Miles Off Course Read Free

requests on artistic rather than moral
grounds. Unlike most artists, he had the economic freedom to choose his subjects.
    “Not who—what.” Rowland shook his head. “Foy wants me to draw up plans for his tomb.”
    “His what?”
    “His tomb. He wants to make sure that when the time comes, he’s interred in a manner befitting.”
    “Is he ill?”
    “No, just eccentric.”
    “What kind of tomb?”
    “Well, Foy’s rather taken with the pyramids.”
    Milton started to laugh. “You’re not serious.”
    “I’m afraid I am. He’s had an acre on the grounds marked out for it.”
    Milton sipped his scotch and mineral water and put his feet up on the upholstered footstool. “You know, Rowly, I think being idle has driven the upper classes completely
bonkers.”
    Rowland nodded. “Yes, dangerous thing being idle.”
    There was a brief knock at the door, a perfunctory announcement of impending entry rather than a request to be admitted. Edna Higgins breezed in, pausing briefly to look through the open door of
Rowland’s makeshift studio. Her skin was rosy, her copper tresses still damp. She was noticeably thin, but otherwise she looked well and in good spirits.
    “Hello, Ed,” Rowland murmured, as she perched on the rolled arm of the couch. “How was your morning with Dr. Lindbeck?”
    Lindbeck, the Hydro Majestic’s resident physician, was a specialist in the hydropathic therapies offered at the resort. A small, wiry man who had a fondness for spats, he barked accented
orders at the uniformed matrons as he supervised the treatments.
    “Lovely, thank you. A hot immersion, a cold douche, a compression wrap and then another hot bath—I must say I’ve never before felt so extraordinarily clean.”
    “Are you hungry?” Rowland asked. “Shall I have Mrs. Murray cook something for you?”
    Milton chuckled. “Rowly’s trying to fatten you up for his own purposes.”
    Edna smiled. “Really? What purposes, Rowly?”
    “He needs a model,” Milton replied for him. “Miss Martinelli isn’t working out,” he added, in an exaggerated stage whisper.
    “Oh that.” Edna laughed. “I saw your painting when I came in—you can’t blame the poor girl for that, Rowly. It’s your palette. You’ve got far too much
crimson in your flesh tones.”
    “I know how to mix paint, Ed. It’s jolly impossible to get a reasonable skin tone when your model won’t stop blushing,” Rowland replied brusquely. “I could have
painted her with undiluted scarlet.”
    “Oh dear, the poor thing. Whatever did you say to make her so uncomfortable, Rowly?” She poked the artist playfully.
    “I think it was ‘good morning’.”
    “I’m sure she’ll settle down once she gets used to you. Modelling is not as easy as it looks you know,” Edna was firm. “And you could be quite intimidating, I
imagine.”
    “Me? How?” Rowland was genuinely surprised.
    Edna thought back to all the times she had modelled for Rowland Sinclair. She remembered the clear intensity of his gaze, the blue eyes that seemed to leave her more than naked.
    “It’s the way you pose your models to look straight at you,” she replied finally. “It’s hard to hide any part of yourself from someone looking directly into your
eyes. It takes a little getting used to.”
    Rowland snorted. “I have no idea what Miss Martinelli’s eyes look like. She all but covered her face.”
    Edna smiled. “Come on, Rowly, be a sport.” She put her hand on his arm. “I was very nervous on my first jobs too. I’ll talk to her if you like—help her
relax.”
    Rowland sighed. It didn’t appear he had a choice.
    Milton glanced at him and shrugged. It seemed Edna was adopting the hapless model as a personal crusade. It was better that Rowland give in now.
    Rowland smiled faintly. Edna had not as yet met Rosalina Martinelli. It was very easy to be compassionate when you weren’t standing in an overheated room with someone who complained about
everything and