The Blade Artist Read Online Free PDF

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    — I’m fine, he purrs, patting her back. They break their grip and Elspeth takes him indoors to the welcome heat, offering him a beer, which he rather curtly refuses. — Dinnae touch that stuff.
    — Sorry , she says, making a bit of a fuss about the apology, then corrects herself. — Ye still teetotal?
    — Nearly seven years.
    Elspeth fixes herself a gin and tonic, though it’s still morning. — You look really well, she offers, sitting down beside him.
    Frank Begbie can’t say the same about his younger sister. She seems heavier, bloated around the face. — Pilates, he smiles.
    — You’re joking!
    — Aye, Mel does aw that. I just go to a boxing club four times a week.
    Elspeth laughs in a manner that sheds years from her. — Ah couldnae see you doing Pilates, but California, ye never know!
    — I suppose stranger things have happened.
    As if acknowledging the truth in this, Elspeth states, — So you’re an artist now, aye?
    — So some people say.
    Her eyes narrow as she raises the glass to her lips. Takes a sip. — Aw aye, I read a piece aboot ye in Scotland on Sunday . All those Hollywood stars, wanting to be pals with you. Elspeth raises an eyebrow. — You ever met George Clooney?
    — Aye. Met him once.
    — What was he like?
    — I liked him, Franco concedes. — And because of that I don’t think it’s good manners to talk about people when they aren’t around.
    There is a pomposity in his response that rankles Elspeth. — Since when did you start caring about good manners?
    — It’s never too late.
    Elspeth seems to consider this, as if contemplating, then biting back a stinging retort that was forming on her lips. — I’m really sorry about Sean, she begins, then her expression sets sternly. — But we should put our cards on the table. Just soas we both know where we stand.
    Franco raises a single brow. — Fine by me.
    — Ye kin fool some ay them wi your big rehabilitated act, Elspeth smiles scornfully, — but ye cannae con me. Ah know you. Ah ken what you are. She looks at him, waiting for a reaction.
    None is forthcoming. Her brother seems not so much to have failed to take any offence as to have not heard what she actually said.
    — But we’re still family, she sighs. — So you’re welcome to kip in our spare room till after the funeral.
    — I’m much obliged.
    Elspeth’s eyes narrow. — But one step out of line and you’re out the door. Ah mean it, Frank. I’ve the boys here.
    Frank Begbie feels something familiar rise inside him. He wants to stand up and tell her to fuck off, and just get out of that dull, ordered suburban home, with its bland, beige decor and furnishings. But he sucks air into his lungs and looks at the two china dogs on the mantelpiece. They were his mother’s, they came from the old place. Then he turns and nods slowly at her in the affirmative. — I understand.
    Elspeth seems disconcerted at this compliant response, and visibly swallows. — Sean came round here a few times, you know.
    — Aye?
    — It was good at first, lovely tae see him, she smiles, before grimly shaking her head, — then when he went downhill, he was only here tae cadge money.
    — I’ll pay you back.
    — It’s no about that. Elspeth lifts her glass. — I didnae want him hanging around Thomas and George. They’re good boys. But they looked up to him, because he was older and their big cousin.
    Frank tries to take all this in. Sean, his nephews, this house here in Murrayfield. It is acceptable enough, though nowhere near as impressive as his own home in California, he reflects with some satisfaction. When he was a kid in Leith, Murrayfield appeared to be a millionaires’ playground. Now, to his critical eyes, it seems – at least this part of it – just another drab, shabby neighbourhood and nothing whatsoever to aspire to. But his head is crackling with static and a huge yawn rips from him. — Listen, ah’m a bit jet-lagged. Would it be okay tae get my head down for