Read Online Gillespie and I by Jane Harris - Free Book Online

behind an easel, on the grass near Van Houten’s, in the very same spot where I had, only recently, been standing. The artist—a squat, balding character—appeared to be sketching the crowds as they milled about in front of the Palace. A white umbrella shaded him from the sun. Several people stood at a respectful distance on either side, admiring his work.
    Ned glared at him, as though thunderstruck.
    â€˜Would that be Mr Hamilton?’ I ventured.
    â€˜Not at all,’ muttered Ned. ‘It’s Lavery—confound him!’
    And, so saying, he charged across the concourse with great fierceness of purpose. I half suspected that he was about to attack the artist, or overturn and stamp upon his easel and, fearing something of the sort, I hurried after him; but, in the event, Ned did neither of these things (of course not—violence was not in his nature). He simply stared coolly at the man as he strode past, and bade him a stiff and pointed: ‘Afternoon, John.’
    By way of greeting, Lavery waved a stick of charcoal in mid-air, and carried on sketching, apparently oblivious to Ned’s barbed tone. No introductions were made; Ned marched on, without pause, until we reached the bridges, then he came to a halt, and began scowling around him at the passing crowds. It was easy to guess the reason for this change of humour: he was simply annoyed to find another artist recording the Exhibition. Indeed, as I later learned, Ned had been busy, a few weeks earlier, making studies of Muratti’s tobacco girls, rolling their Turkish cigarettes, when Lavery—who, heretofore, had not been seen in the park with so much as a pencil in his hand—happened to wander past and, spying Ned, had paused to comment upon his sketches. It was from this encounter (or so Ned suspected), that Lavery borrowed the idea to draw some Exhibition scenes of his own.
    Sad to see my new friend downcast, I ventured to suggest a distraction. ‘Perhaps we could go inside the Palace, Mr Gillespie. I’d be most interested to hear your opinions on the exhibits. And you could show me the location to which you wish your painting to be moved.’
    He glanced at his watch and then looked disappointed. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible today,’ he said. ‘I must, as you know, locate Hamilton—and after that I’m obliged to meet a friend. Some other time, perhaps. It would be a pleasure.’
    Just then, amongst the scattered hordes outside the Women’s Industries Section, I spotted Mabel’s wraith-like figure bearing down upon us, followed, at some little distance, by the rest of the family. Inevitable though this intrusion was, I had enjoyed my private time with the artist, and was most disappointed that it was now drawing to a close. However, an excellent idea had just occurred to me: perhaps I could help out the family purse by buying one of Ned’s paintings. I wondered how to broach the subject, and said, at last: ‘As it happens, I should very much like to own a painting by an up-and-coming Scottish artist—perhaps even more than one.’
    Ned nodded, thoughtfully. ‘Well, if I can be of any help,’ he said. ‘I do know Lavery—he’s not a bad chap, really. Of course, there’s Guthrie and MacGregor; and some of my friends are making quite a name for themselves: Walter Peden, for instance. But MacGregor or Guthrie might be the ones to approach first. I could certainly get you the introductions, if you like.’
    â€˜Oh—but I’m afraid you misunderstand me. What I mean is that, to begin with, I should like to buy some of your work.’
    Ned swept off his boater and dragged his fingers through his hair, his outstretched arm exposing, once again, the scribbled drawing on his cuff. ‘Good Heavens!’ he said. ‘Well, I’m—extremely flattered.’
    And so it was agreed that I would call upon him at his