personal experience with a gallery. He really was the better artist and must surely know it, but she had never seen him try to emulate an old master. To compare his work with Wilde’s would be like comparing oranges and apples.
“Professor Angeli,” she said, squeezing his hand, “you must help us decide about Mr. Wilde’s wonderful gift. And I can’t wait to be able to afford an example of your work, too.”
The professor looked at her slyly. “You have great tact, Miss Emerson, and great charm. All you have to do is check my wastebasket at work.” Amanda wasn’t sure whether he was joking or repressing his annoyance.
His look brightened. “I’ll be delighted to assist in your selection and I will think seriously about adding a modest effort to your collection. Perhaps,” he added pointedly as he and Wilde began to clear away the dishes, “our esteemed host might grant me a modest discard also.”
“Oh, Angeli, you are far the better artist.” Wilde left the room and continued talking. “And you know it,” he called out. “I can’t imagine you honestly caring a fig about having my work.” Re-entering, he continued, noting the professor’s shocked look. “Now let’s not rankle among friends. It’s time to share my modest treasures with my dear companions.”
He put a protective arm around the smaller, more wizened, trembling older artist and shooed him from the room indicating that he relieve himself of the gathered dishes and silverware.
“Not that I could ever outshine you, my dear young man,” he gave a quick bow to Antonio, “but tonight we… you and all the rest of us… will make history at least amongst our little group.” He led them into the studio.
“Wilde, what the hell are you babbling about?” Nathan muttered as Professor Angeli rejoined them, looking pale.
Amanda glanced quickly at Marc to check his reaction to the recent exchange but he seemed intent on maintaining his Antonio disguise.
“Behold.” Wilde carefully pulled a flat wrapped package from between leather dividers and held it reverently before him. “The Italian Renaissance.”
He paused dramatically, looking from one to the other and then, with the greatest care, began to unwrap the package.
Chapter 17
ALL FIVE heads leaned in, focusing intently on the uncovered precious blank sheet.
Nathan’s eyes narrowed possessively.
Professor Angeli pressed back a gasp.
Christine leaned closer, her jaw slack.
“It’s… beautiful.” Amanda had never seen pristine, unmarked paper of such quality or age.
With a flourish, he presented the first. “Professor, the largest one is for you, our brightest and best.” He pressed the heavy sheet into the stunned professor’s hand.
“I have had several of these sheets for years.” Wilde was enjoying himself hugely. “As you know, I have been waiting for the most propitious moment to share these final ones with my friends. I have another which I shall present to our esteemed instructor when he has recovered. It seems only fair.”
Nathan’s jaw tensed. “Final ones?”
Christine took the letter-size piece of paper passed to her with the same sense of awe she would finger a piece of Paloma Picasso jewelry. Her total attention fastened on the slightly textured, cream-colored stock. Carefully she stroked it, reveling in its texture and history.
Even though Amanda knew Christine was a fine draftsman, she had never before seen her flip, brittle friend so unconsciously reveal her artistic sensitivity.
Amanda could barely accept the sheet Wilde proffered her, she was so overwhelmed with the weight of its history. Here was something made during one of the greatest art ages in history, hundreds of years old. Who had it been produced for, why hadn’t it been used, where had it been all these years, and how had it come, by such astonishing luck, through its convoluted history into her hands here and now?
She beamed up at Antonio, who was looking at Amanda with the same undisguised admiration.
Nathan shook his head. “Un-nh.” Putting his hands up, he backed away from the offered sheet as though it might burst into flame. “No,” he muttered, looking around, his chest heaving, “don’t do this. Don’t give the stuff away. Damn, man, don’t do that.”
The startled artist’s tone was placating as he pressed the sheet forward. “But you deserve the best, my boy. You must never underestimate your God-given talent.”
“I said no, dammit,” Nathan yelled. “I don’t want it! Keep it, use it, then give it to me! When it’s got something on it.” His outburst echoed off the high glass skylights of the large studio.
Everyone stared in shock. “I…” He glanced around and quickly reassumed his oft-used Brando nonchalance. “What the hell, I guess I don’t think I’m ready yet. And don’t kid yourself, Christine, you’re not either.” He snatched the sheet from her and forced it back to Wilde.
Christine’s surprised look instantly contracted into anger. “Maybe not, but it’s mine to keep or give back as I choose. Right, Wilde?” Her eyes remained fastened on Nathan.
“Of course, my dear,” the concerned artist answered, returning the paper to her. “I’m sorry, my boy, I had no intention of upsetting you with what I hoped would be construed as a generous gesture. I wanted us all to partake of a bit of a fantasy tonight. One I have been looking forward to for some time.”
“I’m sure Nathan didn’t mean to rebuke your generous gift.” Professor Angeli put his arm protectively around the tense, young man who roughly shrugged him away. “I think we’re all totally overwhelmed, Wilde,” he said, flatly. “You’ve truly outdone yourself.”
Amanda glanced at Marc who was watching Nathan carefully. Nathan’s clamped jaw throbbed. His fists roughly ironed the short skirt of the belted, velvet tunic over his thighs. No one expected him to apologize. He remained quiet. And with that gesture of non-confrontation, seemed to be making an effort to appease.
Professor Angeli was the first to break the tense silence. “Wilde, what is this foolish fantasy you mention?” He swept his sheet of ancient drawing stock around at the costumed group. “Surely, you’ve outdone yourself already.”
Wilde placed his hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “It has to do with this extraordinary young man.” He directed his remarks to the model. “When I saw what you were able to achieve at our last class, the dream of a lifetime- which I must admit I had always thought could never be accomplished- forced itself to the forefront of my brain and told me to…” He paused for effect.
They all smiled at his convoluted speech. Even Nathan’s grim look relaxed.
“Specifics, Wilde,” Professor Angeli urged, “specifics.”
“Yeah, get on with it, Wild-man.” Nathan returned to his usual arrogant self.
“Very well.” Wilde’s eyes darted excitedly from one to the other. “Imagine yourselves artists in l5th century Florence. You are anxious to expand your clientele, to garner new commissions, to do something extraordinary.”
“I don’t think there were too many of
“There were several very famous female artists. Daughters of artists and noblewomen with time on their hands who weren’t all that concerned with making good alliances.”
“Ah, alliances. I can relate to that,” Christine acknowledged with a grunt. She turned to Amanda. “You can be one of those delicate young things, who simply had to draw because your artistic soul depended on it. Especially if some hot Italian model had turned you on.” She gave a sly sidelong glance to Antonio.
“I can relate to that,” Amanda returned, tartly. “Especially if I were one of the Medicis and had seen their private commission of Donatello’s David. Very hot stuff for the time.”
“Perfect,” Wilde announced. “Then we’re all ready.”
