I must finish first what I’m on. But you’ll be here a long time yet, Victoria. We’ll see.’ ‘Then I’ll leave you to your work, Mr. Duncan. Ciao. ’ ‘Ciao, madonna, ’ he said, with a friendly wave of his hand, and Victoria went out of the studio, no longer feeling energetic enough to walk on the hills, drifting back towards their terrace, her head full of new ideas, new emotions. Full, too, of the things he had said about her, certainly with no conscious flattery, but simply seeing her as his model. He had said: ‘Seeing you in that natural pose, so graceful, so flowing . . .’ and ‘that perfect line from the head, the back of the neck, and down . . .’ Pleasant things to hear about oneself, things that helped to counteract some of the less pleasant things she had heard from him from time to time. She had picked up a book, but she gave it little attention. She sat on the terrace day-dreaming, no longer with that feeling of loneliness and of being cut off, which had assailed her earlier this afternoon.
