The Pariah by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online

feather. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to come on like that. It’s just that it’s really important for the Peabody to have the picture. It’s a really important picture, you know, from the archive point of view.’
    I almost felt sorry for him. But Jane had told me over and over that there is one immutable rule in the antiques business; a rule which must never be broken under any circumstances for whatever reason. Never sell anything out of pity. Otherwise, the only person you’ll end up pitying is yourself.
    ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘it may be possible for the Peabody to borrow the picture sometime.
    Perhaps I can make some arrangement with the Director.’
    ‘Well , I don’t know about that at all,’ said Edward Wardwell. ‘They really did want to own it, outright. Do you think I could take a look at it?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Do you think I could take a look at it?’
    I shrugged. ‘If you want to. Come to my car; it’s right over there on Riley Plaza.’
    We crossed Margin Street, and then made our way through the parking-lot to my eight-year-old fawn-coloured Toronado. We climbed inside, and I switched on the dome light, so that we could see better. Wardwell closed the door and settled himself down as if he were about to join me on a twenty-mile trip. I almost expected him to fasten his seat-belt. As I opened up the painting’s wrapper, he leaned close to me again, and again I could smell that cough-candy. His hands must have been damp with anticipation, because he wiped them on the legs of his corduroy pants.
    At last I unwrapped the painting and propped it up on the steering-wheel. Edward Wardwell pressed so close to me as he stared at it that he hurt my shoulder. I could see right inside his left ear, convoluted and hairy.
    ‘Well ?’ I asked him, at last. ‘What do you say?’
    ‘Fascinating,’ he said. ‘You can just see Wyman Wharf there, on the Granitehead side, and you see how small it is? Nothing but a higgledy-piggledy structure of wooden joists.
    Nothing as grand as Derby Wharf, on the Salem side. That was al warehouses and counting-houses and moorings for East Indiamen.’
    ‘I see,’ I told him, trying to sound disinterested and dismissive. But he leaned against me even harder as he stared at every minute detail.
    ‘That’s Quaker Lane, coming up from the Village there; and that’s where the Waterside Cemetery stands today, although in those days they called it The Walking Place, although nobody knows why. Did you know that Granitehead was called Resurrection, up until 1703? Presumably because the settlers felt that they had been resurrected from their lives in the Old World.’
    ‘A couple of people have told me that,’ I said, uncomfortably. ‘Now, if you don’t mind …’
    Edward Wardwell leaned back. ‘You’re really sure you won’t accept 300? That’s what the Peabody gave me to spend on it. Three hundred, cash on the barrel, no questions asked. It’s the best price you’ll ever get.’
    ‘You think so? I think I’ll get a better one.’
    ‘From whom? Who else is going to pay you $300 for a nondescript painting of Granitehead beach?’
    ‘Nobody. But then I reckon that if Peabody is prepared to spend $300 on it, they might be prepared to up their offer and spend $400 on it; or even $500. It depends.’
    ‘It depends? It depends on what?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ I told him, wrapping the painting up again. ‘The weather, the price of goose fat.’
    Edward Wardwell twisted one strand of his beard around his finger. Then he said, ‘Umh-humh. I get it. I see just where you’re coming from. Well, that’s okay. Let’s say that it’s okay. Nothing to get upset about. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll call you in a day or two, okay?
    Do you mind that? And maybe we can talk again. You know, think about the 300. Mull it over. Maybe you’ll change your mind.’
    I laid the painting on the back seat, and then reached and clasped Edward Wardwell’s hand.