Artistic Licence

by Vivienne Lafay

  The room was dark and at first she was unable to see anything, but after a few seconds vague shapes came into view. There were bundles and baskets piled high on one side of the room, evidently waiting to be sorted. Then she saw a makeshift bed in the far corner where Marco lay naked. Carla had a brief impression of his beautiful lean body, his chest smattered with just a few dark hairs and his pale cock hanging from within a bush of black curls. Seeing him lying there so innocent and lovely, made her tears well up and a huge lump stuck in her throat.

  But he was not alone. Beside him lay Elena, equally naked, her plump round breasts crested with flaccid pink nipples. One of her legs was entwined with his and the wispy hairs of her pubis were just visible beneath her raised thigh. It was obvious that they had been enjoying each other just a few minutes ago. The air was still perfumed with musk and sweat from their coupling and the sheet bore a wet mark.

  Elena stirred and gave a low moan in her sleep, frightening Carla into retreat. She closed the door quietly behind her, the tears coursing helplessly down her face. There was no room for her there, not in any capacity. She could not bear to work as Marco’s apprentice, to see him flirting and kissing his girl in front of her eyes with no thought for how it might be hurting her. Neither could she risk revealing all, and then being rejected in favour of Elena.

  ‘At least I know what I must do now’, she told herself as she returned to Piero’s house with a determined stride.

  Domenico, the new boy, had already arrived. He was small and thin, but with an eager, bright-eyed expression which suggested a will to succeed. Piero was making a show of being kind to him, but Carla couldn’t help wondering if he would be abused by his master the same way all the other apprentices had been. She had no reason to think otherwise.

  For the rest of the day she kept a low profile, unwilling to attract attention to herself. Whilst she ground pigments and fashioned brushes for the new recruit her mind was working hard, planning her escape. She knew now that she had to leave as soon as possible.

  In the late afternoon she found herself alone in the workshop with Giovanni for a few minutes. He couldn’t resist coming up behind her, clasping his hands on her breasts beneath the concealing tunic. His voice giggled softly in her ear and she could feel his hard cock thrusting between her buttocks as she stood working the pestle in the mortar.

  ‘That’s right, grind away!’ he murmured. ‘You and I will be engaged in similar work soon enough. In fact, why not come down into the cellar with me now? We won’t be missed for ten minutes. I’ve been hot for you all day.’

  She shook her head, trembling. ‘I have to finish this job for Domenico.’

  The door opened then and Luigi entered. Instead of springing back from her in alarm, as she would have expected, Giovanni gave her a playful slap on the rump saying, ‘He’s got a woman’s arse on him this one, don’t you think?’

  Luigi sniggered. ‘Maybe that’s because Piero’s used him as a woman once too often.’

  ‘I could use a woman too, couldn’t you? Maybe we’ll get hold of one tonight and share her. You can have her cunt and I’ll have her arse, how about that?’

  Carla glanced up in alarm, and saw Giovanni’s dark eyes flicker in mocking confirmation of her fear. Her hand shook so much that she dropped the mortar and the red powder spilt on the floor. Fortunately it was only burnt ochre, not a more precious colour. She wiped it up, acutely conscious of the men’s eyes upon her, but when the rag was soiled she thought of her period and felt her cheeks redden too. How on earth would she manage to conceal her monthlies from the others now that she was no longer secluded in the garret? One more reason for getting out of there as quickly as she could.

  From then on she was just biding her time, waiting for the opportunity to slip away without so much as a by-your-leave. When they all sat down together for their evening meal she looked round at the familiar faces and felt a pang of regret, wondering if she was being too hasty. After all, these people had become like a second family to her. But the predatory look in Giovanni’s eye when he met hers across the table confirmed her decision.

  It would not be easy fleeing in the dark, but at least she had a full belly. Carla slipped upstairs on the pretext of going to the privy and gathered up her small bundle of money and possessions. Most precious amongst them were her three brushes, her chalks and the small packets of pigment she had managed to squirrel away. She went back downstairs and out through the side door, near the steps that led down to the cellar.

  Once she was out of the house Carla scurried along in the dark, expecting at any moment to hear a shout and running footsteps behind her. She only slowed down once she had hurried through the warren of side streets leading past the duomo towards the Church of the Most Holy Annunciation, with its miraculous shrine to the Virgin. There was no moon and it was hard going, her feet sliding in unspeakable sludge and stumbling over hidden obstacles. At first only the occasional beam of candlelight from a building lit her way, but then she heard the distant rumble of thunder and the sky became illuminated with flashes of lightning as the first drops of rain fell.

  Carla sought shelter in the porch of a church on the road to San Domenico. Shivering and exhausted, she fell into a fitful sleep and awoke in the early hours of the morning with an ache in her bones that provided a physical correlate to the misery she felt in her heart. Tempted as she was to retrace her steps and seek the warm comfort of Marco’s old bed, she forced herself to carry on into the unknown.

  The city was waking up, its outskirts filled with the crowing of cockerels and bleating of goats. As the urban streets slowly turned into country lanes Carla felt her spirits lifting for she was, after all, a country girl at heart. Her stride became jauntier and when she found some ripe figs on a wayside tree she breakfasted on them hungrily, relishing their juice as well as their stringy flesh.

  ‘Hey!’ a woman called from a nearby hovel. Carla paused in her thieving, ready to run, but the woman shouted, ‘I have bread and milk if you’re hungry.’

  Eagerly she went over and was soon sitting at the woman’s board, wolfing down a mug of warm goats’ milk into which she’d dipped a hunk of bread.

  ‘How long have you been on the road?’ she was asked.

  ‘Only since last night.’

  ‘You look like a boy, but you talk like a girl,’ the peasant woman observed, bluntly. ‘Which are you?’

  Carla smiled. ‘I’m a girl. I dress like this on the road for protection.’

  ‘Very wise. But why aren’t you with your family?’

  ‘It’s a long story. I’m looking for work. Any idea where I might find some?’

  The woman frowned. ‘You’re better off trying at Fiesole, up the hill. There are a few big villas there where they might need a kitchen maid. I take it that’s what you have in mind?’

  Carla nodded, knowing there were few other possibilities for a new girl in a strange town. ‘I wouldn’t mind getting hold of some women’s clothes, though,’ she added. ‘I’m willing to pay. I’ll pay for my food, too. Here . . .’

  She began to rummage in her bundle but the woman held up her hand. ‘Don’t bother. I can feed a stranger at my door without going bankrupt. And I may have a few old clothes for you too, things that my daughter’s outgrown. Give me a few minutes.’

  She disappeared into a back room and eventually came out with a plain dark green dress with a square neck and long sleeves. ‘Will this do? I’m afraid there’s no underskirt.’

  ‘Marvellous!’ Carla held it against her. The sleeves were a bit long and the bodice would be too full, but what did it matter? She would look like a woman again and that gave her a huge sense of relief. She hadn’t realised how much tension had been involved in her cross-dressing, in living with the constant fear of discovery.

  Outside was a pump, and Carla gave herself a good washing before putting on her new clothes. She was very pleased to be wearing a skirt again. ‘Please let me give you something for it,’ she said, but th
e woman was adamant. Then Carla had an idea. ‘Wait, I know what I can give you!’

  She took out her chalks and looked about her for a suitable surface on which to draw. There was a clear piece of whitewashed wall in the corner, so she took her stool and sat by it to make a portrait of her benefactor. The woman giggled when she discovered what Carla was doing, but she seemed pleased and sat still with a half-smile on her face. While she worked, Carla thought that this peasant woman had been a more generous patron to her than any nobleman could have been. She had helped her in a time of greatest need.

  The hastily executed portrait was quite a good likeness, and the woman was delighted. ‘Imagine, you a mere girl with such a talent! What a shame you weren’t born a boy. You would go far.’

  The words were kindly meant, but they struck despair into Carla’s heart. How many times must she be told that she could not succeed as an artist because she was the wrong sex? As if she could help how nature had made her! But she swallowed her pride and thanked the woman once again before setting out on the road to Fiesole.

  The sun was up by now, bathing the verdant landscape in soft gold. Beside the dusty road grew a profusion of wild flowers and herbs, their scent bringing medicine to the soul, and beyond were vineyards and olive groves already weighed down with ripening fruit. Tall cypresses and spreading umbrella pines punctuated the hills, while above the birds were already circling, singing their morning hymn to Phoebus. It was impossible to feel downcast in such a beautiful setting and before long optimism surged back into Carla’s heart.

  The town of Fiesole stood on a hilltop, and on the slopes below there were many fine villas. When Carla came across the first of these she paused at the ornate iron gate set into the high wall. There was a bell-rope, and she hesitated while she peered through the gate at the garden beyond. Low hedges marked out square beds with geometrical precision, and she could just glimpse brilliant blooms, lush foliage and, in the centre, the glitter of a fountain.

  ‘Oh, I should love to live here!’ she sighed, pulling on the rope.

  After several tugs a gruff servant appeared, puffing down the gravel path towards her. He seemed annoyed at being disturbed and Carla had little hope of finding employment, but she greeted him politely then enquired anyway.

  To her surprise he did not reject her outright. ‘We might need someone in the kitchen,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Have you had any experience?’

  ‘I worked for some artists in Florence,’ she replied. ‘And I often prepared their meals and cleared up after them.’

  It was the truth, more or less. The man examined her up and down, evidently finding her clean and respectable-looking. He unlocked the gate and let her in. ‘Follow me!’

  The door they went through led to a spacious kitchen where several servants were already hard at work. A fat, red-faced woman was stirring something in a huge vat over the fire, and the man called to her. ‘Hey, Marta, here’s a girl looking for work. Could you do with an extra pair of hands?’

  ‘I’ll say!’ the woman grinned, pushing back a strand of her greasy grey hair. ‘What with the feasting coming up, and two laid off sick. I can’t say whether it will be permanent, of course, but she’s welcome to stay for a month or so.’

  Carla grinned delightedly, but she was allowed no time for pleasantries. ‘Put your bundle in that corner and help Lisa at the table,’ she was told at once. ‘She’ll show you what to do.’

  The girl called Lisa was short and pretty, with lustrous dark hair and eyes. She gave Carla a wry grin, handing her a paring knife and a bundle of green beans. ‘What do you want to work here for?’ she mumbled, so the old woman couldn’t hear. ‘It’s a madhouse, I can tell you!’

  ‘It’s better than being on the streets though, isn’t it?’

  Lisa nodded. ‘I’ll give you that. But don’t let anyone take advantage of you. If anyone gives you any stick come to me, and I’ll sort them out.’

  Carla appreciated the friendly overture, and soon warmed to her companion as they sliced away together. Despite what Lisa had said, she was sure she had fallen on her feet. This was a grand household which held feasts and employed countless servants. A great new adventure had begun. Perhaps it would take her mind off Marco and the others, easing the pain of the past.

  Over the next few days Carla found out a lot about the household of the Panzani family, where she was now living. Her chief informant was Lisa, with whom she shared a bed. Lisa seemed to see herself as her protector, and advised her about many things including her appearance.

  ‘You should rinse your hair in centaury, to make it fair,’ she said. ‘Then you’d look really pretty.’

  Carla took her advice and saw herself transformed. The blonde look made her brown eyes appear more friendly and lent warmth to her skin tone. She gratefully accepted scraps of braid and tiny strips of lace that Lisa had gleaned from the ladies of the house, sewing them on to her plain clothes to make them look prettier. Soon she was attracting male glances.

  There were men a-plenty coming and going in that household. The head of the family, old Giorgio, was a widower and his mistress was living under his roof with her two small children, his bastards. In addition there were his legitimate heirs, two bachelor sons and two married daughters. Carla gathered that they rubbed along pretty well under the same roof, all having their own private quarters.

  The feast was to celebrate the coming-of-age of Giorgio’s elder son, Tommaso, but of the two young men Carla much preferred Bruno, the younger one. It was his bright, intelligent eye that caught hers with a look of keen interest whenever she was about some business above stairs, and she often saw him watching through a window while she was walking in the garden.

  It was at the birthday feast that they became better acquainted as Carla was one of those chosen to wait on the guests. She washed her one dress until most of the stains were faded, did her hair up in a pretty braid sewn with beads that Lisa gave her, splashed herself with lavender water, pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to make them red, before presenting herself in the great dining hall.

  At first it was confusing to see so many strangers and hear the deafening noise of chatter, the clatter of silver dishes and the background tinkle of music. The fifty or so guests sat round a long table covered with a damask cloth with matching napkins. In the middle was a silver model of a ship, bearing the condiments, and there were silver bowls containing fruit and sweets too. Garlands of fresh flowers decorated the room, filling the air with their delicate scent, and beneath the table the dogs were lurking, waiting for scraps.

  Carla followed Lisa straight to a long sideboard where they were to lay out the dishes for serving. ‘You take the far end with the silver eel paste and I’ll take this end with the gilded trout,’ Lisa suggested. ‘Then we’ll go round with the finger bowls.’

  When it was Bruno’s turn to be served he threw Carla a dazzling smile and put his hand on her wrist. She looked right into his dark brown eyes, set beneath nobly arched brows, and felt her knees weakening. He was one of the most handsome men in the room, his black curly hair falling to his shoulders in a riot of glossy curls. He wore a scarlet silk jacket, exquisitely embroidered in gold and sewn with pearls.

  ‘Not too much of the eel paste,’ he said, with a wry smile. ‘Eels have a reputation for heating the blood and mine’s quite hot enough already.’

  Carla blushed as she heaped a small spoonful onto his plate. Looking at her all the time, he picked up a piece of bread, dipped it in then popped it into his mouth. ‘Mm, delicious!’ he said. ‘I wish you could taste my eel, pretty thing, but perhaps another time. What is your name?’ She bobbed a curtsey as she told him. ‘Well, Carla, bring me a finger bowl if you please.’

  She hurried to obey him, and when she presented him with the porcelain bowl filled with rose-scented water he splashed a little onto her wrist. ‘Oh, I have sprinkled you! How careless of me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, sir,’ she said, backing away.

  ‘
Wait, let me wipe your wrist.’ He took his napkin and gently dried the spot whilst he held her fingers with his other hand. Carla’s cheeks were hot and her pulse was racing so fast she was sure he must be able to feel it beneath the cloth. He patted her fingers before she drew them away, and his smile was knowing as he spoke in a deep, low voice.

  ‘Run along and attend to your duties, Carla. But be sure and bring me some tasty delicacy again soon, selected by your own sweet hand.’

  When she met up with Lisa again she found her dalliance with Bruno had not gone unnoticed. ‘He fancies you!’ Lisa whispered, giggling. ‘Better give him a wide berth if you don’t want things to go too far.’

  ‘Nonsense, he was just being kind that’s all.’

  ‘When men like Bruno are kind to women there’s always an ulterior motive, believe me. You’re new in this house, Carla, and you’d do well to listen to what others tell you. Some of us have been here long enough to know what goes on, and I could tell you some stories about that one!’

  ‘Please do!’ Carla grinned. ‘Tonight, when our duties are over. I’d love to know more!’

  Lisa gave her a reproving look, but she didn’t say no. Carla went about serving the other guests with a light heart. Now she had something to look forward to, some tasty gossip. She had been missing the light-hearted banter which had always gone on in Piero’s house, realising that she wasn’t yet fully accepted by the other Panzani servants. Lisa was the only one who had been really friendly to her, so she would make the most of it.

  Carla watched Bruno out of the corner of her eye for most of the evening. He was flirting continually with the two ladies opposite, making them laugh and blush, and she felt a confused mixture of emotions. Although it was obvious that he was not the constant kind, she did find him terribly attractive, and after being without a partner of any kind for over a week she was starting to hunger for sex. It surprised her, since she had not thought of herself as enjoying her encounters with Piero and Giovanni. Yet the rough-and-tumble had been exhilarating, even if she had ended up more frustrated than satisfied.