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The Gypsy Model: A Romany Curse
After their return from the prize-fight, two young bucks further pursue their sporting interests at the gypsy fair, studying the form of the fillies in the dancing booth.
Gabriel spots a statuesque, girl with the musicians.
‘Now, Freddy. How about that one? Mine, I think!’ The vision in question is collecting money in a tambourine for the players. She sports a choker and ostentatious earrings. Spotting them eyeing her, she approaches. A diaphanous shawl reveals a décolletage that has Gabriel gasping.
‘My God! But the lady displayeth much upon the balcony!’
‘Aye, and I warrant there be bounty elsewhere!’ But Fred’s guffaw is uneasy. There is something familiar about the girl, and here she is.
‘Now Mr. Fred.’
‘er…’
‘Thou dun’t remember me,’ she teases. He studies her face. ‘ Why it’s…’
‘Kiomi, aye.’ Now he remembers the sketches he did as a boy. Budding perfectionist, he’d been after local colour, and got to know Oseri Gray’s people. Their sports, their games, their music still ‘lived’ in his sketch-pad. He’d become aware, too, of a formidable child, who could have sulked for Norfolk. Now, here she is, a handsome young woman. And all smiles! Splendid bone structure. Is this perfection? But no. Perfection is a template, he thinks. This face is unique.
‘They’ll play a waltz next. Tha’ can waltz can’t tha’?’
‘Waltz? Aye. Can thou?’ He sneers, mimicking her speech. Her superior half-smile, unsettles him.
They sweep off in a series of turns that bring them closer at the hip. Her full thighs press against his, provoking a surge of lust. He’d hardly expected this. Later, he might ponder moulding this Romany clay into his own creation. If so, Kiomi Gray will have surprises in store for him. And how does, this alluring girl see him? I wonder. Is it through a mist of adolescent illusion, or does she toy with opportunistic thoughts? They are both flushed when, reluctantly, he escorts her back to her station.
Lucky hound, thinks Gabriel.
‘That waist! My God, it must be well corseted, our tawny beauty!’
‘No stays that I could detect, dear boy.
‘A stunner indeed.‘
‘Come now Gabriel. It is but a child. Virgin clay… or rather, a rough diamond, and….’
‘And?’
‘…as such, it must be scrupulously scanned to know its potential.’ Sandys nudges his companion, but why does he feel uncomfortable in their young buck complicity?
The Gypsy Model is Historical Faction, set in a 19th century not much removed from the history we think we know. The narrator, a present-day traveller claims a family relationship with the ‘real’ model who triggered the fiction. The action takes place in parts of mid to late Victorian England ranging from Norfolk to Pre-Raphaelite and literary London and the English Lake District. Scenes peopled by historical figures like Elizabeth Siddal, Ruskin and Swinburne are depicted in Cumbria, at Ascot, and at Cheyne Walk.
After the meeting at the dancing booth, Pre-Raphaelite artist Sands, persuades Kiomi Gray's father to allow her to come to London to work as a model. In trying to make her his creation through the medium of his paintings Sands becomes intrigued by the girl. Some of the artist’s best paintings are modelled by Kiomi, following the progress of his fatal obsession with her. In the course of a torrid love affair, the couple produce four children. Still a young woman, Kiomi is finally supplanted by Sands’ long-term partner, Mary Clive.
Gabriel spots a statuesque, girl with the musicians.
‘Now, Freddy. How about that one? Mine, I think!’ The vision in question is collecting money in a tambourine for the players. She sports a choker and ostentatious earrings. Spotting them eyeing her, she approaches. A diaphanous shawl reveals a décolletage that has Gabriel gasping.
‘My God! But the lady displayeth much upon the balcony!’
‘Aye, and I warrant there be bounty elsewhere!’ But Fred’s guffaw is uneasy. There is something familiar about the girl, and here she is.
‘Now Mr. Fred.’
‘er…’
‘Thou dun’t remember me,’ she teases. He studies her face. ‘ Why it’s…’
‘Kiomi, aye.’ Now he remembers the sketches he did as a boy. Budding perfectionist, he’d been after local colour, and got to know Oseri Gray’s people. Their sports, their games, their music still ‘lived’ in his sketch-pad. He’d become aware, too, of a formidable child, who could have sulked for Norfolk. Now, here she is, a handsome young woman. And all smiles! Splendid bone structure. Is this perfection? But no. Perfection is a template, he thinks. This face is unique.
‘They’ll play a waltz next. Tha’ can waltz can’t tha’?’
‘Waltz? Aye. Can thou?’ He sneers, mimicking her speech. Her superior half-smile, unsettles him.
They sweep off in a series of turns that bring them closer at the hip. Her full thighs press against his, provoking a surge of lust. He’d hardly expected this. Later, he might ponder moulding this Romany clay into his own creation. If so, Kiomi Gray will have surprises in store for him. And how does, this alluring girl see him? I wonder. Is it through a mist of adolescent illusion, or does she toy with opportunistic thoughts? They are both flushed when, reluctantly, he escorts her back to her station.
Lucky hound, thinks Gabriel.
‘That waist! My God, it must be well corseted, our tawny beauty!’
‘No stays that I could detect, dear boy.
‘A stunner indeed.‘
‘Come now Gabriel. It is but a child. Virgin clay… or rather, a rough diamond, and….’
‘And?’
‘…as such, it must be scrupulously scanned to know its potential.’ Sandys nudges his companion, but why does he feel uncomfortable in their young buck complicity?
The Gypsy Model is Historical Faction, set in a 19th century not much removed from the history we think we know. The narrator, a present-day traveller claims a family relationship with the ‘real’ model who triggered the fiction. The action takes place in parts of mid to late Victorian England ranging from Norfolk to Pre-Raphaelite and literary London and the English Lake District. Scenes peopled by historical figures like Elizabeth Siddal, Ruskin and Swinburne are depicted in Cumbria, at Ascot, and at Cheyne Walk.
After the meeting at the dancing booth, Pre-Raphaelite artist Sands, persuades Kiomi Gray's father to allow her to come to London to work as a model. In trying to make her his creation through the medium of his paintings Sands becomes intrigued by the girl. Some of the artist’s best paintings are modelled by Kiomi, following the progress of his fatal obsession with her. In the course of a torrid love affair, the couple produce four children. Still a young woman, Kiomi is finally supplanted by Sands’ long-term partner, Mary Clive.
266 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 11, 2014
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
September 24, 2014
I thoroughly enjoyed this. It's a stroll through a lesser known story of the Pre-Raphaelite era. Whilst everyone else makes drama out of Effie Gray, Ruskin and Millais, Bill MacFarlane has chosen the lesser known Frederick Sands and his gypsy muse Kiomi Gray. The story itself is a diverting one, and extremely well written, but that's not what makes the book so enjoyable.
What lifts it from the usual is the narrator, who is a modern-day traveller, quite possibly a barely-disguised version of the author himself. The narrator's voice dominates throughout. The Pre-Raphaelite drama is just a jumping-off point – full of “what ifs” and other suppositions. The story provides ample opportunities to wander off to fairs and boxing matches and horse races; plus an opportunity to imagine Romany life back through the ages, complete with archaic dialect.
Strangely, in the end what I was mostly reminded of was my own dad. He was a great storyteller and his stories would often go on for hours at a time, full of diversions and tangents, asides and digressions. The stories themselves hardly mattered, the joy of listening was all. And so it is here, but with an added dash of historical brio and a delightful wallop of gypsy-lore. It felt like sitting round a camp fire of an evening, as stories were passed down the generations by a mischievous patriarch.
What lifts it from the usual is the narrator, who is a modern-day traveller, quite possibly a barely-disguised version of the author himself. The narrator's voice dominates throughout. The Pre-Raphaelite drama is just a jumping-off point – full of “what ifs” and other suppositions. The story provides ample opportunities to wander off to fairs and boxing matches and horse races; plus an opportunity to imagine Romany life back through the ages, complete with archaic dialect.
Strangely, in the end what I was mostly reminded of was my own dad. He was a great storyteller and his stories would often go on for hours at a time, full of diversions and tangents, asides and digressions. The stories themselves hardly mattered, the joy of listening was all. And so it is here, but with an added dash of historical brio and a delightful wallop of gypsy-lore. It felt like sitting round a camp fire of an evening, as stories were passed down the generations by a mischievous patriarch.
Displaying 1 of 1 review