Scandal. Julie Kistler
was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “I take it you’re not talking about another statue of my hand.”
“It’s an excellent hand, but I’ve moved on to bigger projects.”
“Such as?”
Isabella giggled, covering her mouth with one hand. He didn’t like the sound of that. Finally, she whispered, “I don’t think I should say.”
“Why not?”
Her glance skittered away from him. “Maybe I want it to be a surprise.”
Nick narrowed his eyes. “How big a surprise?”
“About six feet.”
The same height as a man. Oh, no. Not again. When she was studying in Italy, Isabella had done several nude torsos of one of her beaus. When she brought the pieces back to Chicago, they’d set every tongue in the city wagging. Now he suspected she’d moved on to the entire body of a naked man, complete with genitalia. Maybe Nick could convince her to add a fig leaf…
“Who’s your subject?” he asked. He wasn’t sure which would be worse—an anonymous naked stranger or someone recognizable by Chicago society. If she’d sculpted the son of a prominent family without his trousers, the entire Tempest family might have to pick up and move far, far away.
“Apollo, Zeus, Eros…” Her words trailed off dreamily. “They’re all there. And they’re spectacular.”
He allowed himself a sigh of relief. Greek gods didn’t sound so bad. Representing them in stone was quite popular, as a matter of fact. Except…Except he knew his sister. “What have you done with these Greek gods? Are they clothed?”
She shrugged, looking pleased with herself. “I told you, they’re spectacular. Stunning. I’ve added something new this time. I’ve added passion . Far and away my best work ever.”
Given the fact that she had sidestepped his question about clothes, he could only conclude that all these Greek deities were, in fact, naked. That wasn’t unusual, either, as far as classical or modern sculpture went. He’d seen enough of it on his travels with his sister to know that much, and also to know that she was fascinated by the human form.
“Is this a commissioned piece?” he inquired, trying to pin her down. “Is someone going to pay for this and hopefully whisk it away to Outer Mongolia?”
“Of course not. My art is intended to be seen. I want people to experience it, to feel and change because of it. This sculpture is definitely going to change people.” Isabella swished her skirts as she began to pace back and forth. “I’m counting on this piece to make my name.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
She shot back, “Don’t mock me, Nick. You wait and see! By morning, when it’s on display, people from around the world—artists and collectors and scholars—will be smitten. I wouldn’t be surprised if potential patrons waving huge sums of money were breaking down my door tomorrow, begging me to create pieces just for them.”
“Where?” he asked suspiciously. Isabella had no gallery, no studio, where buyers could see this supposed masterpiece. “Where is it on display?”
After stewing for a moment, she confessed, “It’s at the Women’s Building. At the fair.”
“But I thought…” Nick stubbed out his cigar. “I thought they didn’t want you there.”
“Well, they didn’t.” She shrugged again. “But Mother got me in.”
Isabella and their mother had argued about this very subject for months. The last Nick had heard, Mother wasn’t budging and was not going to use her influence as a member of the prestigious Board of Lady Managers to find a spot for Bella’s work, specifically because she didn’t approve of her daughter’s preoccupation with nude male torsos or female faces with a lascivious look in her their eyes. So far, thank goodness, Isabella had not combined the strapping males with the provocative females, because that would…
“Good God, Bella, you didn’t.”
All innocence, she inquired, “Didn’t what?”
“What exactly is the theme of this work, this masterpiece with all the Greek gods and goddesses? Have you named it?” he asked impatiently, standing up and advancing on her.
“It doesn’t have a name yet, actually. Maybe you can help me with that, Nick.” Eagerly, she perched on a stool near him. “At first I thought I would call it Erotikos , but then I thought perhaps Sexdecim would be the right name. It has an intriguing ring to it, don’t you think? It’s Latin, though, and I’d prefer Greek, since my figures are Greek.”
“ Sexdecim just means sixteen,” he told her. “How can the same statue fit either Erotikos or Sixteen? Good Lord.” He’d just had a horrifying thought. “You’re not sculpting erotic sixteen-year-olds into a statue, are you?”
“Heavens, no.” Isabella twirled the other way on her stool, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not exactly a statue, anyway. It’s an arch. I’ve intended it as a stand-alone work, something like a mantel for one’s fireplace, but much more beautiful than that. It’s marble. I love working in marble. It’s so unforgiving, and yet so stunning if you get it right. Father had a fit, of course, since it was also wretchedly expensive. But I think it was worth every penny.”
“Sixteen?” he prompted.
“Oh, about the sixteen. Yes, well, there are sixteen couples on my arch. Sixteen pairs of gods and goddesses. So…”
“Couples, you say?”
That whole Erotikos thing was becoming clearer. And more unpleasant, all at the same time. Sixteen couples on an arch, all carved to look lusty and sensual. Bella wouldn’t have done that. Not after their mother had put her own reputation on the line with the ever-so-lofty Lady Managers to push her daughter’s work into the Women’s Building. Isabella might be foolish, but she would never abuse their mother’s trust and good name, would she?
Of course she would. With a sense of dread, hoping against hope that the sixteen couples were merely looking erotic and not acting erotic, Nick asked, “What are your gods and goddesses doing, precisely?”
“It’s a depiction of the mythology for each of the couples,” she explained. “So, for example, Apollo and Daphne are depicted wound ’round a tree, while Perseus and Andromeda are chained together. I was rather proud of that. Using the chains, I mean, since she’s chained to a rock in the myth.” She sighed deeply. “The chains give so much more urgency and tension to that particular coupling.”
“Coupling?” he echoed. That sounded so much worse than mere couple . “You have all of these Greek gods in the midst of couplings? You’ve actually thrown them together and portrayed them while they’re…” How did one say this to one’s sister? “While they’re in the act? ”
“Well, yes, actually.” His sister—his infuriating, irresponsible, reckless sister—ducked around him to pick up his brandy snifter. She held it out to him like a peace offering. “Do you remember, Nick, when we were in Italy, and you went off to Germany to look at somebody’s engine or something?”
He grabbed the brandy and knocked back the rest of it, all in one gulp. That demonstrated a reckless disregard for good brandy, but he didn’t care. “The motor-wagons, yes. I spent a few days in Stuttgart.”
“Right. That was when Franco asked if I’d like to see his private collection.”
Nick tightened his jaw. He’d never much cared for Franco, the count his sister had carried on a brief flirtation with while they visited Rome. He’d tried to keep a careful eye on her, but it appeared he had failed miserably, if she was off looking at the private collections of oily Italian counts the moment his back was turned. “That sounds ominous.”
“Not at all,”