Staring At The Light Read Online Free PDF

shook his head, then changed it to a nod. The worst was over. She had not said no, or told him he was being ridiculous.
    ‘Investment pictures. Modern art, but not too obscure, right? Why don’t you just go to one of the reputable dealers?’ she
     asked.
    ‘Bunch of charlatans. Take huge commissions. Besides,
you
’re artistic. Only another mug’s game, isn’t it? You just swot up on it and away you go. Why pay anyone else?’ There was the
     implied suggestion that Sarah was already paid too much. A slight threat,
Do this, or else
… He nodded, agreeing with his own wisdom. Nodding had become habitual. He tried to make it look wise rather than foolish.
    ‘What’s the budget and the time-scale? Do I have complete freedom?’ Now she was going too fast for him, as usual.
    ‘Oh, a few weeks at least …’
    ‘Yes. I’ll do it. Three dozen. But I will, of course, need time out of the office. More than usual. I’ll have to go to all
     the exhibitions, scout round dealers, that sort of thing. Time-consuming. Ernest darling, what ails you? Talk to me, please.’
    ‘The budget’s generous, Sarah. We’ve to prove we aren’t a bunch of Philistines. Get out of here, will you? Just go.’
    She went. Uncurled those slender limbs without a word, and went. It was only after the door began to close behind her that
     he remembered he had meant to enquire what else she had done with the morning. Without adding the question he never asked
     – namely, whose bed had she left before she began? Her own?
    ‘Oh, Sarah, one more thing …’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘You’ve got to get rid of that ridiculous Mr Cannon. Where did you get him from anyway? We simply cannot subsidize our clients.
     We
can’t
.’
    She paused delicately, hand on hip. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, do you? He’s a very knowledgeable artist. He’ll help with the collection.
     He’ll be an unpaid consultant, and where do you ever find those?’
    The door closed softly. Ernest remembered a stray piece of information. The child had grown up in a convent. She could be
     vigorously clumsy, noisy, ebullient, and yet oh-so-silent. Even when she had the last word. He put his head in his hands and
     groaned.
    *
    Miss Fortune climbed the stairs to her office, which was a very small place as befitted her almost itinerant status, and a
     pretty cluttered space in accordance with the way she was. The services of a secretary had been withdrawn. Yesterday’s flowers
     still looked fresh, but the rug on the floor was crumpled, showing signs of intruders. People stole into Sarah’s room, sometimes
     to weep, avoid the open-plan, or sleep off the hangover. Space was at a premium in Matthewson’s firm, while privacy was even
     harder to find. Which, of course, made it all the more ridiculous that they should have such a large foyer as proof of prosperity.
     The shop-front, like a marbleized cave, long, narrow and high, a perfectly natural art gallery, the rest a custom-built warren.
     She sat, yawned and stretched. Got up, closed the window, prowled around the room, which took a matter of seconds. Felt, although
     she had only just come in, the same old claustrophobia and the desire to be anywhere else. Looked longingly at the envelope
     full of estate agents’ particulars. Pulled a face at herself in the tiny mirror by the door. How the hell, she asked her reflection,
     did God and man between them ever make a lawyer out of you? Because if it wasn’t by divine intervention, it was otherwise
     a miracle of misjudgement.
    She smoothed out the charred fragment of letter given her by Cannon. He had told her what the rest of it contained; she had
     to take his word for it as she struggled to read the remainder.
    …
rotting away. I tell you what, if you can keep this up until Christmas, I promise I’ll leave her alone. Promise. Let’s see
     who finds who first, shall we? But you won’t keep it up. You’ll get careless. You’ll realize what’s GOOD for you
…
    Cannon said he