Carver's Quest by Nick Rennison Read Free Book Online

purse. Ruin stares me in the face. If I don’t find someone soon who is prepared to invest in my work and thus bring in the
lucre, I will be forced to give up art altogether.’
    ‘And what a loss that would be!’
    ‘You may mock, Carver, but I am entirely serious. I shall be driven to such a desperate act by want of money.’
    ‘What on earth would you take up in its place?’
    Jardine shrugged. He picked up a brush, dipped it in one of the paints on his palette and dabbed at his canvas.
    ‘Who knows? Journalism, perhaps? I could work as a penny-a-liner for the papers. I have an uncle who knows Sala on the
Telegraph
. Perhaps he can help me.’
    ‘The job would destroy your soul in weeks, old man.’
    ‘Then I shall be obliged to sail down under and skin sheep in New South Wales for a living.’
    ‘The climate would not suit you. And the society there would not meet your exacting standards.’
    ‘Very probably not. In which case, I must marry a woman with money.’
    ‘Do you know any women with money?’
    ‘Nary a one. But I am willing to devote time to winning the acquaintance of some.’
    Adam continued to watch as Jardine moved back and forth in front of his work, occasionally putting paint to canvas.
    ‘Was he making enquiries about me?’ he asked after a moment’s silence.
    ‘What’s that, old man?’ The artist’s attention had returned almost entirely to King Pellinore.
    ‘Did Creech ask you anything about me?’
    ‘Not that I can recall. Why should we have been talking about you, old chap? Your egotism grows intolerable. There are other subjects for conversation besides your good self, you know. We
spoke of art. Or, rather, I did, and Sinclair-Creech had the manners and sense to listen.’
    The two men fell silent. Jardine was mixing colours on his palette and Adam was raising his glass occasionally to his lips. After a few minutes, the painter heaved a great sigh of exasperation
and threw his palette to the floor. He watched as it skittered towards the corner of his studio, depositing further splashes of colour on the already paint-stained boards.
    ‘Damn this wretch Pellinore! He continues to look far more suburban than he does medieval.’ Jardine wiped his hands on his smock. ‘I have been imprisoned in this place long
enough. I must break my bonds and seek out new entertainments. You will join me in a debauch this evening?’
    ‘What kind of a debauch had you in mind?’ Adam asked.
    ‘Let us go and watch the mutton walk in the Alhambra.’
    ‘It is a Tuesday. It will be a poor night to visit.’
    ‘Gammon and spinach! Any night of the week, there are dozens of beauties in silks and satins trotting through its gallery.’
    ‘The kind of beauties that can be bought.’
    ‘Of course they can be bought. And sold. What else do you expect? Don’t be such a damned prig, Adam.’
    ‘I must confess to finding it a dispiriting spectacle these days, Cosmo. The women half-dressed and the men half-drunk.’
    ‘Ah, well, if you are not in the mood… You have to be in the mood for the mutton walk. That I will allow.’ The young painter changed the subject. ‘Do you ever meet any
men from college these days?’ he asked.
    ‘Hardly a one. Since I returned from Salonika, I have lived a quiet and retiring life chez Gaffery. Mellor and Hickling must have learned of my presence in town. Lord knows how. But they
left their cards at Doughty Street. I am ashamed to admit that I made no effort to see them. How about you?’
    ‘I dine with Watkins and a few others at my club from time to time. And I ran across Chevenix the other day.’
    ‘Chevenix? That was that wretched little tuft-hunter, wasn’t it? Forever sucking up to any man with a title to his name?’
    ‘That’s the man.’
    ‘What did he want?’
    ‘Nothing. He was merely loitering about at the Strand end of the Lowther Arcade when I chanced to be walking that way. Waiting for an earl or a marquess to emerge possibly. We