'Take a seat, please, Griet,' he said, his back to me.
I sat in the chair by the harpsichord. I did not touch it—I had never touched an instrument except to clean it. As I waited I studied the paintings he had hung on the back wall that would form part of the concert painting. There was a landscape on the left, and on the right a picture of three people—a woman playing a lute, wearing a dress that revealed much of her bosom, a gentleman with his arm around her, and an old woman. The man was buying the young woman's favors, the old woman reaching to take the coin he held out. Maria Thins owned the painting and had told me it was called The Procuress.
'Not that chair.' He had turned from the window. 'That is where van Ruijven's daughter sits.'
Where I would have sat, I thought, if I were to be in the painting.
He got another of the lion-head chairs and set it close to his easel but sideways so it faced the window. 'Sit here.'
'What do you want, sir'' I asked, sitting. I was puzzled—we never sat together. I shivered, although I was not cold.
'Don't talk.' He opened a shutter so that the light fell directly on my face. 'Look out the window.' He sat down in his chair by the easel.
I gazed at the New Church tower and swallowed. I could feel my jaw tightening and my eyes widening.
'Now look at me.'
I turned my head and looked at him over my left shoulder.
His eyes locked with mine. I could think of nothing except how their grey was like the inside of an oyster shell.
He seemed to be waiting for something. My face began to strain with the fear that I was not giving him what he wanted.
'Griet,' he said softly. It was all he had to say. My eyes filled with tears I did not shed. I knew now.
'Yes. Don't move.'
He was going to paint me.
"A vibrant, sumptuous novel... triumphant... a beautifully written tale thatmirrors the elegance of the painting that inspired it."
—The Wall Street Journal
"Chevalier has so vividly imagined the life of the painter and his subject."
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
"Lustrous."
—Entertainment Weekly
'Take a seat, please, Griet,' he said, his back to me.
I sat in the chair by the harpsichord. I did not touch it—I had never touched an instrument except to clean it. As I waited I studied the paintings he had hung on the back wall that would form part of the concert painting. There was a landscape on the left, and on the right a picture of three people—a woman playing a lute, wearing a dress that revealed much of her bosom, a gentleman with his arm around her, and an old woman. The man was buying the young woman's favors, the old woman reaching to take the coin he held out. Maria Thins owned the painting and had told me it was called The Procuress.
'Not that chair.' He had turned from the window. 'That is where van Ruijven's daughter sits.'
Where I would have sat, I thought, if I were to be in the painting.
He got another of the lion-head chairs and set it close to his easel but sideways so it faced the window. 'Sit here.'
'What do you want, sir'' I asked, sitting. I was puzzled—we never sat together. I shivered, although I was not cold.
'Don't talk.' He opened a shutter so that the light fell directly on my face. 'Look out the window.' He sat down in his chair by the easel.
I gazed at the New Church tower and swallowed. I could feel my jaw tightening and my eyes widening.
'Now look at me.'
I turned my head and looked at him over my left shoulder.
His eyes locked with mine. I could think of nothing except how their grey was like the inside of an oyster shell.
He seemed to be waiting for something. My face began to strain with the fear that I was not giving him what he wanted.
'Griet,' he said softly. It was all he had to say. My eyes filled with tears I did not shed. I knew now.
'Yes. Don't move.'
He was going to paint me.
"A vibrant, sumptuous novel... triumphant... a beautifully written tale thatmirrors the elegance of the painting that inspired it."
—The Wall Street Journal
"Chevalier has so vividly imagined the life of the painter and his subject."
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
"Lustrous."
—Entertainment Weekly
The power of the backlist lies in titles that aren’t new to us, but may be to booksellers or consumers. Titles that were major bestsellers when they were published may fall off account inventory lists for various reasons, or newer booksellers may simply not be aware of them.
