Free Rodin's Lover by Heather Webb Page B

have the pleasure of meeting?”
    Camille checked the clock on her desk. “It has been two and one half hours. Consider yourself dismissed.”
    “Camille!” Amy stood in outrage. “You don’t make all of the decisions. Not without consulting us. I say she stays.”
    “Dismissed?” Maria’s eyes widened. “But you are in the middle of a portrait. You won’t find someone as competent as me for the pittance you paid me.” She crossed her arms and stamped her foot. “I won’t go.”
    Emily stuffed in another bite of bread to avoid replying.
    “You would continue to let the model take advantage of us?” Camille turned to Maria. “You may go. Immediately.”
    “I am only half-finished with my angel,” Amy said, her brown eyes flashing. “I need her.”
    “Make your angel a male. Besides, it looks as if you need to start over at any rate,” Camille said cruelly. She wrapped a hand around Maria’s arm and pulled her toward the door. “You have wasted our money and time long enough.”
    “Unhand me at once!” Maria looked back at Giganti for help. He shrugged and smiled. He seemed to enjoy the drama playing out before him.
    “Good day to you.” Camille thrust the woman through the door, turned the key in the lock, and returned to Giganti’s side. “Now, as I was saying, this is Giganti and he’ll be our new model.”
    “I’m delighted to work with you all.” His smile was packed with square white teeth and dressed with dimples.
    Amy crossed her arms over her chest. “Take it back. Take back what you said about my work.”
    “Amy.” Camille huffed out an impatient breath. “I apologize if your feelings are hurt, but I only speak the truth. Your professors and tutors have not told you because they want your money. But I will tell you because I am your friend. Your last few pieces have been not only amateur, but downright dreadful. You spend little time practicing or studying. You need to put in the time to learn technique, or move back to England and marry. All you talk about is men anyway.”
    At once, Amy’s eyes filled with tears. “This is how you repay me for befriending you.”
    “I am your friend by telling you the truth. And by the way, friends don’t whisper about you while you’re within earshot—or at all.”
    Amy tossed her smock on the floor, stomped across the room, and threw on her coat. “I’m leaving.” Emily glared at Camille and scrambled after Amy.
    Regret hit her instantly. The truth always pushed its way from hergut and up her throat to spill out in the open. To her chagrin, few appreciated it. Now she had lost one of the only girls who had ever been nice to her—even if Amy had been jealous and whispered about her.
    Camille sighed.
    “Shall we begin, mademoiselle?” Giganti asked.
    She smiled weakly. “You just said the perfect thing.”

Chapter 7

    C amille reworked a mass of clay with her fingers, softening it, shaping the mound into a human nose. Paul’s nose, to be precise. His face had changed into that of a young man and she wanted to preserve him in time. Her mind emptied of every thought save the shape of Paul’s proud forehead and chin, his stout posture and probing eyes. The truth in his face, the wisdom and forbearance had always struck her and remained one of the things she loved most about her brother. To chisel beneath the surface of her subjects’ skin, to tunnel into their secrets and reflect them on the faces of their busts, or in the movement of their limbs, was her favorite part of sculpting. Paul made for an easy study.
    With a fine wire tool, Camille trimmed the clay well of Paul’s eye sockets. Last night she had read the early pages of a play he was composing. One day he would be revered for his stories. She could feel it.
    An hour passed, two. . . .
    The splat of a plaster spatula against its portrait interrupted Camille’s reverie. Emily worked intently on her soldier, made in Giganti’s likeness. The model had proven to be an