Page 47 of A Thousand Painted Hours

He was quite dazzling—fit and tall, his eyes a piercing blue that seemed almost unreal. “I’m Rocky.”

“Hello.”

Nina joined us, an enormous hat protecting her very fair skin. “Wonderful, you’ve met! Rocky is a student at the Slade, and I told him you were going to join him in the autumn.”

“I hope so.”

“Darling, you’ll be fine,” Nina said, herding us over to a collection of lounges half in the sun, half in the shade. “Having all that time in India, you can likely tolerate the sun, can’t you, Elsie? I can’t bear it at all.” She waved to a footman in livery who looked red faced in his uniform. “Bring us cocktails, Tom, will you?”

“Elsie,” Rocky said, lighting a cigarette, “tell me all about your art. Every word.”

A young man, dark haired and too thin, sat down very close to Rocky. “Every word,” he echoed, leaning bare arm to bare arm into Rocky.

“Don’t mind David,” Rocky said, pushing a lock of hair from the boy’s forehead. “He’s jealous of everyone.”

A buzz of heat burned up through my neck, to my ears, as I realized what he meant. I was not ignorant of men who preferred other men, but the preference had never been so public.

Nina gave one of her tinkling laughs. “Elsie, have we shocked you?”

For a moment, I didn’t reply, taking in the small gathering, the long legs, the skin, the sense of relaxed expectations. “Surpriseis perhaps a better word,” I said. “But I welcome surprises.”

“Here, here,” Rocky said, smiling at me. “Now, tell us about your art. Do you paint?”

So I told him about painting India, and humans, and my desire to get better. “It’s all I’ve wanted,” I said in conclusion. “What about yours?”

Rocky inhaled his cigarette, then exhaled, pressing a palm to his lover’s thigh. “My mother took me to Italy when I was ten,” he said. “Her grand tour, I suppose. I fell under the spell of the great sculptors.”

“What material do you prefer?”

He laughed. “Marble, of course, but as a student, I make do.” He tossed away his cigarette and stood. “Do you swim?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then let’s leave David and Nina to their gossip.”

That evening, the supper was served with the same ceremony as the others I’d attended, but the attendees were much more vigorous in opinions and discussion. The woman to my right was the one who’d worn the diaphanous bathing costume. Dressed now in an evening frock, her dark hair swept off her long neck, I saw that she was an Anglo-Indian, strikingly beautiful, as everyone seemed to be in this crowd. Her name was Diana, and she told me her husband was a lord who didn’t mind her bohemian friends as long as she decorated his arm when he so requiredit. “I expect I’ll have to give it up when I bear a child, but that’s a trouble for another day.”

On my left was Peter, whom I’d met at the other party with Nina. He was a charming conversationalist, drawing me out about things he must have known I could talk about easily. “Tell me, Elsie,” he said, sipping wine. “Have you truly never been to England before now?”

“No. My mother refused to send me to school here.”

“How extraordinary. Everyone is talking about her, you know, and you.”

“Something new to gossip about,” I said dismissively. “We’ll be old news soon enough.”

He inclined his head. “I doubt that. Two such great beauties are rare in any moment.”

I smiled. “Thank you. But I know my mother is like a jewel in the night sky. I’m only a pale echo.”

“Hardly,” he said, but gracefully let me retreat. “Are you sorry you’ve not been here before?”

“Oh, no! Not at all. I was quite brokenhearted when we had to leave.”

Across the table, a man in his mid-twenties said, “Really? I thought everyone wanted to escape India.” He sipped wine. “Whatever could you have loved so? I visited in my teens and found it dreadfully hot.”

I felt the eyes of others on me, guests wondering who I was to be invited into the enclave, and I was anxious to make the right reply. Rocky caught my eye, and it reminded me to be myself. What other person could I be? “I did not want to escape. I loved it all—the light, the sound of the birds, the customs and cultures of so many different kinds of people, all mingling.”

“What cultures?” Rocky asked. “I know so little.”