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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] V unit, the sort of thing found in discount stores for displaying posters of hot-rods, air-brush- enhanced scantily clad women holding kittens, and reproductions of popular Impressionists. He tapped tiny feet impatiently while I flicked through the contents. Snow-clad mountains with ten- point stags strutting disdainfully behind fir trees; weeping-willow-encircled lakes on which floated coy coveys of swans; herds of cattle wandering along dusty tracks past log cabins nestling among the gum-trees. He even had my all time favourite, two androgynous kids dressed in patches and rags, eyes the size of saucers in unblemished faces, sitting beside a dew-spangled flower on recently swept steps, gazing up with the spurious innocence of youth. They had been hand-painted to the same extent that modern electrical appliances are hand made. Hundreds of prepared boards bearing outlines of a scene, move past on an assembly line. One person does all the green, the next the yellows, the next reds, blues and so on till complete and as near identical as possible. Similar kitsch crap used to be touted up and down the coast by impecunious students. They belonged in Conias Jackson s Arte Bizarre - not in my gallery! Scumble was twitching. I let him twitch for a bit before shaking my head and telling him it wasn t our sort of product. He moved as if to thump me but I didn t flinch. After ten long seconds he wordlessly wheeled out his display, leaving me with a recklessly beating heart and shaky knees. It was very disquieting, so I went out to pick Jon s brains. Probably a scam they try on new outlets. Scare insecure businessmen into displaying their junk. Could be a protection racket. You ll get a really tough nut next who, for a substantial fee, will provide protection from the bastards who will bash you up unless you stock their paintings. I pushed the unpleasant incident to the back of my head until I could talk with Frances, went back inside and assisted two customers to select drawings. They were curious about Mad, but I feigned ignorance while applauding their taste. Previously unaware of the gallery s existence, they d driven past because of the detour and popped in on impulse, buying two drawings just like that. I d barely had time to record the sale when a battered white van pulled up bearing a defeated looking woman of about fifty, who emerged to gaze helplessly at the front windows. I went out. She smiled her gratitude at not having to decide which glass panel was the door, and invited me to her studio to view her works, with a view to including them in our permanent collection. Maybe even having a solo exhibition later in the year. I made an appointment for later that evening and she rattled away, leaving a patch of rust on the new pavers. We were debating whether to be extravagant and buy a takeaway for lunch, when a car skidded to a halt and ejected Frances, who dashed upstairs. A couple of minutes later she burst into the gallery. Guess what! she sparkled. Gregor wants to marry me! Is he the one who entertained you royally in plastic-and-canvas-covered magnificence in the hills? The same. Who wears reefer jackets with silver buttons and designer boat shoes? You ve got your eye on him? Not unless he s filthy rich. He is! she shrieked ecstatically. Well done. We sold two drawings today, and a chap from& Not now, Peter! Gregor s waiting. But& No. No. No. She giggled, almost hysterical at her good fortune. Such mundane matters will have to wait until I ve returned to earth! She looked at Jon, ran a finger from black eye to bruised chin, turned back to me and, obviously aroused at the idea, drooled, Mmm! You two do have fun in bed. Let s make it a foursome one night. She skipped through the doorway, stopped, poked her head back in and whispered theatrically, Gregor s huge! The sporty little car revved expensively and whisked her away. Jon released a shudder of loathing. Does she think we re on together? Apparently. Stupid bitch. I remember that lecherous leer from when she raped me. Christ, I despise her. She gets the rich ones with expensive cars. A Porsche, he sighed from the door. He s old, though. She s only excited because he s rich. Hasn t she enough money already? Apparently one can never have enough. It s an unwritten law. Guess I ll never know. Then you have a chance of happiness. I want to be independent though. Me too. Free from bureaucracy s tentacles. A hermit. A guru on a mountain-top. But, Jon s eyes lost their laughter, you have to have money to live. Less than you think, if you eliminate false desires. Yeah, well we d better stop there. I know yours, but mine are still a mystery to me. OK, what s it to be? A takeaway, or some of Pete s pottage? Pottage, seeing I m impecunious. Bye the way, who owns the old Holden out the back? I want to dig that spot over and plant some banksias. It s yours - if you want it? You re joking. No. Max left me his Mercedes, so I don t need it. And you re giving it away? Yep. Must be totally clapped out. It goes. He trailed me outside, inspected the exterior, then sat behind the wheel. After a cursory check of the interior he wound down the window and said gruffly, Either I pay you for it, or I don t want it. I started to speak but he interrupted. No! I already owe you enough. Fair enough, fifty bucks? You re joking. That s all the dealer offered. I'm an excellent liar. With a sudden grin, he shot out his hand. A deal! I ll go for a burn round the block. Of course it wouldn t start. How d you get this to a dealer? It s just a flat battery, I ll give you a shove. He returned, ecstatic. There s nothing wrong with this thing that a bit of TLC from an expert won t cure. That dealer was ripping you off. And you re the expert? The machinery on the farm depended on me. Then how are they getting on without you? My youngest brother s a dab hand I taught him. Do you miss them? Of course. Want to go back? You re joking! How long since you wrote? More than a year. Have they written to you? I ve never been game to give them an address. Dad s a vindictive old bastard. He d probably find me and do an Abraham. Sacrifice me to his god for disobeying my parents. Give them a ring. What, now? Yes. But& . Frances left her mobile on the desk. The call can t be traced. You re on! It s lunchtime, they ll be eating. The call didn t last long. Within two minutes he was standing thoughtfully in the office doorway. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |