The Painted Dragon. Katherine Woodfine

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘Well, I’m definitely volunteering,’ Leo heard Connie say decidedly. ‘I don’t care how much work it is – you’d be mad to miss the chance to get to know Randolph Lyle!’

      ‘It would be splendid to see all those paintings up close,’ said the freckled boy beside her enthusiastically.

      Connie snorted. ‘That’s not the half of it. Lyle can make or break artists’ careers, you know. He’s terribly well connected.’

      ‘Well, I don’t know about that, but I reckon this exhibition sounds a lark,’ said the boy in a good-natured voice. He turned around. ‘What about you, Jack?’

      ‘I’m all for it,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s go and put our names down on Jarvis’s list. Coming, Leo?’

      Leo glanced back over at Mr Lyle, who was already moving through the room, looking keenly over students’ shoulders to see their drawings. The exhibition sounded interesting, but all the same, she thought it would be a mistake to get involved. It was enough just getting used to being here in London without anything else to think about. Most of all, she wanted to work – and helping with this exhibition would mean time away from that.

      ‘No thank you,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I don’t think so.’

      ‘Well, it’s your funeral,’ said Connie, shrugging. She grabbed Jack’s sleeve. ‘Come on, let’s go before all the places are filled.’

      Leo turned back to her drawing as they all hurried across the room, putting the exhibition out of her mind. She was so absorbed in her work that she barely noticed anything else until the session ended, and she became conscious that the others were beginning to pack up, chattering in little groups as they tidied drawings into portfolios.

      ‘Time to go,’ said Jack, with a grin, as he shrugged on his jacket. ‘I say, a few of us are off to the Café Royal later – want to come along?’

      Leo looked up, uncertainly. Beyond, she could see that Connie and the other boy were waiting for Jack expectantly, their satchels slung over their shoulders.

      ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Café Royal?’ Jack asked in surprise. ‘It’s where all the artists go!’

      ‘Oh, do come on, Jack,’ said Connie, impatiently. ‘She doesn’t even know what the Café Royal is – of course she doesn’t want to come.’

      Leo felt her face flush redder, and she shrugged and shook her head. But Jack was still smiling at her. ‘Well, if you change your mind, you’ll know where we are,’ he said, before he was swept away, at the centre of a gabbling crowd of art students.

      Leo was left alone to slowly pack up her things. She always seemed to be lagging behind the other students: she was used to being the last to leave, but today, as she made her way towards the door, Professor Jarvis stopped her.

      ‘Miss Fitzgerald – you haven’t put your name down to help with the exhibition.’

      Leo shook her head. He stared at her for a moment, and she explained: ‘I just want to focus on my work for now, Professor.’

      Professor Jarvis gave her a searching look. ‘Mr Lyle has seen your work, and he has requested you particularly for the exhibition, Miss Fitzgerald,’ he said in his dry voice. ‘If he takes an interest in your career, it could be very beneficial for you. I’d suggest you take him up on his offer.’

CHAPTER SIX

      On London’s bustling Piccadilly Circus, Mr Randolph Lyle’s new exhibition was also creating plenty of conversation. In the Sinclair’s offices, high above the shop, it was time for an afternoon tea break, and the clerks were all discussing the news of the exhibition, while Billy Parker, the office boy, poured out tea from the big pot.

      Billy felt that he was quite a different fellow to the one he had been just six months ago, when he had first started working at Sinclair’s. He had grown up a lot. For one thing, he was taller now: his mum had been complaining about how often she had to let down the sleeves of his jackets, and the legs of his trousers. The Billy of six months ago wouldn’t have cared very much if his trousers were too short or not – nor would he have taken such satisfaction in doing each little job carefully, whether it was preparing the clerks’ afternoon tea, or filing Miss Atwood’s papers. But, perhaps the biggest change of all was that these days, just like his uncle Sid, who was the Head Doorman, Billy felt proud to say that he worked for London’s finest department store.

      Working for Miss Atwood, Mr Sinclair’s own private secretary, suited him in a way that being a shop porter never had. He enjoyed the company of the other clerks and the lively bustle of the offices. He liked seeing all the people who came and went – Miss Atwood, Mr Betteredge the store manager, and of course, the great Mr Sinclair, ‘the Captain’ himself. He liked being the person responsible for delivering the Captain’s own messages, in their special yellow envelopes, to staff around the store – tipping his hat to the salesgirls and waving a greeting to his old friends the porters as he went. He liked being able to answer the telephone, saying in his most important-sounding voice: ‘Good afternoon, Miss Atwood’s office, this is Parker speaking, how may I assist you?’

      One of his favourite tasks was taking Mr Sinclair’s pug, Lucky, on her daily outing to the park. The little dog had become almost as much of a London celebrity as the Captain himself, and attracted a good deal of attention on these walks, especially on cold days, when she was wearing the little blue jacket with the gold Sinclair’s livery that had been specially made for her.

      Most of all though, what Billy loved about being an office boy was being among the first to hear all the latest news. Billy loved a good story – and there always seemed to be something exciting to talk about at Sinclair’s. Today was no exception.

      ‘Some of those paintings are worth a mint. Proper famous, they are,’ reported O’Donnell, as he helped himself to another biscuit.

      ‘When do they arrive?’ asked Billy.

      ‘Next week,’ said Crawley. ‘Mr Lyle is going to oversee the hanging of them himself. Very particular, he is. He’s bringing some art students to help him.’

      ‘Well, he’ll not have much help from the Captain, that’s for sure,’ contributed Davies. ‘He’ll be away for another fortnight yet – that’s what Betteredge says.’

      ‘But he’s been gone weeks already! Whatever’s he up to?’

      ‘He’s out in the country. Buying himself a new house, or so I hear. Some great big country pile.’

      ‘That’s right,’ said Crawley, nodding authoritatively. ‘He’s setting himself up as a proper English gent. His valet told me he’s getting kitted out with tweeds and shooting outfits and the like.’

      ‘It’ll take more than a bit of tweed to make the Captain into an Englishman,’ said O’Donnell. ‘He’s a Yankee through and through!’

      ‘I heard that’s why he’s so keen to pal up with this Mr Lyle. He thinks Lyle might be able to recommend him for membership of Wyvern House,’ offered Davies.

      ‘Wyvern House! He’ll be lucky,’ said O’Donnell sagely.

      ‘What’s СКАЧАТЬ