Man of the Trees by Hilary Preston Read Free Book Online Page B

detail. Those are the Japanese Sika deer, aren’t they?’
    She nodded. ‘I’ve—rather specialised in forest scenes.’
    ‘And who buys your work?’ he asked.
    She told him, and waited for the nine-times-out-of-ten derogative remark the information brought forward. She was not disappointed in one sense at least.
    ‘I see. You’re what’s known as a chocolate box artist?’
    She fought down her anger. ‘I thought you’d say that,’ she said tartly. ‘It’s typical of the kind of remark made by—’ she was going to say, ‘ignorant people like you’, but felt this a little too strong to come out with. She continued: ‘by people who know nothing about an artist’s work.’
    He looked at her calculatingly. ‘You’re angry again. If you’re so sensitive about being called a commercial artist—’
    ‘That’s not what you said.’
    He shrugged. ‘What’s in a name? It’s the same thing. As I was saying, if you’re so sensitive about being considered that kind of artist, why do you do it?’
    ‘I do it because I have to live.’
    ‘But you could do better. You’d make more money if you sold your pictures privately.’
    Knowing from experience that this was only true of the very few and the famous and that it took years and years to become famous—indeed, one often had to die—Ruth felt it was time to end the fruitless conversation, but she could not resist one more jibe.
    ‘Are you trying to teach me my job?’ she demanded. But even this did nothing to silence him.
    ‘There’s always something more to be learned,’ he said, hinting that she considered she knew everything.
    ‘But not from people who only think they know,’ she flashed back, adding for good measure: ‘What would you say, for instance, if I tried to teach you about forestry?’
    ‘I would listen. I would listen to anyone. As I’ve already said, there’s always something more to be learned, even by those who are experts.’
    She knew perfectly well that this was true, it was all his other inferences she objected to, and she was not going to let him get away with it.
    ‘What I do know is,’ she pursued, ‘that if I stopped working for the commercial companies and tried to sell my paintings privately, then I should starve.’
    Again, that sardonic smile. ‘And you’re not willing to starve in this garret of yours?’
    ‘Starving in garrets is all very fine for those who don’t have to do it,’ she said scornfully.
    He moved around the studio, looking at some of the paintings she had not been able to sell, and others which were awaiting despatch.
    ‘Why don’t you get married?’ he queried in an offhand manner. ‘I’m sure no man would object to keeping you—as his wife. You could then hold exhibitions, invite the rich who love to feel they’re encouraging the new artist.’
    ‘Exhibitions cost money—lots of it!’ she retorted. ‘And one doesn’t marry in order to be kept. I wouldn’t let my father keep me, and I’m not going to marry for that reason.’
    ‘Then find yourself a rich patron.’
    Much as she hated letting him have the last word, she felt it was useless to go on arguing with him.
    ‘Would you care to see over the rest of the house, Mr. Hamilton?’ she said icily.
    Was there a hint of victory in the way his eyes narrowed as he turned from a study of an autumnal scene?
    ‘By all means,’ he said mockingly. ‘Will you go first—or shall I?’
    He moved to the top of the step-ladder, but with a sudden vision of his looking up while she was descending Ruth said swiftly: ‘No, I’ll go first, if you don’t mind.’
    With an ease due to practice she reached the bottom quickly and began to tread the main flight of stairs in the hope that he would forget that there was still another bedroom to see. But it was a vain hope.
    ‘You said there were three bedrooms,’ he reminded her maddeningly.
    She half turned. ‘Yes, but it’s roughly the same size as the guest room. A little bigger,