Will Graham

Lecter had many models: students, musicians, actors, dancers, family acquaintances. Some he invited just once, others returned to his studio for years. He drew each in his own way: musicians with instruments, actors in relaxed poses, elderly people in close-up, focusing on the face and hands. Sometimes he asked a person simply to read by the window or drink tea while he captured their natural expression.

And he paid magnificently.

Will could earn more in three hours of work than he could earn in several days at a regular job. Hannibal never haggled, never held back, and always compensated for extra hours. Will came specifically for the money and quickly discovered he'd found perhaps the best part-time job of his life.

“Don’t move,” Hannibal said.

— I haven't moved for two hours.

• You frowned.

• That doesn't count.

— It counts for a portrait.

Will rolled his eyes and looked out the window again.

Paintings of other sitters hung on the walls. A woman in a dark dress, sitting by the fireplace. A young violinist with his instrument in his lap. An old man, whose hands were painted with such meticulous care that Will could almost feel the roughness of the skin. Some portraits were formal, others were completely simple: a man at a table, a girl by a window, a man reading a book.

Hannibal had an eye for detail.

And, as it turned out, he was especially good at noticing Will's details.

He drew him more often than anyone else. In a chair, by the window, at a table, with a book in his hands. Sometimes just a profile or hands. One day, Will discovered a portrait for which he didn't even remember the sitting: he was sitting, his head propped up in his hand, completely lost in thought.

“How many portraits of me do you have?” he asked.

— Completed or all?

• All of them.

• Forty two.

Will turned his head slowly.

— Do you count them?

• Of course.

• For what?

Hannibal looked at him over the canvas.

• Because you are one of my favorite models.

Will narrowed his eyes.

• One of?

— I have many models, Will.

• I noticed.

— And yet you asked.

Will fell silent.