Part 21 (1/2)

Denton remembered that he had meant to ask about Wenzli, the man who had put down the deposit on the 'little Wesselons'. He also remembered who had first mentioned Himple - Henry James, at the dismal party at his publishers. Something about Himple's having gone away.

Maybe he had come back.

'Mary Thomason as a young man, with and without beard.' He spread the piece of paper on his desk. Janet Striker, his dressing gown held closed at her throat, bent to look at it. It was Atkins's evening off.

'We should look at the painting,' she said.

He put his hand on her b.u.t.tock. She flinched.

'I'm taking liberties,' he said.

'Perhaps I'll get used to it.'

'I hope not.' He tried to make it a joke, but it wasn't.

It was the same skittishness. He wondered when she would end it.

The Raising of Lazarus was indeed an enormous painting, the figures life-sized, the landscape so expansive that it was impossible to take in the whole thing at once. A printed note said that the actual site of the Apostle John's account was shown, sketches for it made in the Holy Land by the artist himself. The clothes, mostly cloaks and s.h.i.+fts, were 'archaeologically authentic', but the faces were, as Augustus John had said, as English as Spotted d.i.c.k. Despite the seriousness of the subject - a man raised from the dead, after all, a miracle by the Messiah - there was something terrifically lightweight about it. was indeed an enormous painting, the figures life-sized, the landscape so expansive that it was impossible to take in the whole thing at once. A printed note said that the actual site of the Apostle John's account was shown, sketches for it made in the Holy Land by the artist himself. The clothes, mostly cloaks and s.h.i.+fts, were 'archaeologically authentic', but the faces were, as Augustus John had said, as English as Spotted d.i.c.k. Despite the seriousness of the subject - a man raised from the dead, after all, a miracle by the Messiah - there was something terrifically lightweight about it.

'Like Handel played on the tin whistle,' she murmured.

He actually knew who Handel was. 'They're all play-acting,' he said.

'Oh, that is is it, isn't it. He's posed them all. As if it's a studio photograph that went on too long. It is frightful, isn't it.' it, isn't it. He's posed them all. As if it's a studio photograph that went on too long. It is frightful, isn't it.'

He went closer and studied Lazarus. There was no mistaking that face now. With the memory of the drawing and John's sketches in his head, he thought of Lazarus as 'Mary's brother'. He said, 'Himple used her for the sister and her brother for Lazarus.'

'If they really look so much alike, he could have used either to model both.'

A lot of handsome young men filled the crowd that followed Jesus. Denton said, 'Either Jesus or the artist favours the good-looking ones.'

'Mmm, boys. Yes, I suppose. That might cast another light on the brother.'

'What are you saying - Himple liked young men but used Mary as a model? Or her brother? I told you that James said that Himple had ”decamped”. I wonder if we can find him to ask some questions. '

She turned back before they left the gallery. 'It's so huge. Can you imagine having that on your wall?'

'It would cover a lot of cracked plaster.'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Denton wrote to Erasmus Himple, RA, but had no answer as yet. On her own initiative, Janet Striker went to the Reading Room and brought back what there was in the obvious sources about Francis Wenzli, the artist who had put down a deposit on the Wesselons. Wenzli was apparently a few years younger than Denton, the latest in a line of minor, originally Austrian painters who had emigrated to England to escape Napoleon. The current incarnation, according to an article on 'Our Contemporary Artists' in Pearson's Pearson's, was a society portraitist and landscape painter who specialized in country houses.

'It appears he can put both your wife and your country place on the wall for you,' Denton said to Atkins. 'And you, yourself, if you've a mind.'

'Maybe he gives discounts for quant.i.ty, like the insurance men - ”Family Rates Our Speciality”.'

Denton was getting ready to go out, his work day over. His brain felt blurry. He thought that if he didn't finish the d.a.m.ned novel soon, he was going to take a rest. However, he didn't say this to Atkins; Atkins liked his employer to be busy making money. Denton said, 'How's the moving-picture business?'

'We're doing what they call ”casting”. Theatrical term. My pal, the one who owns the camera, worked for Dan Leno, he he calls it casting - like casting about. Trolling for pike, more or less. Thinking of hiring Cohan as a Boer.' calls it casting - like casting about. Trolling for pike, more or less. Thinking of hiring Cohan as a Boer.'

'How's the housemaid?'

Atkins made a rude noise. 'Getting full of herself. Wants her young man to be hired for the soldier. Says she won't kiss anybody else. Her young man looks a bit like a rat and is about the size of a kid just out of skirts. I told her if she didn't shut it I'd hire the parlourmaid from Number 17 instead, who's her worst enemy.' He shook his head. 'Not the walk in the park I thought it'd be. You going out?'

'To talk to that painter, Wenzli. Sent him a note; he, at least, answered.'

'Sounds a bit rum. Pus.h.i.+ng for a knighthood, they say.'

'Who says?'

'Gossip in ”Society Talk”.' This was a column in the new magazine that Frank Harris was editing. Denton suggested it was odd reading for Atkins.

'Learning from my betters.'

Wenzli wasn't Augustus John's sort of artist, certainly. He lived in Melbury Road in Kensington - 'the artistic environs of the late President of the Royal Academy, Lord Leighton' as Pearson's Pearson's had it - but kept a studio in St John's Wood that had been 'at one time the artistic demesne of Mr Bourke', which meant nothing to Denton, but once inside it he thought he understood: it was a studio for an artist who wanted to live like a stockbroker. had it - but kept a studio in St John's Wood that had been 'at one time the artistic demesne of Mr Bourke', which meant nothing to Denton, but once inside it he thought he understood: it was a studio for an artist who wanted to live like a stockbroker.

Wenzli was already there, in fact was waiting for him. He hadn't been working - there was no paint on him, no smock, no paint-loaded palette. He was wearing a grey sack coat and waistcoat, rather too-light fawn trousers, a high collar, had somewhat the air of a dandified military officer in mufti. Bearded, moustached, he gave the sense of having just been let go by the regimental barber, who might be still snapping his cloth out of sight somewhere.

A butler had opened the door, ushered Denton into a building in the style called Queen Anne, and up to a first-floor studio the size of a provincial city's railway station. The ceiling was more than twice his own height away; carpets covered the floor; a fireplace with a Gothick chimney-piece big enough to have parked a cab in took up part of one wall; easy chairs stood here and there; and, on a marble-topped table that could have sat twelve, the tools of the trade were set out, as if to prove that in fact an artist was here somewhere. Near it stood an easel ten feet tall, on it a six-by-four canvas filled mostly by two young girls and a dog. The artist himself stood in front of it as if prepared to defend it.

'I'm Denton.'

'Yes. Yes. You wrote for an appointment.'

Actually, Denton had mailed his card, with 'Re: Mary Thomason' pencilled on the back; Wenzli had sent him a note telling him to see him at his studio, not his home.

'Your house and your studio are at different places.'

'I must be free of distractions.' Wenzli exhaled and relaxed the abdomen he had been holding in, now proved a rather soft-looking man, his belly slack but pouty, well-filled - not a nun for art. Denton said, 'Mary Thomason.'

'That was written on your card, yes.'

'You know the name.'

'Why, yes. She was my model once or twice. She had an interesting ambience.'

'She's disappeared.'

'Ah. Oh.' He seemed unsure whether to be surprised. 'Yes.'

'You knew that she had disappeared?'

'I heard something or other.'