Tales of the Unexpected

let me finish. So then Mr Royden said, “That’s why I insist on painting my subjects first of all in the nude.”
    ‘ “Good Heavens, Mr Royden!” I exclaimed.
    ‘ “If you object to that, I don’t mind making a slight concession, Lady Ponsonby,” he said. “But I prefer it the other way.”
    ‘ “Really, Mr Royden, I don’t know.”
    ‘ “And when I’ve done you like that,” he went on, “we’ll have to wait a few weeks for the paint to dry. Then you come back and I paint on your underclothing. And when that’s dry, I paint on the dress. You see, it’s quite simple.” ’
    ‘The man’s an absolute bounder!’ I cried.
    ‘No, Lionel, no! You’re quite wrong. If only you could have heard him, so charming about it all, so genuine and sincere. Anyone could see he really
felt
what he was saying.’
    ‘I tell you, Gladys, the man’s a bounder!’
    ‘Don’t be so silly, Lionel. And anyway, let me finish. The first thing I told him was that my husband (who was alive then) would never agree.
    ‘ “Your husband need never know,” he answered. “Why trouble him. No one knows my secret except the women I’ve painted.” ’
    ‘And when I protested a bit more, I remember he said, “My dear Lady Ponsonby, there’s nothing immoral about this. Art is only immoral when practised by amateurs. It’s the same with medicine. You wouldn’t refuse to undress before your doctor, would you?”
    ‘I told him I would if I’d gone to him for ear-ache. That made him laugh. But he kept on at me about it and I must say he was very convincing, so after a while I gave in and that was that. So now, Lionel, my sweet, you know the secret.’ She got up and went over to fetch herself some more brandy.
    ‘Gladys, is this really true?’
    ‘Of course it’s true.’
    ‘You mean to say that’s the way he paints all his subjects?’
    ‘Yes. And the joke is the husbands never know anything about it. All they see is a nice fully clothed portrait of their wives. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being painted in the nude; artists do it all the time. But our silly husbands have a way of objecting to that sort of thing.’
    ‘By gad, the fellow’s got a nerve!’
    ‘I think he’s a genius.’
    ‘I’ll bet he got the idea from Goya.’
    ‘Nonsense, Lionel.’
    ‘Of course he did. But listen, Gladys. I want you to tell me something. Did you by any chance know about this… this peculiar technique of Royden’s before you went to him?’
    When I asked the question she was in the act of pouring the brandy, and she hesitated and turned her head to look at me, a little silky smile moving the corners of her mouth, ‘Damn you, Lionel,’ she said. ‘You’re far too clever. You never let me get away with a single thing.’
    ‘So you knew?’
    ‘Of course. Hermione Girdlestone told me.’
    ‘Exactly as I thought!’
    ‘There’s still nothing wrong.’
    ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Absolutely nothing.’ I could see it all quite clearly now. This Royden was indeed a bounder, practising as neat a piece of psychological trickery as ever I’d seen. The man knew only too well that there was a whole set of wealthy indolent women in the city who got up at noon and spent the rest of the day trying to relieve their boredom with bridge and canasta and shopping until the cocktail hour came along. All they craved was a little excitement, something out of the ordinary, and the more expensive the better. Why – the news of an entertainment like this would spread through their ranks like smallpox. I could just see the great plump Hermione Girdlestone leaning over the canasta table and telling them about it… ‘But my dear, it’s
simp
-ly fascinating… I can’t
tell
you how intriguing it is…
much
more fun that going to your doctor…’
    ‘You won’t tell anyone, Lionel, will you? You promised.’
    ‘No, of course not. But now I must go, Gladys, I really must.’
    ‘Don’t be so silly. I’m just beginning to enjoy myself. Stay till I’ve finished this drink, anyway.’
    I sat patiently on the sofa while she went on with her interminable brandy sipping. The little buried eyes were still watching me out of their corners in that mischievous, canny way, and I had a strong feeling that the woman was now hatching out some further unpleasantness or scandal. There was the look of serpents in those eyes and a queer curl around the mouth; and in the air – although maybe I only imagined it – the faint smell of