A Brighter Tomorrow, Maggie Ford [types of ebook readers .TXT] 📗

He glanced over his shoulder at the other two and turned back to her, lowering his voice. ‘Let me explain in simple terms you might understand. An exhibition will cost money, for which I foot the bill. Therefore I take all the risks. You don’t. I therefore take a commission on every painting sold. So you see, I have to feel confident the paintings will sell well.’

‘You think they will sell?’ she asked, still not quite sure what he was talking about.

‘For quite a lot, if I’m any judge of art. Young lady, you may be pleasantly surprised.’

Surprised! Did he mean rich? She dared not guess. But this talk of commission was worrying. Was she about to be diddled again? Before she could stop herself, she came out with it and saw him smile.

It was a strange smile. ‘That’s a rather odd remark, but I understand,’ he said. ‘You are very young, alone in a world about which you have very little conception. But I can offer you protection – be your patron, so to speak.’

‘Patron?’ she echoed. The smile hadn’t diminished.

‘I find your work interesting. I find you interesting, and exceedingly brave. You are destined to go far as an artist, but you need the right backing, the protection of an influential patron. I have influence and you’ll not find me lacking in that if you allow me to take you under my wing.’

Ellie had her eyes fixed on him. What was he proposing? She’d seen that same smile on Bertram Lowe’s face – one that could be taken as fatherly and protective, yet seemed to hint at something else not quite as it should be. It made her uncomfortable and she was glad Felix and Dora hadn’t gone out for the stroll he’d suggested.

That oily smile – Ellie felt herself squirm. She’d seen it now on three older men: her father, Bertram Lowe and now Hunnard. What was it about her that made them look at her this way? Had she stayed with Bertram Lowe, would he have shown his true feelings for her? Would that happen with Hunnard? And her father – the same had been true of him, but he’d made no pretence about his intentions, the father gradually turning into the lecher.

But was it her fault? Did she unconsciously seek to attract such men? Had it been her doing that her father had developed an unnatural attraction towards her?

She became aware that Hunnard was still speaking. ‘You show great promise,’ he was saying. ‘With the right teacher, who knows how far you could go? As your patron, I would finance your—’

‘You said you charge commission on whatever you sell,’ she broke in harshly. ‘What sort of commission are you thinking of?’

She saw the smile vanish and he again became business-like.

‘I suggest fifty per cent? Half of what each painting takes,’ he added when she looked confused.

Ellie’s mind was working. If one of her special paintings, as she liked to call them, made roughly thirty pounds and he took half, she’d end up with fifteen. It sounded a lot. If they all sold, it would be a lot more.

She had six such paintings. Six times fifteen? Multiplication of that sort was beyond her, but it sounded as if it could be a fortune. But what if they only sold for a couple of pounds and he took half of that? She could sell her work on the street for more.

Again his voice cut into her thoughts. ‘Of course, I’ll have to see the others you’ve done,’ he said briskly.

Ellie came to herself with a start, her suspicions immediately roused. He’d talked of selling her paintings even before seeing them – a ruse to get her excited with talk of money, then to say they weren’t good enough and offer to buy them for some paltry sum. Well, she hadn’t come down with yesterday’s rain.

But she said nothing yet, as she went over to the corner where the two portraits lay, propped face to the wall: the one of Dora and the other of Felix.

‘There!’ she said tartly, propping them up before Hunnard’s eyes.

She saw those eyes widen as if with appreciation; then they narrowed as they turned towards her.

For a while he didn’t speak. Then he said slowly, ‘These are amazing. I really don’t know how to express it. They are… brilliant, like the rest of your work: unusual. The depth of expression. With my backing these will sell. And I mean sell! They’re virtual masterpieces.’

Ellie wanted to laugh out loud, but something in his face stopped her. Dora and Felix, caught by his exuberance, had come over to see what it was all about.

‘If I am right,’ Hunnard was saying, ‘you’ve a fine future ahead of you. I’ll take these away with me and begin organizing something at once. Leave everything to me. All you need to do is apply yourself to finishing as many of these as you can over the next month or so. Work day and night if you must. And keep away from those awful, slushy, sentimental pictures you’ve been hawking. Don’t even think of going out to sell such mush! Concentrate on more of what you are doing. I wish to see enough to make an exhibition worth its while.’

‘Paint costs money,’ Ellie blurted out. ‘I haven’t got—’

‘Don’t let that deter you,’ he snapped, and before she could say any more he fished into his breast pocket, drawing out a fine leather wallet, and extracted several white banknotes. ‘Buy whatever you need.’

Thrusting them into her hand, he grabbed up his hat and cane and made for the door. ‘I shall send someone tomorrow to collect these two. I shall see myself out,’ he added, as if she was living in a mansion instead of some attic room.

When he’d gone, Felix looked at her with wonder on his thin face. ‘God!’ he breathed. ‘I can hardly believe it.’

‘Neither can I,’ she replied. ‘Do you