Free The Golden Tulip by Rosalind Laker Page B

breathed deeply. “Father! You try his patience to the limit. He’s one of the best art dealers in Amsterdam and all too often you treat him like a peddler!”
    “He knows me well enough to realize I mean him no offense,” Hendrick answered jovially. “He’s my oldest friend.”
    “All the more reason why you should respect him and his efforts to sell your work.” She chose not to remind him of Willem’s constant and well-meant persuasion that he should paint subjects that would be easier to sell, because this matter, as well as Hendrick’s whim in leaving work on the point of completion, were sore points between the two men. Nevertheless, it hung unspoken in the air and might as well have been said.
    Hendrick changed one brush for another, taking a rich sienna onto its tip, and gave her a warning frown. “Don’t nag me, Francesca. Your mother never did and I’ll not take it from you. If you don’t watch out you’ll end up with a shrew’s tongue.” Then he grinned maliciously as angry color flooded into her cheeks. “Your temper is spoiling your complexion. Fortunately I have finished your face,” he concluded smugly.
    She knew it amused him to goad her whenever he had the chance to get back at her for trying to keep him at work longer than he wished. But how could she not when persistently he ignored unpaid bills and continued to live as nonchalantly as ever. Apart from the monetary side of it, there was the waste of his great talent. His debauchery was taking its toll on his eyesight and his hands. After a night’s carousal in a tavern his fingers shook too much to do a stroke of work, even if his aching head had permitted it.
    To let him know her displeasure she made no attempt at conversation again. He retaliated by whistling tunelessly under his breath, knowing it to be an irritating sound and one she could not tolerate when she was working at her easel in the studio with him. Not for the first time she thought what an overgrown, undisciplined boy he was at heart. He ignored his fifty years as if they had taken no toll on his looks and physique. Yet maybe that contributed to the unassailable charm he could exert whenever it suited him. Very soon now he would tire of his whistling prank and make some promise to win her good humor. He never liked to be on bad terms with anyone for long.
    “I’ll tell you what we’ll do to finish this painting in time,” he announced cheerily ten minutes later.
    “What’s that?” It had taken five minutes less than she had anticipated for him to have a change of conscience.
    “I’ll come home at a reasonable hour tonight, and early tomorrow morning we’ll start work again. Then, by the time Willem arrives, the painting will be done.”
    He looked so confident, his big smile enveloping her, that she wavered in his favor. “Are you sure?”
    “Absolutely. It’s only a matter of final touches.”
    “May I see the painting now?” she asked. He never liked his work to be viewed before the final stages.
    “Yes,” he said, standing back to study it. Then, emerging from the grip of concentration, he realized suddenly how much time must have elapsed since her last rest period. He did not like to have a clock in the studio, finding it distracted him. “You’re overdue for relaxing in any case and I suppose it’s getting near the time for the noon-meal bell.”
    She had put down her bunch of flowers and the staff to stretch her arms out before her, flexing her fingers. “I’m sure it is. I feel quite hungry.”
    Shaking out her skirts, she stepped down from the rostrum, her face alight with expectation. She had almost reached the easel when she swayed, all color draining from her face. Hendrick grabbed her in alarm. Since losing Anna any sign of illness terrified him.
    “You’ve modeled too long without a break! Let me help you to the couch and I’ll fetch Maria!”
    “No!” Almost desperately she thrust herself away from him, recovering herself. “It was