Local Hero Read Online Free PDF

some coffee?”
    â€œNo, thank you, I’ve an appointment in a few minutes.”
    â€œJust ring if you change your mind.” Kay paused at the door. “This place could sure use some cheering up, it’s dark as a dungeon. Mr. Blowfield, that’s who you’re replacing, he liked things dull—matched him, you know.” Her smile was ingenuous, but Hester hesitated to answer it. It would hardly do for her to get a reputation as a gossip the first day on the job. “Anyway, if you decide to do any redecorating, let me know. My roommate’s into interior design. He’s a real artist.”
    â€œThank you.” How was she supposed to run an office with a pert little cheerleader in tow? Hester wondered. One day at a time. “Just send Mr. and Mrs. Browning in when they arrive, Kay.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” She sure was more pleasant to look at than old Blowfield, Kay thought. But it looked as if she had the same soul. “Loan application forms are in the bottom left drawer of the desk, arranged according to type. Legal pads in the right. Bank stationery, top right. The list of current interest rates are in the middle drawer. The Brownings are looking for a loan to remodel their loft as they’re expecting a child. He’s in electronics; she works part-time at Bloomingdale’s. They’ve been advised what papers to bring with them. I can make copies while they’re here.”
    Hester lifted her brow. “Thank you, Kay,” she said, not certain whether to be amused or impressed.
    When the door closed again, Hester sat back and smiled. The office might be dull, but if the morning was any indication, nothing else at National Trust was going to be.
    * * *
    Mitch liked having a window that faced the front of the building. That way, whenever he took a break, he could watch the comings and goings. After five years, he figured he knew every tenant by sight and half of them by name. When things were slow or, better, when he was ahead of the game, he whiled away time by sketching the more interesting of them. If his time stretched further, he made a story line to go with the faces.
    He considered it the best of practice because it amused him. Occasionally there was a face interesting enough to warrant special attention. Sometimes it was a cabdriver or a delivery boy. Mitch had learned to look close and quick, then sketch from lingering impressions. Years before, he had sketched faces for a living, if a pitiful one. Now he sketched them for entertainment and was a great deal more satisfied.
    He spotted Hester and her son when they were still half a block away. The red coat she wore stood out like a beacon. It certainly made a statement, Mitch mused as he picked up his pencil. He wondered if the coolly distant Mrs. Wallace realized what signals she was sending out. He doubted it.
    He didn’t need to see her face to draw it. Already there were a half-a-dozen rough sketches of her tossed on the table in his workroom. Interesting features, he told himself as his pencil began to fly across the pad. Any artist would be compelled to capture them.
    The boy was walking along beside her, his face all but obscured by a woolen scarf and hat. Even from this distance, Mitch could see the boy was chattering earnestly. His head was angled up toward his mother. Every now and again she would glance down as if to comment; then the boy would take over again. A few steps away from the building, she stopped. Mitch saw the wind catch at her hair as she tossed her head back and laughed. His fingers went limp on the pencil as he leaned closer to the window. He wanted to be nearer, near enough to hear the laugh, to see if her eyes lit up with it. He imagined they did, but how? Would that subtle, calm gray go silvery or smoky?
    She continued to walk, and in seconds was in the building and out of sight.
    Mitch stared down at his sketch pad. He had no more than a few lines and contours.