His Model Student

"Get undressed and hurry up about it. Immediately. You’ve already kept us waiting." Steel-dark eyes glowered into hers.

Taken aback, Sera struggled to speak. "But…"

"I don’t want any excuses. You’re late enough as it is."

"But I’m not…"

"Either get your clothes off and get on that couch, or you can leave and not come back."

"If I could just…"

"Now!"

Afterwards, Sera was never quite sure why she complied. It was partly because she was so shocked and embarrassed by the whole situation and intimidated by the man’s furious, commanding voice.

It was also because she felt pretty angry herself: he refused to even give a chance to explain herself. If she obeyed his order, he would end up being forced to make a humiliating apology.

And - although she couldn’t quite admit it to herself - he was devastatingly attractive. Tall and broad shouldered, with black, tousled hair and a chiselled jaw, he looked nothing like the "Miss E Fotheringay" who was supposed to be taking Life Drawing Course No 46 at Edenvale Community Art Centre.

Who the hell was he? And why was he so angry?

Taking off her clothes seemed like the only weapon she had. If nothing else, it would be a good lesson in empathy for the models she was going to be painting over the next few weeks. Sera had often wondered what it must be like for them: stuck in awkward positions for hours on end, naked and scrutinised by a roomful of people.

She hurriedly pulled her clothes off behind the screen. She wasn’t the world’s most confident person when it came to her body: she would have preferred slightly fewer curves and a couple of inches extra height. But this was an art class, not a fashion catwalk, and she knew that life models ranged widely in age, size and shape.

It was only as Sera slipped on a thin silk kimono, conveniently hung over the top, that she realised she was about to be stark naked for the first time before a roomful of strangers. They had blurred into the background during the angry confrontation. If only her hair, strawberry blonde and wavy, was as long as Botticelli’s Venus it could have covered her modesty.

Still, she had started this adventure now and she wasn’t going to chicken out.

"Finally. You can recline there, like so." The tall man briefly showed her a painting in an art book: she was to copy a famous pose.

Sera looked around at the other artists as she took her place. It was a small class and there were only five other students. They included two women and three men. An elderly woman with snow-white hair and twinkling eyes sat on the left in a mauve smock, next to her was a bald man with glasses and a beard. A woman with a lot of frizzy hair, playing rather anxiously with her dangling jewellery, sat in the middle. Two elderly men, one of whom wore a purple silk cravat, were on the right.

Fortunately none of them looked like perverts. Most seemed more interested in adjusting their easels and getting out painting equipment than ogling her.

Sera felt like an object but in a way it was comforting. No one was looking at her as a person, just as an abstract shape. There was no appreciation in anyone’s gaze, nothing sexual. The elderly man in the cravat held up his paintbrush in the air and squinted with one eye, trying to get the right proportions.

Even the teacher seemed dispassionate. "A few inches this way. Rest your leg there. Your arm straighter, along the back of the couch." Sera flinched momentarily as his fingers touched the skin of her arm. His touch burned.

He was so close she could feel the heat and maleness of him: the fresh linen of his shirt, a trace of aromatic cologne.

Eventually he was satisfied and addressed the class. "We’ll use this pose for a fifteen minute warm up, then we’ll change."

Sera may as well have been a vase of flowers or a bowl of fruit.

About ten minutes later, when she was already starting to feel cramp in one leg, the door burst open. A thin girl with bright red hennaed hair burst in.

"I’m so sorry. There was an accident on the highway and I was stuck between a car and truck for half an hour. Am I too late? I can get ready very quickly." She saw Sera on the couch. "Oh…"

The art teacher had frozen. He looked at the girl and back at Sera.

"Exactly who is the model for this class?" His tone was icy.

"I am," the girl said. "Unless you’ve found a replacement?"

The teacher looked at Sera and in that instant his gaze changed. Suddenly she was no longer a professional model but a flesh-and-blood female, lying naked before him. Recognition flickered in his eyes as his gaze swept her naked curves. For a moment he drank in her form, then concealed his reaction as quickly as it had appeared.

Sera gave a half smile. "I’m actually one of the students."

He was silent for a moment, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The others in the room had put their pencils and charcoal down, enthralled by the unfolding drama.

"It seems I owe you an apology." He sounded far more furious than sorry. "I’m not sure why you felt obliged to model for us."

The cravat man was suppressing a chuckle and even the elderly lady was looking amused.

"I did try to explain."

The teacher gritted his teeth. "You can rejoin the class." He checked a sheet of paper and turned to the new girl. "I assume you are actually Kirsten Prout and not an art student?"

"That’s right. It’s usually Miss Fotheringay on Thursday nights," the model pointed out.

"I’ll be taking her classes this term." He offered no explanation as to why.

The frizzy haired woman looked worried. "Is Elsie alright?"

"I wouldn’t know."

He was in the foulest mood, Sera thought, but it was all his own fault. She noticed how a strand of hair kept falling over his forehead and he pushed it back, irritated. His hair needed a cut. It wasn’t an intentionally long style but an overgrown short one.

He had high cheekbones and there was something almost Slavic about his features, though his voice was entirely English, clipped and correct. Sera found herself longing to sketch his portrait.

But she turned her attention to the model they were supposed to be drawing. Compared to the other students who seemed like old hands at this, Sera was a total beginner.

Glancing around she saw that most people seemed to concentrate on the limbs and the angle of the pose, rather than details such as the face. So although she enjoyed sketching faces most of all, she did likewise and focused on the figure and form.

She was painfully conscious whenever the teacher passed by her easel, feeling sure he must be wincing at her amateur attempt. It took a lot of effort just to keep her hand steady.

"Anyone for the pub? I think we could all do with wetting our whistle," the man in the purple cravat suggested as they walked out into the car park. His name turned out to be Jasper. "You more so than any of us, after that wonderful performance," he said to Sera.

Sera, who had planned on catching the bus, blushed. "It wasn’t quite what I was expecting," she said.

"It was absolutely marvellous, wasn’t it Barry? Certainly more dramatic than any of dear Elsie’s classes."

The elderly lady and the bearded man politely declined the invitation to the pub and went their separate ways. That left Sera, the frizzy-haired woman whose name was Elizabeth, Jasper and Barry.

They went to the Norfolk Arms which was just across the road from the community centre. It was the kind of quiet pub that didn’t bother to check ID, fake or otherwise, to Sera’s relief. At this hour on a Thursday night it was relatively quiet.

Jasper insisted on buying the first round so Sera chose a vodka and coke.

"Thanks."

"We must thank you, for putting that arrogant if very talented young man in his place." It was true that the teacher seemed incredibly talented. He had been able to glance at their sketches and immediately suggest adjustments to restore the correct proportions. His manner with Sera had been formal to the point of cold, but she was so embarrassed after the initial adrenalin of the confrontation had worn off that she was only too happy for him to keep his distance.

Also, every time he had stood near her easel, she had been so disturbed by his presence that it was hard to keep her hand steady.

"He was terribly rude to you, I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself in your place," Elizabeth said. "I certainly don’t imagine he was expecting things to turn out quite as they did."

"I imagine a boy with his looks rarely gets refused anything," Jasper said. "Wouldn’t you say so, Barry?"

Sera was amused to hear him call their art teacher a boy. He had seemed very much a man: he looked at least thirty.

"Indeed," Barry said.

Sera wondered if the two elderly gents were a couple or merely friends. They clearly knew one another very well. Jasper was the more flamboyant and outspoken of the two: she wasn’t surprised to learn that he was a retired actor.

"Theatre mainly, my darlings. But my old bones became a bit creaky to keep treading the boards. And I’ve always been a dabbler, haven’t I Barry? Barry’s the real artist among us." He revealed that Barry had been a theatre set designer, which was how they had met.

"I did think he owed you a rather more sincere apology than he gave you," Elizabeth said to Sera. The others agreed.

Sera said that she really didn’t mind. "It was an educational experience. Now I know what it’s like for the models. I could barely manage ten minutes, goodness knows how they sit still for hours."

"We thought you were quite charming, didn’t we Barry? Very professional. Besides, most models move and take frequent breaks. Is this your first time in a life drawing class?"

Sera confessed that it was. "I study art at school but what I really want to do is portraiture. We don’t get any opportunity to have actual models in art lessons so that’s why I signed up here. I also thought the extra classes might help with my college application."

"After tonight, I should think you’re owed a glowing reference," Jasper said. "Talented young artist, displays fine form in class." He lifted his wine glass in toast to Sera with a roguish wink, and she blushed.

She hoped she wouldn’t lose her nerve when it came to attending next week’s class. The reality of what she had done was only just beginning to sink in.