in public so that she would not cause offence by glancing directly into a man’s eyes — but in unguarded moments he had seen it. Sometimes those green-blue eyes were a sword in her service — a glance that said, ‘Be careful of what I could be if you cross me.’
Yet her mouth contradicted the eyes. It was certainly sensual — deeply, softly clear red, the same red as her scarlet dress — and yet so yielding, so soft; slightly open with a hint of the white teeth beneath as the short upper lip lifted in an awed, tender smile for the baby Christ. The pure mouth of a child who was not yet a woman. An innocent mouth.
Giorgio was not a man to linger over the qualities of a woman’s mouth, but he understood the vulnerable sensuality of it in this painting.
And Saint George — now there was a face. The nose was long and fine, the planes of the face clear and well modelled within the shadow of the helm. But again, the eyes — peering out of the shadow, flecked with light as if they burned — were blue stars, glittering with the edge of a honed and wicked knife. There was no quarter in that face, no pity, but there was a powerful sense that the knight was there to protect the kneeling woman, and the child, as if this was the only task God had ever given him. And the blood pouring in ruddy, graceful coils from the dragon’s neck was witness to that fact. And the two faces, his and hers, were oddly alike. They might almost have been male and female versions of the same person.
Sir Mathew interrupted the friar’s reverie. ‘And so, Father Giorgio, tell us. Is this not as fine as any work you might see in Florence or Rome?’
Gracefully, the priest bowed. ‘Indeed, sir, I am delighted and surprised to say that it is. I have never been a scholar of your northern painters, but this Meinheer Memlinc could have a most promising career if he chose to work at any of the courts in Italy.’
Anne laughed. ‘But, Father, he’s so busy here in Brugge that he has no need to go elsewhere. He already
has
a great career.’ The friar blushed a little — sensitive that he had unwittingly patronised these people, which was not clever of him. ‘Ah, lady, I did not wish to give offence. I merely observe that all the great masters working today can find ready commissions from the noble families of my country — and the Vatican — after all. So much building, so much adornment in all forms, so many extraordinary men at work. We can all learn from the greatness of others.’
‘Amen to that, Father. Amen to that. And now, it is our pleasure to learn from you. Since we have the attention of Sir Mathew and Lady Margaret, perhaps you and I should tell them of some of the wonderful things you have brought to us from your travels. What the ladies are currently wearing in Florence, for instance; this new fashion for flowers embroidered in precious stones on gauze overdresses for the warmer months? That will translate here. I believe we should have some made up to sell for the Lady Margaret’s wedding.’
Mathew looked at Anne speculatively. There was a new, confident tone in her voice; she was nervous, but she spoke as he would have, like a merchant who saw an opening in the market.
Friar Giorgio clapped his hands for Jenna — the girl had been waiting outside the parlour in case she should be needed — and sent her to bring the saddle bags from his room. He had many things to show his new business partners, things that could be made and sold in the next few months as excitement mounted in the town of Brugge ahead of the royal wedding; things which would deliver a great deal of money to the new joint venture between Mathew Cuttifer and Anne de Bohun — if the cargoes from Venice and Florence were landed in time; if they survived the spring gales; if the Guild allowed them to be sold.
And if none of these things happened, Anne would be ruined.
Part
Two
The Merchant
Chapter Eleven
A nne woke with a start in the dead middle of the
Yet her mouth contradicted the eyes. It was certainly sensual — deeply, softly clear red, the same red as her scarlet dress — and yet so yielding, so soft; slightly open with a hint of the white teeth beneath as the short upper lip lifted in an awed, tender smile for the baby Christ. The pure mouth of a child who was not yet a woman. An innocent mouth.
Giorgio was not a man to linger over the qualities of a woman’s mouth, but he understood the vulnerable sensuality of it in this painting.
And Saint George — now there was a face. The nose was long and fine, the planes of the face clear and well modelled within the shadow of the helm. But again, the eyes — peering out of the shadow, flecked with light as if they burned — were blue stars, glittering with the edge of a honed and wicked knife. There was no quarter in that face, no pity, but there was a powerful sense that the knight was there to protect the kneeling woman, and the child, as if this was the only task God had ever given him. And the blood pouring in ruddy, graceful coils from the dragon’s neck was witness to that fact. And the two faces, his and hers, were oddly alike. They might almost have been male and female versions of the same person.
Sir Mathew interrupted the friar’s reverie. ‘And so, Father Giorgio, tell us. Is this not as fine as any work you might see in Florence or Rome?’
Gracefully, the priest bowed. ‘Indeed, sir, I am delighted and surprised to say that it is. I have never been a scholar of your northern painters, but this Meinheer Memlinc could have a most promising career if he chose to work at any of the courts in Italy.’
Anne laughed. ‘But, Father, he’s so busy here in Brugge that he has no need to go elsewhere. He already
has
a great career.’ The friar blushed a little — sensitive that he had unwittingly patronised these people, which was not clever of him. ‘Ah, lady, I did not wish to give offence. I merely observe that all the great masters working today can find ready commissions from the noble families of my country — and the Vatican — after all. So much building, so much adornment in all forms, so many extraordinary men at work. We can all learn from the greatness of others.’
‘Amen to that, Father. Amen to that. And now, it is our pleasure to learn from you. Since we have the attention of Sir Mathew and Lady Margaret, perhaps you and I should tell them of some of the wonderful things you have brought to us from your travels. What the ladies are currently wearing in Florence, for instance; this new fashion for flowers embroidered in precious stones on gauze overdresses for the warmer months? That will translate here. I believe we should have some made up to sell for the Lady Margaret’s wedding.’
Mathew looked at Anne speculatively. There was a new, confident tone in her voice; she was nervous, but she spoke as he would have, like a merchant who saw an opening in the market.
Friar Giorgio clapped his hands for Jenna — the girl had been waiting outside the parlour in case she should be needed — and sent her to bring the saddle bags from his room. He had many things to show his new business partners, things that could be made and sold in the next few months as excitement mounted in the town of Brugge ahead of the royal wedding; things which would deliver a great deal of money to the new joint venture between Mathew Cuttifer and Anne de Bohun — if the cargoes from Venice and Florence were landed in time; if they survived the spring gales; if the Guild allowed them to be sold.
And if none of these things happened, Anne would be ruined.
Part
Two
The Merchant
Chapter Eleven
A nne woke with a start in the dead middle of the
Similar Books
