Boomerang Read Online Free PDF Page A

during the last few days. It always amazed him how easy it was to upset people.
    He looked towards the house. Parry and the rest of the holiday painters were down at the harbour. Courtney had gone too. Fish again for dinner he thought; I’ll have a moan about that. Val was shopping in Penzance.
    The only sound was a drone of bees over the flowerbeds on a sleepy afternoon. There was no traffic about. The part-time gardener was in the greenhouse at the rear of the studio. The cook, he’d learnt, invariably took an afternoon nap.
    “A chance to take a quick look around,” he thought, and walked around the pond towards the front porch. He whistled an old-fashioned tune under his breath.
    “Never know what I might find....”
    * * * *
    Hilda Keller sat beneath a sunshade at a table outside the tearooms between the inn and the studio. The afternoon was hot and she ate strawberries with cream as she studied the view through binoculars.
    They were, of course, essential for bird watching—and useful for keeping an eye on Wilfred. Where, she wondered, was her husband at this moment?
    The tearoom, halfway up the hill, was an ideal spot for observing the coastline. There was a clear view of the harbour and pink-and-blue cottages below.
    She could see some of the painters at work and watched their tutor move briskly from one to another. The blonde girl was alone near the rocks that jutted out from the headland. Sammy had set up his easel on the quay close to the fishing boats. There was no sign of Wilfred.
    She focused on a chough, a crow-like bird with a red bill, as it wheeled above the cliffs.
    She turned in her chair and looked up at the studio. She could see only the roof of the building, and the upper row of windows. There was somebody at one of the windows. Staff, she imagined. She’d heard that the top floor was private and off-limits to students, so it couldn’t be Wilfred.
    Hilda sighed and put her binoculars away. She got to her feet and began a slow descent to the village.
    She couldn’t hurry; she was too heavily built for that—and no beauty. She knew Wilfred had married her for her money and didn’t care. He was her husband; she loved him and intended to keep him.
    She reached the cottages and moved along the quay, lips pursed and handbag swinging. Sammy was painting a group of boats in the harbour. She didn’t like talking to a Jew, but he might know something.
    “Have you seen my husband?”
    At least Jacobi was polite. “Not since lunch. We split up, you know, and find our own subjects.”
    Hilda walked on, beyond the harbour, to where Keith Parry was demonstrating the use of water colour to Linda.
    “Keep your washes broad. Sketch in the subject lightly—ignore finicky detail.”
    She felt a sense of relief that, at least, Wilfred wasn’t chasing this girl. Sometimes she imagined he had a roving eye.
    “Have you seen Wilfred?”
    Parry glanced up from the sketch.
    “Not yet, Mrs. Keller. It takes time to get around to everyone. Do you have any idea of the subject he was going for this afternoon?”
    Hilda shook her head and turned back to where the gypsy-looking woman was drawing a view of some cottages.
    Wilfred wasn’t with her and she hadn’t seen him since lunchtime.
    She couldn’t see that nice Australian, either. Perhaps he and Wilfred were together.
    Hilda kept looking.
    * * * *
    After dinner, they met in the studio. Keith Parry had arranged a large sketchpad on an easel, and held a handful of brushes. He had paints already squeezed onto a palette.
    The group sat on stools in a semi-circle about him.
    “Everyone comfortable? Good. I shan’t spend long over this demonstration, just long enough to give you a few ideas. I hope. I’ve noticed during the last few days that some of you are stuck doing the same kind of thing over and over again. And it really is a good idea to experiment a bit.”
    “For this demo, I’m using acrylic paints. These are quick drying, and useful for outdoor work.