabric, flesh and shadow – and she was immortalized in a moment of artistic transcendence.

Vlad enjoyed his Saturdays. With Emily at the art shop and no work at the publishing house, he could spend it relaxing in his study. When he wasn't reading a gripping new novel, he was writing his own, his latest was semi-biographical, but only if one could strip away the many layers that made up his characters. He was hardly foolish enough to put himself in the limelight. And why bother? Especially when Mr Thingamabob could step in for you. It saves on countless court costs, whether it's being sued for libel or defamation of character. No, Vlad always played it safe. He liked to keep them guessing.

Of course, he wasn't completely alone, Mrs Bainbridge had her shift to attend to, cleaning, cooking, and general housework was on her agenda. Emily was terrible for leaving her “objects of desire” laying around all over the place. Trinkets, clothes, underwear, shoes, none of them would be in their proper place, but Mrs Bainbridge would rectify the mess. Vlad felt guilty, but Emily would insist that it was the housekeeper's duty to run after the gentry. Otherwise, what would be the point of having one. Vlad hardly thought of himself as gentry, he didn't ever forget his working class roots. Yes, he always wanted to better himself, but not at the expense of others. Emily was quite used to having servants, she had been born a Coleridge, and Coleridge Manor had a whole fleet of those in service. She even had a lady's maid. The spoiled little madam couldn't tie her own bootlaces until she was nineteen.

Mrs Bainbridge poked her head around the study door and asked, “Would you like a cup of tea Mr Banovski?”

Vlad finished typing his line and replied, “Yes please Jenny. Come and join me if you have time.”

Mrs Bainbridge gave a warm grin and said, “I'll be with you in a minute. Thank you.” At that, she returned to the kitchen to finish her chores.

She soon returned carrying a tray laden with a steaming teapot, two china cups and a plate of freshly baked scones. Vlad stopped typing and made himself comfortable in one of the parlour chairs, he gestured for Mrs Bainbridge to also take a seat. She enjoyed their little chats, and it was also an opportunity for her to have a sneaky cigarette. When she was comfortable, Vlad asked, “How's your family keeping? It won't be long until Fay has the baby.”

Excited to be a grandmother, Mrs Bainbridge replied, “She only has two months to go. That little bump is certainly getting bigger. The poor girl waddles like a penguin.””

She poured the tea and went on to say, “Mind you, it's going to be tough at first. Fay and her fiance still haven't got anywhere to live. The sooner they get married the better. They're both living with me and Albert for now. Which means I get to help out with the baby when it comes.” She smiled as she finished the last sentence.

Vlad took a sip of tea and asked, “What would you prefer, a boy or a girl?”

She gazed in the air with her thoughtful expression, and diplomatically replied, “I don't mind either, but Albert is secretly hoping for a boy.”

Vladimir tucked into a scone and suggested, “You should let Emily work her Voodoo magic. She'd like that.”

Somewhat intrigued, Mrs Bainbridge asked, “Voodoo magic? What's all that about?”

Vlad continued, “It's not really Voodoo. She has a crystal pendulum and apparently you can ask it questions. And it gives you answers from the great unknown.” On finishing his scone, he concluded, “Questions such as, is Fay going to have a boy or a girl?”

Mrs Bainbridge's face lit up and she remarked, “I'll have to chase Emily up with that one. How exciting!”

As they were discussing the implications of such a device, an almighty crash came from the kitchen, moments later, it was followed by a tremendous bang. Mrs Bainbridge blamed next door's cat, it was always sneaking through the back door and scavenging for food. She immediately left the study to shoo it away, but when she got to the kitchen door, she gave out a terrifying scream. Vlad dashed into the hall to be by her side, and they both stared in sheer wonder. For what played out before them defied the laws of physics.

A pine chair was precariously balanced upon the dining table. How it kept it's equilibrium was beyond any logic. One leg was situated on the edge of the table, while the other three were floating in mid-air. Unless there was an invisible hand maintaining it's balance, the feat would have been impossible to instigate. As if that wasn't peculiar enough, a framed painting was propped against the chair, and balancing on the painting was a carving knife stuck into the frame. Vlad and Mrs Bainbridge stared at the sight ahead, to add to the mystery, the frightened housekeeper, shakily said, “For a split second Mr Banovski, there was a woman. I saw a frightful woman, she was dressed all in black and then..., and then, she was gone.

A chill ran down both their spines, and Mrs Bainbridge's eyes were wide with fear. Suddenly, a disembodied scream came from the kitchen and three blades flew out of the wooden knife block. They flashed across the room at high speed and stuck into the opposite wall. The obscure construction on the dining table came crashing down.

Mrs Bainbridge turned to Vladimir and asked, “Do we have a poltergeist Mr Banovski?” He looked at the chaotic mess and replied, “It's no different to one of Emily's moods.”

But of course, deep down, despite the humour, he was rather concerned.

Under the circumstances, Mrs Bainbridge was told that she could leave early, but she insisted on cleaning the mess in the kitchen first. Once she had done that, she grabbed her coat and made for the safety of her Putney home. But of course, she promised she would return bright and early Monday morning.