Читать книгу A Place Called Home - Eleanor Jones - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

ELLIE NOSED HER car along the street, looking for a parking place. An angry driver honked his horn and she threw him a smile, mouthing sorry as she carefully maneuvered into a tiny space, holding up the traffic.

For over a week, apart from the nights when she worked at Dominoes, Ellie had spent most of her time painting, totally inspired by her new ideas and material. Her image of Into the Blue—no horse with the majesty he displayed in her painting could ever be thought of as just Blue—was probably the most satisfying work she had ever completed. He stared out from the canvas with real expression in his eyes, exuding presence. She couldn’t wait to show it to her dad.

Mel was waiting impatiently when Ellie staggered through the huge front door of the gallery, clutching two paintings.

“I’ve got an appointment at three,” Mel said, looking pointedly at her watch.

Ellie placed the paintings carefully against the wall.

“Sorry, the traffic was awful and I couldn’t find a parking place close enough to carry them all in at once. I’ll go back for the other one in a minute.”

“Well, let me see the ones you’ve brought.”

Mel Morton was revered as an art critic and gallery owner, and Ellie was well aware that being given some space in one of her exhibitions, however small, was a huge honor as well as a chance to get her work seen. She believed that the two paintings she’d just brought in, the fox cub on its day of freedom and the one of her dad’s pup, Shadow, working the sheep, were probably the best she had ever done, along with her portrait of Into the Blue.

As the tall, elegant, middle-aged woman lifted them onto the display table, standing back to survey them with a critical eye, Ellie’s nerves jangled.

For several minutes the two women stood side by side in silence, absorbing the emotion displayed before them: the young fox’s look of fury combined with vulnerability, the dog’s keen expression and the apprehension of the sheep.

“I’d like to exhibit them if I can,” said Ellie. “But they’re not for sale right now.”

“They’d make a good price,” remarked Mel. “But maybe it would be better not to sell yet—drive up the value. The other paintings you’ve shown me aren’t bad, but they aren’t in the same league as these two. Did you say there was a third?”

Ellie nodded, trying to contain her excitement. “I’ll go and get it.”

When she arrived back at the gallery with her third painting, Mel was still absorbed by the two already on display.

“It’s the emotion,” she exclaimed. “It draws you in. You can feel the fox’s fear behind his snarl and the intelligence on the sheepdog’s face is something else.”

Ellie hesitated in the act of removing the cover from the painting of Into the Blue. “It’s not quite as contemporary a style as these two...more traditional.”

“Well, you don’t need to apologize for that,” Mel said. “Come on, let me see.”

Into the Blue looked magnificent, thought Ellie, staring out across the countryside like a king surveying his kingdom. It was hard to believe that she