Dreams to Sell (20 page)

‘Fine. We did the caretaker's portrait tonight.'

‘The caretaker? Bet that was a first for him.'

‘He's very good. And we've got our outing organized. It's to Kirkcudbright.'

‘Kircoobray.' Chrissie mimicked Roz's correct pronunciation of the name. ‘That'll be nice for you, eh?'

‘Very. I'm looking forward to it,' Roz smiled.

‘Kirkcudbright?'

When Roz told him where she was going the following day, a Saturday, Angus Appin looked up from his desk with interest. Only thirty-three, his double chin and stout figure added to his years, but on the credit side, perhaps because he was plump, he also appeared pleasant and affable, which went down well with the clients.

‘Now, that's a nice place!' he commented. ‘Pattie and I had a weekend there once and really enjoyed it. Don't they call it the artists' town?'

‘Yes, seemingly a whole bunch of artists came over from Glasgow to paint there because of the light and everything being so picturesque. Our evening class teacher thought it'd be ideal for our outing.'

‘Of course, you're an artist too, Miss Rainey. You'll be sure to enjoy it, then.'

‘I don't know about being an artist,' she said with a laugh, ‘but I am looking forward to seeing what the artists saw that made them want to paint Kirkcudbright. And, of course, where they lived, if possible.'

‘Because you like houses. I remember you saying that when I came to the interview – the one I failed.' Mr Appin locked his desk and stood up, frowning slightly. ‘Often wonder what went wrong here for Wonder Boy Shield. No one ever says.'

‘Nothing went wrong,' Roz said quickly. ‘It was just matters at home, I think. He wanted to go back.'

‘Got a job in the Borders now, hasn't he?'

‘I'm afraid I don't know.' Roz put on her jacket. ‘Time to go. Have a nice weekend, Mr Appin. Isn't it nice we get the whole of Saturday off now?'

‘Haven't I heard mutterings that it was about time?' Mr Appin grinned. ‘Enjoy Kirkcudbright, Miss Rainey!'

‘I will, Mr Appin.'

Seeing Norma at Reception, Roz stopped. ‘All set for tomorrow, Norma? We've got an early start.'

‘Suits me. I'm just keen to get going.'

Norma, like Chrissie, was looking very pretty, possibly for the same reason – a young man had singled her out to be with and found her attractive. Now why is it always that way round? Roz mused, after she'd said she'd see Norma on the coach early the next morning. Why did you never hear of a young man suddenly looking handsome because some girl had asked him out? Maybe, one day, women wouldn't be so dependent on men's interest as they were at the present time, but Roz had the feeling that day was some way off still.

Not to worry, she wasn't dependent on any man now. She was living her life and looking to her own future, and that was the way she wanted it. On the tram home she was feeling quite cheerful, until she remembered Mr Appin's words on Jamie. Over him as she was, she still didn't like talking about him, still didn't want to know just where he was and what he was doing. She'd made a clean break, and that, too, was the way she wanted it.

‘All set for tomorrow?' Flo asked that evening when she returned from work. ‘You've a long drive, eh?'

‘Part of the outing, seeing the scenery.'

Flo hesitated a little, her pale eyes moving everywhere except to Roz. ‘Look, I'm not going to make a thing of it, but I'm sorry I've not been so easy these past few weeks. It's just that things come over me and I feel – well, you know how I feel.'

‘Ma, it's all right, I understand. We all understand.'

‘Aye, but it's funny, eh? All the worry's still there for Dougal, but today I feel better, as though I can manage, yet nothing's changed. There's no rhyme or reason in it.'

‘If you're feeling better, that's what matters,' Roz said earnestly. ‘You just have to take each day as it comes, eh? And if today's a good day, that's grand.'

‘Have a good day yourself then, tomorrow. I've never been to Kirkcudbright, but I've heard it's very pretty, with a harbour and sweet little houses. Don't you go fancying living there, though.'

‘Now why would I do that?'

‘Well, if you're thinking of being an artist, you might.'

‘Honestly, Ma, I'm what they call a Sunday painter!' Roz gave a cheerful laugh. ‘I could never be a professional. All I want is to work with property.'

‘Still dreaming of lovely houses?'

‘Not for myself. I've given up on that.'

‘Just as well. Dream of something possible, is my advice.'

‘At the minute, I'm not dreaming at all,' said Roz.

As soon as their coach arrived in Kirkcudbright on a perfect May morning, Mrs Burr's students scattered. As she had explained, there was to be no formal organization of the day. They were all free to see what they wanted, but perhaps they would like to take note of the quality of the light in this town, which was that of a place by the sea, for Kirkcudbright was not only by a river but had a harbour overlooking the Irish Sea. The artists, many from Glasgow, who had formed their own colony in the town, had been drawn by that light and the beauty of the area, and all the students, therefore, should try to get a feel of what had attracted the artists of long ago and still attracted the artists of today.

‘What to do first, then?' Roz asked Norma and Tim as they stood together in the centre of the town, guidebooks at the ready. ‘I'd like to see where Jessie M. King lived. You know she did those beautiful illustrations for children's books? The guide book says she had a house in one of the closes off the High Street.'

‘I'd like to see her house, too,' said Norma, looking at Tim, who shrugged.

‘Not really my style. I'd rather see that old ruin over there – MacLellan's Castle.'

As they turned to study the roofless tower house near at hand, Tim consulted his guidebook. ‘Says this MacLellan man was once very powerful, and built his castle in 1582. Might get some ideas for pictures there. Or maybe from the Tollbooth – it used to be a prison. Good and dark, eh? Just right for me.'

‘Could just be offices now,' said Norma doubtfully. ‘I think I'd rather see the pretty houses in the High Street.'

‘Why don't we split up, then, and meet for lunch?' asked Roz. ‘There's a nice-looking café over there.'

It was agreed that they should do that, and while Tim went looking for ideas for his own paintings, Roz and Norma enjoyed themselves walking in the wide High Street, soaking up the atmosphere, admiring the houses and closes, particularly Greengate, where the exquisite book illustrator, Jessie M. King, had lived with her husband until her recent death.

Jessie came from Glasgow, Roz had read, and had arrived in Kirkcudbright around the same time as the so-called Glasgow Boys, one of whom was the well-known E.A. Hornel, whose home and beautiful garden – Broughton House – was open to visitors. After lunch, Roz told Norma she would like to look round it and also see one of the museums, but again, Tim had other ideas.

‘I'd rather go to the harbour, if you don't mind. They say it's one of the best around here, and I might sketch a few boats. But you go ahead with what you want, girls. Don't mind me.'

‘Maybe I'll go with Tim,' Norma said apologetically. ‘I'd really like to see the sea.'

‘Fine,' Roz agreed, happy to let them do what they wanted. ‘I'll see you back at the coach, then.'

She would be better off on her own, anyway, she decided: able to choose just what she wanted to see without worrying about Norma. So it proved, and having done the tour of Broughton House, which she found fascinating, she spent some time looking round the little art shops and galleries where she bought small gifts for Flo and Chrissie, before heading towards one of the museums.

Inside, there were so many paintings to see, so many collections to study, that by late afternoon she was so exhausted all she wanted to do was find somewhere to sit down and have a cup of tea. Is there a café? she asked an assistant and, having been told there was, heaved a sigh of relief and made for it, only to find it crowded, every table taken.

Oh no, she groaned and was standing hovering in the doorway when a waitress beckoned her to a table where one young man was sitting alone.

‘Mind if this young lady sits here, sir?' the girl asked brightly, at which the solitary male rose to his feet.

‘Not at all.' A pair of blue eyes went at once to Roz, who was feeling at something of a disadvantage, sure that her face was flushed and shiny and her hair untidy, but she managed a grateful smile as she moved to the table.

‘Please, do sit down,' said the young man, now coming round to set a chair for her. ‘May I help you with your packages?'

Heavens, how polite!

Covertly, she studied him as he helped to place her paper bags of presents, guidebook and spare cardigan on a vacant chair, noting that he was handsome in a low-key sort of way. Short fair hair, face rather long, nose very straight, all sort of a match to his accent, which was English – the sort you heard in British films, though there was nothing of the actor about this particular chap. Very genuine, she judged him to be, in his shabby tweeds and striped tie; probably better off than he appeared. He wasn't worrying about how he looked, anyway.

‘Thank you,' she murmured, pushing back her hair and taking her seat opposite him, ‘this is very kind.'

‘Only too happy to help, but here's the waitress to take your order.'

‘Tea and a buttered scone, please,' Roz told her.

‘And cakes? We have a nice selection of fancies – or there's Madeira. No Dundee at the moment, I'm afraid.'

‘Er – fancies, then.' How silly the name sounded, thought Roz, aware now that her flush was deepening under the young man's blue gaze, and wishing he would look away.

‘And another pot of tea, please,' he told the waitress as she cleared away his cup and plate. When they were alone, he gave Roz a charming smile. ‘A warm day, isn't it? Makes one thirsty. Thank God for the Scottish tea room, I always say.'

‘Oh, so do I,' Roz agreed and, under the influence of the smile, gradually began to relax, and feel ready to talk.

‘Tiring work, going round museums,' the fair-haired young man remarked. ‘I suppose you've just been round this one?'

‘Yes. I enjoyed it, but we're over from Edinburgh. It's been a long day, really. So much to see.'

‘I'm from Edinburgh, too, or at least only a few miles away. Did you drive over?'

‘No, I'm with an art class – we came by coach. Our teacher wanted us to see what the artists found to make them come here to paint.'

‘And did you?'

‘I think so. Partly the light – seems so different from a city – and then it's all so open and airy, being on the sea and with the lovely hills around.'

‘I agree. This is one of my favourite places. I've got a few paintings by the Glasgow Boys myself. Give me a lot of pleasure, though I've just sold one, as a matter of fact.'

‘Sold one?' Roz's eyes were wide, then she looked down, embarrassed that she'd seemed to query his decision. Nothing to do with her, was it? It was a relief to see the waitress back at their table with her loaded tray.

‘Now, a scone for you, miss, wasn't it? I've brought you butter and jam, and tea, with a separate pot for the gentleman. Oh, and I'll leave the fancies for you to choose one when you're ready.'

‘Thank you very much,' Roz said, finally having to look up, but still not meeting the young man's eyes as he murmured his thanks to the waitress and poured his tea.

‘Yes, it's a wrench,' he said, appearing not to notice her confusion. ‘But I thought it should be here, as it was painted here, and the museum was very happy to have it. Also, it means more people will see it.'

‘Oh, yes, that's true,' Roz agreed eagerly. ‘I'm all for lovely things being seen by as many as possible.'

‘True, but don't you think there's a case for certain works of art being seen in private houses, too? I mean, if they're right for the setting.'

‘Then they wouldn't be seen by as many people, would they?'

‘Unless the public were to visit?'

‘You mean as in stately homes? I haven't much experience of them, though I do work with houses.'

‘You work with houses?' His interest was clear as he drank his tea.

‘I'm an assistant in a lawyers' property department in Edinburgh.'

‘Sounds fascinating.' He laughed a little. ‘Selling dreams, then.'

‘That's one way of putting it.'

‘Well, isn't it everyone's dream to own the perfect property?'

‘If they can afford one at all. There are plenty who can't.'

‘I know,' he said quietly, and for a little while they were silent, Roz finishing her scone and he his tea.

‘Mind if I ask which lawyers?' he said eventually. ‘Might be mine.'

‘Tarrel and Thom's in Queen Street.'

‘Good Lord!' His eyes were bright. ‘They are! What a coincidence. This calls for a celebration – have one of your fancies!'

‘How about you?'

‘I haven't a sweet tooth, but if you press me – why not?'

It was a strangely happy shared moment between them as they took their little cakes and laughed as they ate. How quickly her unease had faded, Roz was thinking as her eyes met his. How soon he'd appeared no longer a stranger, yet she didn't know him from Adam and after this meeting over tea would probably never see him again.

‘I've never seen you at Tarrel's,' she remarked. ‘Which partner do you see?'

‘Oh, Mr Banks, the odd time I venture in, but I haven't been to see him for some time.'