He weighed the answer in his mind, then looked before us. “At least you have other talents aside from pottery.”
I glanced at our wheel; the form was lopsided, misshapen. I just smiled up at him. “It looks like I may have to visit more often if I am to become better.”
“I suppose you will.” He rolled his eyes. “Limit your visits to once a week, or I may never get anything done ever again.”
“I can work with that.”
We’d given up on the day by then. The windows at the top of the warehouse glowed red, the kiln was dying down, and we took our time gathering ourselves before we inevitably would have to leave.
I wasn’t sure what spellbound allure the studio held, but it felt infinite. There was so much opportunity for imagination, to let creativity take hold and keep you there. I understood now, I thought, why it kepthimthere so often. This was a home for him, someplace sacred. Just like my family’s old tenement, it was an escape, somewhere safe to land.
And now, in turn, I had landed here with him.
Chapter Twelve
The Performer
The bed was cold that morning. It was like no one had ever been there to begin with.
I rolled over, burying my face in the neighboring pillow. The scent of him lingered. His collage of scents teased my nose, the only proof he had been there at all.
It was nearing noontime now, a bit later than my normal sleeping schedule. The rain was steady like a dribble, but the clouds allowed for brief blessings of sunshine, the most beautiful of scenes just outside my window.
Motivation to dress was stronger today. I had nowhere to go, but it couldn’t hurt to appreciate some of my less-worn wardrobe. I was tempted to do my hair, to take a full bath with some oils I never used, or maybe to prepare something sweet for later.
Did it matter to him if I made such changes? Or would he laugh?
After dressing, I went along with my routine. Late breakfast was in order. I shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, digging through some of my nicer bowls and silver, adding extra fruit to my cutting board.
It was only now I realized the coffee grounds were nearly nonexistent. I suppose Arkady had been using them. Should I get more? He’d never asked. It pained me that I could not be plain with him, thatit felt like we danced around each other like two desperate birds of different species, misinterpreting every sign along the way.
Today would be for relaxation. I did not have any plans to move unless it was to fill my bowl of fruit or to grab a different book. I would wait for Arkady to come home.
I picked at my fruit, but it wasn’t satisfying me in the way that I hoped. The craving was for something savory. I only had scraps, something simple for a stew or even a broth. I hadn’t restocked my pantry sincethe incident. It would be enough for my dinner, then I must force myself to the market tomorrow. I was just so tired as of late, even that short trip was a burden on my body.
The rasping at my entryway startled me from famished thoughts.
I hoped the knock would be him, but I knew better.
Upon opening the door, a familiar face greeted me.
“Ms. De Villier,” the commissioner acknowledged from my doorstep.
“Mrs. Kameneva, now,” I said.
“Ah, yes, Kamenev.”
I held my tongue; too many corrections made men unreasonably irate.
James Hunt was a stiff man, no matter how kind he tried to make his face appear. A smile was unnatural on a weathered face such as his. My parents had voted for his office position, as well as donated handsomely to his campaign.
Some people were easy to read. The body was one to tattle on unaware users. He held his conviction in his posture. I already knew this visit was not a friendly one.
“How may I help you, Commissioner?”
“I don’t mean to disturb you on such a peaceful day.” He removed his uniform cap as his gaze flicked past me, into my home, before returning to me. “May I come in?”
I nodded, pulling the door wider.
