breathed.
‘It is not finished yet and I don’t get a lot of time to work on it with all my other commitments, so I do what I can whenever I have a spare hour or two.’
‘I’m so pleased you have shown it to me.’
‘I remember how fascinated you were by the etching, which was why I wanted you to see this work.’ He replaced it on the bench. ‘Now where are you going to start your sketching?’
She glanced up from taking a drawing pad, charcoal and writing-sticks from the basket she carried. ‘As it is such a pleasant day I thought I’d start by sketching the cottage outside from across the lane.’
‘That’s a good idea. I’ll take a chair across for you.’
When she was settled he went back indoors. The afternoon sun shone full on him through the window as he worked on the Tintoretto carving and she caught glimpses of him whenever she glanced up from her sketching pad. She did not spare the cottage in her drawing, making the thatch as ragged as it was, the weeds thick around the walls and the fallen bricks on a corner showed its need of repair. Yet all the time she thought what a wise choice he had made in selecting this south-facing cottage as his workshop, for she could see that its enlarged window would not only capture the maximum amount of light, but would catch whatever sun there was at various times of the day to assist him immeasurably in his intricate work.
It was not such a quiet site as might have been expected in the countryside, for although the cottage lay well back from the road it was on a route in and out of London and traffic of every kind passed along it. There were private equipages with coachmen in livery, public vehicles with noisy passengers, and riders on horseback and people on foot, including pedlars, some of whom left the road to try to persuade her to buy some trinket from their trays. Local farming folk also went by, sometimes with a herd of cows or a flock of sheep. Although she glanced up from her sketching now and again she did not see the approach of a man on horseback as he rode across the grass in her direction.
Robert Harting thought with satisfaction that his time of waiting was over at last. He had been unable to forget her, even though he was never short of female company. He had been on the point of returning to Rotterdam specially to see her, but Grinling had dissuaded him.
‘You’ll make no progress if you do that. Saskia doesn’t know you except as a friend of mine. She will not have forgotten that you were first to reach her on the night of the assault on her or that you had that short conversation with her in the library, but that would be the end of it. I’m certain it would never occur to her to see more into such a short acquaintance. I admit that the few occasions when I talked to her I thought her an intelligent girl and that means that she would have no illusions about the difficulties of an association with you. She would most certainly know you were attempting to seduce her.’
‘What makes you think that should be the limit of what I would desire from her?’
Grinling had narrowed his eyes and drawn a deep breath. ‘Do you mean that with time you would consider a more serious move?’
Robert shrugged. ‘All I can say is that I have not been able to put her from my mind.’
Grinling gave a deep sigh, shaking his head. ‘Then the advice I give you is to be patient. Sooner or later my mother will be unable to stay away any longer from attempting to interfere in my life, whether it is where I work, what I eat or even whom I bed if she can possibly find out! And when she comes you can wager that she will bring Saskia with her.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Simply because she has never gone anywhere without a personal maid in tow and it will be the same when she comes to England.’
Now, as Robert brought his horse to a standstill, his gaze was fixed on the girl seated with her sketch pad. She made a picture herself in her blue-grey
‘It is not finished yet and I don’t get a lot of time to work on it with all my other commitments, so I do what I can whenever I have a spare hour or two.’
‘I’m so pleased you have shown it to me.’
‘I remember how fascinated you were by the etching, which was why I wanted you to see this work.’ He replaced it on the bench. ‘Now where are you going to start your sketching?’
She glanced up from taking a drawing pad, charcoal and writing-sticks from the basket she carried. ‘As it is such a pleasant day I thought I’d start by sketching the cottage outside from across the lane.’
‘That’s a good idea. I’ll take a chair across for you.’
When she was settled he went back indoors. The afternoon sun shone full on him through the window as he worked on the Tintoretto carving and she caught glimpses of him whenever she glanced up from her sketching pad. She did not spare the cottage in her drawing, making the thatch as ragged as it was, the weeds thick around the walls and the fallen bricks on a corner showed its need of repair. Yet all the time she thought what a wise choice he had made in selecting this south-facing cottage as his workshop, for she could see that its enlarged window would not only capture the maximum amount of light, but would catch whatever sun there was at various times of the day to assist him immeasurably in his intricate work.
It was not such a quiet site as might have been expected in the countryside, for although the cottage lay well back from the road it was on a route in and out of London and traffic of every kind passed along it. There were private equipages with coachmen in livery, public vehicles with noisy passengers, and riders on horseback and people on foot, including pedlars, some of whom left the road to try to persuade her to buy some trinket from their trays. Local farming folk also went by, sometimes with a herd of cows or a flock of sheep. Although she glanced up from her sketching now and again she did not see the approach of a man on horseback as he rode across the grass in her direction.
Robert Harting thought with satisfaction that his time of waiting was over at last. He had been unable to forget her, even though he was never short of female company. He had been on the point of returning to Rotterdam specially to see her, but Grinling had dissuaded him.
‘You’ll make no progress if you do that. Saskia doesn’t know you except as a friend of mine. She will not have forgotten that you were first to reach her on the night of the assault on her or that you had that short conversation with her in the library, but that would be the end of it. I’m certain it would never occur to her to see more into such a short acquaintance. I admit that the few occasions when I talked to her I thought her an intelligent girl and that means that she would have no illusions about the difficulties of an association with you. She would most certainly know you were attempting to seduce her.’
‘What makes you think that should be the limit of what I would desire from her?’
Grinling had narrowed his eyes and drawn a deep breath. ‘Do you mean that with time you would consider a more serious move?’
Robert shrugged. ‘All I can say is that I have not been able to put her from my mind.’
Grinling gave a deep sigh, shaking his head. ‘Then the advice I give you is to be patient. Sooner or later my mother will be unable to stay away any longer from attempting to interfere in my life, whether it is where I work, what I eat or even whom I bed if she can possibly find out! And when she comes you can wager that she will bring Saskia with her.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Simply because she has never gone anywhere without a personal maid in tow and it will be the same when she comes to England.’
Now, as Robert brought his horse to a standstill, his gaze was fixed on the girl seated with her sketch pad. She made a picture herself in her blue-grey
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