‘Well, we would value an expert opinion on his talent and also some advice on where he can go from here. Coming from a housing estate in Leith, he doesn’t have many contacts in the art world.’
‘No,’ said Emily. ‘I can appreciate that. Bring a selection into the gallery on Friday will you. Shall we say around eleven?’
‘Yes, that would be fine, Emily. And thank you – again.’
Sarah slung her mobile phone into her handbag, before shaking her head and letting out a long sigh at the thought she was now beholden to a woman she held little positive feeling towards.
Ben had been ecstatic when Sarah told him of Friday’s meeting, but standing in front of DiRollo’s gallery on the Royal Mile, she wasn’t feeling quite so overjoyed. She hadn’t felt so self-conscious since my funeral, when it had seemed the eyes of the world were upon her in what was undoubtedly her darkest hour. She checked over the outfit she had so carefully chosen for an unusually warm early Summer’s day in Edinburgh that included a new silk wrap-over blouse – she figured she could let the ties out as her stomach got bigger – and white maternity jeans she had bought only the week before. Her bump was barely noticeable to others, but she could see it and loved checking it whenever she got undressed. Unusually for her, she’d also recently treated herself to a very expensive pair of Alexander McQueen black suede ‘sneakers’, as the sales lady had described them, figuring she would need a sturdy pair of stylish but comfortable shoes.
One of the things I had come to admire most about my wife was that, despite being married to a very wealthy man, she would never accept money from me and insisted on paying her own way. She could have easily given up work years ago, but insisted on staying at the law firm, despite the pressure she was often under. ‘I just don’t want to be a kept woman,’ she would say, joking that she’d only turn to drink and drugs if she didn’t have a job to keep her out of trouble. As a result, although she dressed well, she rarely bought designer clothes yet often looked like the most expensively-dressed woman in the room.
She was also incredibly hard on herself, and looking over her outfit for a final time, she decided the shoes were the wrong choice for today’s meeting, and made her look like she was trying a bit too hard.
She imagined Emily’s critical eyes casting over her feet, and let out an audible sigh before ringing the buzzer on the intercom outside the gallery.
A young, attractive girl – dressed in black skinny jeans and a black vest top – came to the door to let her in.
‘Are you Mrs Melville?’ she asked politely.
‘Yes.’
‘Just come through. Emily’s in her office at the back.’
Sarah walked obligingly behind the girl, taking in the impressive array of canvases lining the whitewashed walls. The studio, with its unvarnished wooden floor and glossy black doors, was minimalist and well maintained, not unlike Emily, Sarah observed.
Suddenly, the meagre pieces of drawing paper Sarah clutched in a folder in her hands felt a little trivial, although she kept reminding herself that it was Jason’s abilities on trial, not hers.
The assistant knocked on Emily’s office door.
‘Sarah Melville is here to see you.’
‘Ah, wonderful,’ Emily said, sitting behind a glass desk that was completely bare apart from a laptop and mobile phone. ‘Do come in, Sarah.’ She stood up and walked around the desk to kiss Sarah on each cheek.
‘Please,’ she said, pointing to a very expensive-looking black leather armchair. Sarah sat down and took a moment to digest Emily’s small, but beautifully assembled office, with its own collection of modern art works. Emily herself appeared as demure as always in a fantastically chic purple silk blouse and a pencil-cut calf-length black skirt with black patent ankle boots.
‘What a wonderful office,’ Sarah said. ‘I wouldn’t mind working in these surroundings myself.’
‘Perk of the job,’ Emily smiled, sweeping back her cropped bob on one side to tuck her hair behind her ear. ‘Do you have the drawings in there?’ She pointed to the folder Sarah was clutching to her torso.
‘Yes. Would you like to see them now?’ Sarah asked, aware that Emily seldom made time for small talk when there was business to be done. Her cut-to-the point style had become legendary in the firm of solicitors where Sarah had worked. There were grown men with over thirty years in the legal profession behind them who were terrified of the woman sitting across the desk from her.
‘Please.’
Sarah opened the folder and plucked the handful of drawings out before surrendering them to Emily who pounced on them like a hungry viper.
She took several minutes to carefully scan each one without giving away any hint of what she was thinking.
Finally, she looked up at Sarah.
‘This Jason Weir is a very gifted boy indeed,’ she said, ‘and I would very much like to meet him.’
‘I’m sure he’d be delighted,’ Sarah gushed.
‘I’ve only seen talent of this magnitude in someone without tutoring once before – and that was from Harry Melville.’
Sarah stared at her blankly for a moment trying to control her slackening jaw.
‘My Harry?’ she asked.
‘Your Harry, yes.’ Emily replied, smirking in what Sarah felt was a patronising way. ‘You’ll probably be aware we dated when we were younger.’
‘Yes,’ Sarah snapped, unable to conceal her astonishment at both the fact Emily had brought that up within seconds of their conversation starting, and seemed to be claiming I had a talent for art which she’d never even heard about.
‘I wasn’t aware he had any artistic ability.’
‘How funny,’ Emily raised her eyebrows, clearly amused. ‘I went to St Hillary’s for girls and, as you’ll know, he was at Glendinning for boys, and once or twice a year they threw us all in the same room together and called it a school dance. We only dated for a year or so, but in that time he used to draw me the most incredible sketches. It was really rather romantic. I was staggered that he didn’t go to art school.’
‘I find that remarkable,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ve never even seen him doodle.’
‘Gosh. That really is a shame.’ An uncomfortable silence fell between them before Emily spoke again. ‘Well, Sarah, let’s make sure another young man’s talent doesn’t go to waste now shall we? Will you bring Jason with you next time?’
‘Yes, of course’ Sarah replied, trying to remain collected. ‘I expect Harry’s brother Ben might like to join us too if you wouldn’t mind?’
‘The more the merrier,’ said Emily. And with that, Sarah knew she was dismissed.
Ben grabbed his mobile as soon as it started to ring, excitedly confirming, ‘It’s Sarah’, to Dave and Sonja who had been sitting with him in the meeting room waiting for her to call.
‘Sarah, hi. How did it go?’
‘Well,’ she said, her voice sounding strangely tense and flat. ‘She loved the drawings and wants to meet Jason. I said we’d take him in to see her.’
‘Oh,’ Ben paused.
‘I thought you’d want to be there,’ Sarah interjected with a hint of accusation.
‘Yes, of course. Sorry. That’s fantastic,’ he replied with all the confidence he could muster, giving the thumbs up to Dave and Sonja who beamed enthusiastically from their chairs.
‘Did she say where she thought we could go from here?’
‘No, I…,’ she hesitated. ‘I got a bit distracted when she started reminiscing about dating Harry before informing me that he had been an incredibly gifted artist who had clearly missed his vocation in life. Did you know he had a talent for art, Ben?’
Ben’s face fell. He recognised immediately what she was talking about but didn’t want the others to notice the shift in conversation.
‘I didn’t but I’ve got Dave and Sonja here, Sarah. So we’ll talk later, okay?’
‘Alright,’ she sighed. ‘But I’m just starting to think I didn’t know my husband as well as I
thought I did and I don’t like it.’
Four days later, Sarah, Ben and a very nervous Jason Weir sat side-by-side in three leather chairs neatly arranged opposite Emily DiRollo, who they were waiting to be addressed by from the other side of her desk. Ben shuffled in his seat, feeling more than a little anxious himself. He hadn’t seen Emily in about thirty years, and she was just as intimidating as she had been back then. He stifled the thought of being sick, reminding himself that it never actually happened even when the waves of nausea seemed so real.
Noticing Emily still wore that classic sharp bob, he was suddenly transported back to when she was my girlfriend.
I’d been pretty possessive of her all the time we dated and had never brought her home to meet Mum and Dad. Ben rightly assumed that because Emily was so posh I was afraid our comfortably-sized home wouldn’t live up to her standards. Emily had lived in what can only be described as a mansion in the city’s highly-prestigious Hermitage area. Sitting across from her all these years later, Ben noticed she hadn’t lost either her class or the dazzling effect of her beautiful sky blue eyes which cut through you like a Samurai sword. Ben wondered how it was possible to fear a woman and desire her at the same time, but these were certainly the two feelings stirring in him that afternoon. The third was guilt, at having avoided Sarah’s phone calls for the last few days, always telling her he was with someone and couldn’t talk properly, and only stopping long enough to arrange today’s meeting. He just didn’t know what to say about the drawings. Now, as Emily leaned forward in her chair to offer her personal condolences, he realised both she and Sarah would likely learn the truth sooner rather than later and an uncomfortable spotlight would be thrust on him.
‘I was so very sorry to hear about Harry’s death, Ben,’ Emily’s face was flushed with concern. ‘It’s bad enough to lose a sibling, let alone a twin.’
‘Thank you,’ Ben replied awkwardly. ‘Sarah’s probably told you we’ve been through the wringer, but we’re just trying to focus on the future and, in particular, keeping his work at the centre going.’
‘Well, I am glad to hear that, and if this young man is anything to go by, you are unearthing some great talent.’ She nodded towards Jason who instantly turned a deep shade of crimson.
‘So, I have a proposal for you, Jason.’ Emily fixed the youngster square in the eyes as she leaned forward, folding her hands in front of her.
‘If I provide the materials and the working space – which will be my own studio upstairs – I would like you to produce larger versions of two of your drawings that I’ve selected which I will then exhibit in this gallery.’
Ben and Sarah gasped then quickly turned to congratulate a now beetroot-coloured Jason, who looked like he wanted to both jump for joy and bury himself under the carpet simultaneously.
‘Well done, Jason,’ said Ben, patting him on the back.
‘Thank you so much,’ Sarah said to Emily.
‘It’s my pleasure to help such a promising young talent.’ Emily spoke with such previously-unheard warmth that Sarah decided there may just be a glimmer of a human being in there after all. Their last meeting had left her feeling very threatened by the woman Sarah regarded as the Anna Wintour of the art world – or of the Scottish art world at least.
‘I wanted to show you both something before you go,’ Emily announced, looking a little pensive.
‘I hope these won’t upset you,’ she added as she produced a series of sketches and paintings from her top drawer. ‘I have kept them at home all these years as I couldn’t bear to throw them away. They’re so magnificent don’t you think?’
Sarah looked down at the art work. A couple of pieces were clearly of Emily herself in her teenage years; her trademark bob on the go even then. Head tossed back and laughing gaily, her face radiated the flush of young love. Sarah fought the stabs of jealousy as she shifted her attentions to a pencil drawing of a rose; the shading and detail bringing to life the symbolic flower in all its glory.
She looked up at Emily, her eyes now full of tears. ‘Harry’s?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Ben cut in abruptly. ‘They’re mine.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ Sarah berated Ben as they walked down the High Street towards her car, Jason trundling along behind feeling like a spare part, but not caring an ounce. He was still on the biggest high of his life.
‘I found it all a bit embarrassing really,’ said Ben, aware this answer was unlikely to satisfy Sarah.
‘A bit embarrassing? I’ve just spent the week wondering why my dead husband failed to share what could have been his greatest passion with me, including several nights lying awake trying to work out just what I did so wrong that he never showed me any of his art work. You could have saved me that anguish in an instant.’
‘I’m sorry, Sarah. It’s difficult to explain.’ Ben hung his head. ‘I didn’t want Emily to know they were mine for obvious reasons. It’s now pretty clear I had a teenage crush on her. I haven’t drawn or painted anything for many years because it’s just a painful reminder of my failure to do anything with the only talent I ever seemed to have. Suddenly having it all brought up again was just.. difficult.’
They stopped next to Sarah’s BMW convertible and Jason gladly hopped in the back, leaving them to continue their verbal spat on the street.
‘Ben, you’ve got to start communicating. You can’t keep living in your own little world, only coming out for a few minutes here and there to help the kids at the centre.
‘Emily’s right. Like Jason, you have an extraordinary talent and it’s not too late to do something about it, but you can’t offer these kids real advice until you fulfill your own potential.’
Ben sighed. He knew what she was saying made sense. In fact, he didn’t really know where he’d been for the last thirty years. How had he allowed all that time to pass him by?
Sarah felt a tug of guilt as she watched the anguish spread across Ben’s face. She was growing fonder by the day of him, strangely drawn to the gentleness of his manner and his totally unassuming nature. How ironic, she thought, that after all these years of being cast as the bad apple of the family, Ben was actually turning out to be extremely gifted. And how painful for him that it was a talent his family refused to support.
She put her hand out and touched Ben’s arm. ‘Let’s take Jason home and we can go for a coffee.’
Ben smiled gratefully, although he still felt as though his insides were hanging out after his teenage drawings and boyish crush were spread across the table for all to see.
Along with them, came the hurtful memories of our father ripping some of his best work up at the kitchen table during a row over Ben’s future and telling him to get a proper job. But instead of obeying Dad’s demands to find a sensible career, he had done the worst thing of all; nothing.
Emily stared again at the sketches before her as if, now armed with the truth as to the identity of the real artist, they should somehow appear different to her. She had treasured these drawings for thirty years and still, as she gazed at them, they brought back the same old emotions of pure admiration for the person who had put pencil to paper. Piecing it all together, the fact that I had tricked her should have come as no surprise. After all, I was never able to sketch in front of her, and went out of my way to prevent her from visiting our home where, of course, she would have discovered the truth. It was a pretty crude con, but at that stage, although formidable, she was more trusting. Back then, she took me at face value. As she did when we met years later.
Looking at the sketches, her one source of comfort which was growing in strength with every passing moment, was that the real artist was still alive – as was his talent. Emily realised too that, as with many artists, Ben would not be an easy person to reach, but she had the hook – Jason – through which she could keep him in sight and try to persuade him to pick up his sketch pad again.
As Jason began work on the drawings Emily had requested, Ben and the rest of the team at
the Melville Centre planned their campaign to attract the local press to an exhibition of both Jason’s new work and his original sketches. All involved were aware that this was their big chance to attract some publicity and, in turn, the donations which were so vital to the centre’s future.
Ben hoped to persuade Emily to come along to the launch party for the exhibition and pose for photographs with Jason. He didn’t know how she’d respond after the bombshell he had dropped at their last meeting and feared she’d feel she had been made a fool of.
As he sat in the staff office mulling over the possibilities, he realised there was only one way to find out where they now stood with her, so he picked up the phone.
‘Good afternoon, Di Rollo’s Gallery.’
‘Hi. Can I speak to Emily please?’
‘Who’s calling?’
‘Ben Melville.’
‘One moment,’ the assistant said. He heard the holding tone and wondered if, presented with the option, Emily would refuse his call.
‘Hello Ben.’ Her voice was instantly recognisable with that ring of pure Edinburgh establishment.
‘Hello Emily,’ he decided to avoid chit-chat and press on. ‘Hope I haven’t disturbed you.’
‘Not at all. How can I help?’
‘I wanted to personally invite you to our launch party for Jason’s exhibition. That’s assuming you’re happy with the pieces he’s doing for you?’ Ben asked, desperately trying to sound relaxed.
‘I’d love to,’ she replied. ‘I’ve had the chance to look in on him a couple of times and I’m very pleased with his work so far.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Ben. ‘Would you mind also if we invited a couple of press photographers along to record the occasion. We are aware this would be a good opportunity to highlight the work of the centre.’
‘No problem at all’.’
From the Outside Page 7
