Experiment With Destiny Read Online Free PDF

did not care for them much. Paintings were not reality, more imagined or dreamed, unlike photographs. Yet this tranquil watercolour had pleased him. It had a quality unlike any other painting he had seen. The artist, whose signature he had failed to decipher, had captured the reflected sunlight on the water, the contrasting textures of the grass bank, the clothing, the wooden punt and the picnic basket with a camera-like realism. But the coup-de-grace was the way the delicate brush strokes had brought the flesh tones to life, her flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of her ample bosom, the moistness of her rouged lips, framed by a dimpled chin, sparkling blue eyes and her curling auburn hair. He could not resist Picnic On A River from the moment he spotted it in the window display of Morgan Bros’ back street antiques emporium years ago, around the time of his 18th birthday…around the time his mother died.
                  Marcus remembered the picnic basket in the National Museum, the moment of exhilaration as he finally came face-to-face with the reality, the precious minutes when he transcended his mundane life and reached out to touch heaven. His bile returned as he recalled too the shattering blow of intrusion that left nirvana agonisingly beyond his grasp. He needed another chance to taste such glory again, another chance to be, to feel, to breathe. He kneeled on his bed and reached up to touch the solid wooden frame that held his solitary painting, then caressed its lovingly polished glass covering. The New Cathays development find was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to fulfil his long-held dream. He could not let it slip away so easily as he had this morning.
                  Marcus sat, cross-legged, on the bed and gazed up at the painting. He lit another cigarette and considered. Perhaps arrange for a private viewing? No, too expensive, too complicated. Why not simply sneak in, just before the museum closes, and wait…wait until everyone else had gone. He would be left undisturbed for a whole night. The picnic basket would be his and his alone for a good many hours. Marcus began to tremble with excitement. A private viewing at no extra cost. It could do no harm. Who would even know? He could hide until they opened up again and slip out unnoticed the next morning. Nobody would be any the wiser. But when? He pondered…tomorrow, the next day? It had to be soon, especially if they were going to mess around with the display. It would mean another day off work, his wages for the month diminished, but it would be worth it. The Edwardian umbrella stand at Morgan’s would wait another week or so while he delayed the final payment. The picnic basket was more important.
                  Marcus lay on his back, planning and re-planning the adventure in his mind and blowing smoke up to the artexed ceiling. It wasn’t wrong, it couldn’t be. He was not stealing anything. In the pale blue cloud above his head he caught a glimpse of his forgotten youth and he remembered one of those long lost bible stories about a man called Moses and his tablets of stone. “Thou shalt not steal!” warned the sharp voice of the Sunday school teacher. She held him with her stern gaze. “One of the 10 commandments…thou shalt not steal!”
                  “I only want to look,” he said aloud, his adult voice strange in the cold air of his bedroom. The memory faded, leaving him staring at the yellow nicotine stained swirls on the ceiling above. “I only want to look,” he repeated quietly.
     
    Some time later Marcus awoke from the dream he had experienced most nights for the past few weeks. The river, the grass, the jetty, the boat, the basket, the flame-haired girl - they were all there…except for the dashing young man. This time it was Marcus who stood on the boat and let its mooring slip before pushing it out into the gently lapping water. There was, unusually, no sign of the man with the