‘I wonder if the tip should show under the left breast,’ murmuring Malmsley. ‘Rather amusing to have it in the drawing. With a cast shadow and a thin trickle of blood. Keep the whole thing black and white except for the little scarlet thread. After all, it is melodrama.’

‘Evidently,’ grunted Garcia.

‘The point of suspension for the drape would have to be higher,’ said Troy. ‘It must be higher than the tip of the blade. You could do it. If your story was a modern detective novel, Malmsley, you could do a drawing of the knife as it is now.’

Malmsley smiled and began to sketch on the edge of his paper. Valmai Seacliff leant over him, her hands on his shoulders. Hatchett, Ormerin and Pilgrim stood round her, Pilgrim with his arm across her shoulder. Phillida Lee hovered on the outskirts of the little group. Troy, looking vaguely round the studio, said to herself that her worst forebodings were likely to be realized. Watt Hatchett was already at loggerheads with Malmsley and the model. Valmai was at her Cleopatra game, and there was Sonia in a corner with Garcia. Something in their faces caught Troy’s attention. What the devil were they up to? Garcia’s eyes were on the group round Malmsley. A curious smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and on Sonia’s face, turned to him, the smile was reflected.

‘You’ll have to get that thing out now, Hatchett,’ said Troy.

It took a lot of working and tugging to do this, but at last the knife was pulled out, the throne put back, and Sonia, with many complaints, took the pose again.

‘Over more on the right shoulder,’ said Katti Bostock.

Troy thrust the shoulder down. The drape fell into folds round the figure.

‘Ow!’ said Sonia.

‘That is when the dagger goes in,’ said Malmsley.

‘Don’t—you’ll make me sick,’ said Sonia.

Garcia gave a little chuckle.

‘Right through the ribs and coming out under the left breast,’ murmured Malmsley.

‘Shut up!’

‘Spitted like a little chicken.’

Sonia raised her head.

‘I wouldn’t be too damn funny, Mr Malmsley,’ she said. ‘Where do you get your ideas from, I wonder? Books? Or pictures?’

Malmsley’s brush slipped from his fingers to the paper, leaving a trace of paint. He looked fixedly at Sonia, and then began to dab his drawing with a sponge. Sonia laughed.

‘For God’s sake,’ said Katti Bostock, ‘let’s get the pose.’

‘Quiet,’ said Troy, and was obeyed. She set the pose, referring to the canvases. ‘Now get down to it, all of you. The Phoenix Group Show opens on the 16th. I suppose most of us want to go up to London for it. Very well, I’ll give the servants a holiday that weekend, and we’ll start work again on the Monday.’