Echoes in the Darkness by Jane Godman Read Free Book Online Page B

Vienna—that most beautiful and graceful of cities—that I met Magda von Tiel, and my career as a nude model began.
    Magda had herself enjoyed a long and lucrative career posing for artists, but, as her looks began to decline, she had set up what she laughingly termed her own “stable” of girls. We met by chance in the tiny café where she usually took breakfast. After staring at me long and hard across the room, she bought me cake and coffee and outlined her terms. In return for half my earnings, Magda would find my clients and provide me with lodging, food and protection. I had to confide in her about Sandor, of course, so that she understood why I could not allow my face to be painted. I couldn’t risk my portrait being publicly displayed. Fortunately, there were enough artists who wanted to paint, sketch or sculpt the nude female form without needing to include the face. And my body, it seemed, was exactly what was wanted. I was much in demand. Magda joked that my derriere was the most famous in Austria, but no one would be able to match my face to it. By the time Sandor arrived in Vienna—and I was forced to flee once more—I had amassed a tidy sum of money, and a wealth of experience. It was Magda who advised me to head for Paris.
    Once there, I found instant popularity. Some of the men who hired me just wanted to spend time with a naked girl, which was rather sad and occasionally sinister. Many of them were talented artists and, now and then, I was privileged to witness signs of real genius. I was fortunate to be hired by one famous artist who painted a whole series of pictures of me wearing nothing but a carnival mask. That exhibition earned us both good deal of money. Sometimes I would get requests for erotic poses, which I politely refused. There were one or two occasions when I sensed I was in real danger. But Magda, and life, had taught me well. I could take care of myself. Naturally, I was also regularly offered more money in return for sex. I never took it. Did I
ever
have sex with the men I worked for? Of course I did. I was young and desirable, and some of them were, too. I wasn’t promiscuous, but I wasn’t celibate, either. There had been no one special in my life, however. My thoughts flickered wistfully toward the memory of a pair of fire-gold eyes, a flashing smile and hands that could play my body like a well-tuned instrument. Determinedly, I turned those thoughts away.
    I scanned Eddie’s troubled face as we viewed the paintings. I wished I could find a way through the walls he was systematically building around himself. We both knew this strange non-betrothal of ours might yet turn out to be a horrible mistake. But we had always been friends. Now I could feel him slipping away from me.
    One of the canvasses was unfinished. In it, I was seated astride a chair, with my back to the artist, looking provocatively over my shoulder. I had finally succumbed and allowed Eddie to paint my face on the understanding that he would never sell or display those pictures. Although we had never had a sexual relationship, I knew he became aroused when he painted me. I recalled a comment one veteran artist made to me. “If I don’t have an erection while looking at the beautiful, naked body of my model, I cannot expect my pictures to reflect true passion.”
    Eddie stared hungrily now at the painting, taking in the long sweep of my naked back, the wild tumble of my hair and the curve of my buttocks. Unexpectedly, he pulled me into his arms, a look of desperation crossing his features.
    “We should finish that picture,” he grunted. “Here, now.” I felt his hardness press insistently against my stomach. “Feel what you do to me,” he demanded harshly, his breath coming fast and ragged. Catching hold of my hand, he drew it slowly down to his bulging crotch. His eyes fluttered closed. I felt a brief, welcome thrill of desire sting my nerve endings into life. It was a dim flicker in comparison to what I had