Doctor Who_ Set Piece - Kate Orman [25]
‘Do try to hold still,’ he admonished, waving his charcoal stick at her playfully.
‘ Excusez-moi. These are delicious. Do you want one?’
48
‘ Non, merci, now stop wriggling.’ His charcoal moved quickly over the paper, tracing the lines of her body. ‘You’re an excellent subject – or would be, if you didn’t move about so.
‘I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.’ She lobbed a grape at him. It bounced off his nose. His features were ruddy with Egyptian sunlight, well-fed and pleasant, small mouth hooked into a permanent smile. He was handsome in a comfortable way. He didn’t look all of fifty-one.
‘ Je cède. ’ He put his unfinished sketch to one side.
Benny picked up a sheaf of the day’s earlier work, gripping her sheet. Mostly the pyramids, which Vivant had fallen hopelessly in love with. The Sphinx, buried to the neck in sand, tiny savants crawling over it with plumblines and notebooks. All drawn in tiny, precise pencil strokes.
She raised her head at the sound of distant cannons. ‘Perhaps you’d better put on your clothes,’ said Vivant. He gripped the case of pencils under his arm and stepped outside.
Benny waited until she was sure he wasn’t going to pop his head back around the door. Smiling to herself, she tugged on her battered trousers and loose brown shirt. They were good clothes, working clothes, the sand and the dirt ground into them so deeply they’d never be washed clean.
She picked up the half-finished sketch. The picture had been her idea; while Vivant had been showing her some of his earlier works, she’d found a copy of l’Œuvre Priapique.
‘ Ah, oui, ’ he had said, not quite blushing as Benny casually flipped through page after page of drawings of the sex life of the citizens of Pompeii.
‘No wonder the volcano erupted,’ she had teased.
‘The reception of that work was somewhat mixed . . . ’
She considered her portrait, done in light, almost playful strokes. A flick of charcoal showed where the dark roots were starting to peep through her long blonde hair. Her hair felt as grubby as her clothes. She’d never get another colour treatment in an eighteenth century desert, but she’d settle for a decent shampoo.
Vivant Denon was about due for his great southern expedition with General Desaix. Ol’ Boney was pretty impressed with Denon, and didn’t mind him nipping down the Nile to sketch a few antiquities – all for the greater glory of La France, of course.
That was why Napoleon had brought over a hundred of his favourite savants to Egypt. Denon had made sure that his strange (English?) assistant was among their number, charming Bonaparte into letting him bring a woman along.
To the rest of the savants, the scholarly gentlemen in their scholarly suits, she was merely Denon’s latest conquest. Their conversations stopped when 49
she approached, and they wouldn’t let her attend the seminars. When they gave her those glances, condescending, almost pitying, she wanted to spit in their faces.
But she was a guest here, on her best behaviour. She had no choice; after all, she wasn’t going anywhere. It bothered her more because, despite his reputation for charming the ladies, Vivant treated her better than any of them.
And hell, he was charming.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Are you decent?’
‘Never,’ giggled Bernice. ‘Come in.’
He reappeared, his eyes politely averted until he was sure she was dressed.
‘Everything’s ready for our departure,’ he said, and coughed. ‘Perhaps we can finish our studio session once we return.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Benny mischievously. ‘Crack open another bottle.’
‘Ah,’ said Vivant, fishing a flask of absinth out from a hamper. ‘It’s rather warm, I’m afraid.’
Benny made a face. ‘Never mind.’ She unzipped her travel bag, started rummaging inside. Vivant eyed the zipper curiously. Benny turned her back slightly, so he couldn’t see what she was doing.
Everything inside was mixed up. She pulled out a plastic box with a red cross on it made out of two sticking plasters, some clean underwear, her diary, and a hat.
She turned the hat over and over in her hands. Her diary