Читать книгу The Secret Cove in Croatia - Julie Caplin - Страница 7

Maddie gripped her knees together, her hands clasped over the kneecaps to stop them shaking, as Henry Compton-Barnes, complete with suede patches on the elbows of his jacket and a dicky bow, stared down at her work. It seemed to take forever before he finally looked up and spoke.

‘Professor Gregory is a good friend of mine and you’ve come highly recommended. I shall therefore be completely honest with you.’ His mouth pulled into a regretful line as if someone were tugging at strings attached to each end of his lips. ‘Technically, you are very good. These are well executed. The detail, in fact, is brilliant.’

Despite the words, she knew there was a giant-sized ‘but’ headed her way.

‘What I’m looking for in a painting … for this gallery …’ He shook his head. ‘These have no originality. No flair. They’re missing that je ne sais quoi, the indefinable, that makes a piece of art stand out. What I’m looking for is something that only the artist can conceive. When you look at their work, you know that only they could have painted it. I liken it to a singer, someone like, forgive me, I’m considerably older than you, but someone like Carly Simon, for example. You hear her voice and you know immediately it’s her. Her voice, like a signature, is unique and that’s what I’m looking for in a painting.

‘These, I’m afraid, are good, very good, but I don’t see your soul or any investment from you as an individual.

‘Can I give you some advice, Maddie? Go somewhere new and different. Forget everything you’ve ever been taught or thought you knew – break the rules – experiment but, most of all, paint from the heart.’

Paint from the heart. Maddie rolled her eyes, picturing a Salvador Dali image of a red heart skewered by a giant paintbrush on a desert plain, with scarlet drops dripping from the brush onto the pale yellow sand. Paint from the heart. What the hell did that mean? Had anyone told Picasso to paint from the heart? Rodin? Van Gogh? Maddie winced. Not that she was anywhere close to emulating anyone in that league.

Sitting in Costa, she sipped at her coffee, regretting the impulse to drown her sorrows with a ridiculously expensive cappuccino.

‘Dear God,’ drawled an upper-class voice as someone sat down behind her. ‘What a chav. What was Henry thinking?’

‘What? That girl that’s just been in? I thought she was in fancy dress. You know, Toulouse-Lautrec.’

Maddie clutched the felt beret on her lap under the table.

‘He was doing a friend a favour. He told me when he put the appointment in the diary.’

‘Did he take her on? Surely not. God, the gallery would be going downhill fast.’

‘Don’t think so. By the look of her when she left, I think he sent her out with a flea in her ear. I could have told him when she turned up he was wasting his time. I mean, seriously, did you hear the way she spoke?’

The other girl let out a peal of laughter. ‘Common as muck.’

‘Shh, you can’t say things like that now. It’s not PC. I’m not sure you’re even allowed to say chav any more.’

Both girls laughed with malicious superiority as Maddie flushed, feeling the heat in her cheeks. She probably looked like an overripe Christmas elf. Picking up her beret, she crammed it firmly onto her head and turned around. One of the girls looked up and at least had the grace to start, her mouth opening in a gasp.

‘Thing about chavs,’ said Maddie conversationally, ‘is that they have no class, speak their minds and don’t take crap from supercilious, stuck-up bitches like you two. Not all of us were born into money and, quite frankly, if that’s how you talk about people, you need to go back to school and learn some manners. You should be ashamed of yourselves.’

Pleased with the way both girls sat there gawping like a pair of guppies, she sailed out of the coffee bar with her head held high.

Unfortunately, having the last word didn’t change the fact that she had failed at her one and only shot at actually getting through the doors of a gallery in London and used up her only useful contact.

Maddie glared up at the departures board at Euston. Another two hours before her cheap fare train departed. Back to Birmingham and another conversation with her mum about another failed job interview. Maddie hadn’t actually told anyone, apart from Professor Gregory, what she was really doing in London.

Sighing, she scrolled through her WhatsApp feed.

Urgent. Urgent. Urgent. Do you still need a job?

It’s temporary but it’s in Europe and they’re desperate. Call me. Nx

The message from her friend, Nina, made her smile. They’d met in Paris while Maddie was on her year of study abroad and, with so much in common, had quickly become firm friends. Both came from big families and, like Nina, Maddie was one of five, and while they missed being part of a community, they didn’t necessarily miss the demands of their families.

The key word in the brief message was Europe. A siren call. Maddie longed to get as far away from home as possible. Since her time in France last year, she just didn’t feel like she fitted in any more.

‘OK, what’s the deal?’ she asked as Nina picked up the phone on the first ring. ‘Where in Europe? And what? Grape-picking?’

‘Something much classier.’ Nina’s voice bristled with that ta-da excitement. ‘It’s Croatia.’

‘Did you just sneeze?’

‘Very funny. No, seriously. Nick phoned Sebastian half an hour ago. He’s going on this amazing holiday with his new girlfriend; a bunch of them are chartering a yacht … but the girl that was going to work on board as a hostess dropped out yesterday and they go in three days’ time. All you have to do is a bit of cleaning and cooking. Basically looking after the guests. And there are only six of them.’

‘I’m your girl,’ said Maddie without hesitation, despite the fact that she’d never been on a boat in her life, unless you counted the pedalo in Tenerife that time. Thanks to a bit of tuition from Nina’s chef boyfriend, Sebastian, she’d learned a lot in six months. Her cooking skills had come on loads, for someone whose repertoire once consisted of nothing more than shepherd’s pie and Lancashire hotpot. Besides, didn’t everyone on holiday live on salads and ice cream?

Nina squealed. ‘Brilliant. You need to phone this Croatian guy. I’ll WhatsApp his number. Oh, you’re going to have such a great time. Two and a half weeks in Croatia! I’m quite jealous.’

Maddie squealed back. ‘That’s so cool. Thanks so much, Nina. And I can’t wait to meet your brother. I feel like I know him already.’