Chapter 1.4

 

"Trying to be." She tried to see past the dark glasses but could only see a distorted reflection of her own face. "It's not an easy market to break into."

"No. It certainly is not." He motioned to the empty seat opposite her. "May I?"

"Um..." Her desperate need to say 'no' was conflicting with the twin desires of not to be churlish and her genuine interest if he could help her get a foothold in the maelstrom of art galleries and representation. "Sure. Go ahead."

"I sense reluctance." He brushed an invisible speck of dirt from the seat and, putting his briefcase on the window seat and hitching up his trouser legs, took a seat, his height forcing his knees to rise at an angle over the table edge. He braced himself against the arm rest and stood again. "Actually, that's a little cramped. I'll sit on one without a table." He stepped across the narrow aisle and repeated the process, this time sitting diagonally opposite her but able to stretch his legs.

From this angle she couldn't help noticing his legs were far longer from the waist to the knee than from knee to foot, and he wore unusual, blocky shoes which seemed to be built up around the heel. "A skeletal anomaly I've had since birth." He smiled to diminish the awkwardness of her stare. "Most people don't even notice, but I can see you've taken some anatomy lessons. I'm not in any pain, I assure you. At least, not because of my legs." He pointed to the gap between the seats behind her. "Is that more of your work? I'd like to see it, if I may."

"Sure." She stood to retrieve her portfolio and laid it on the table in front of her seat, moving her bag to the seat beside her to make room. It nestled precariously on the edge since her rucksack took up most of the space. "I'm not famous though. I've barely even sold anything yet." She unzipped the folder, the slider hissing as she drew the tab along three of the four sides, then turning the portfolio to face outwards, the open top leaning against the dark window. She stumbled again as the train jerked into motion but steadied herself with one hand on the back of the seat. As the station lights vanished behind them, the announcement chimed again, informing new passengers of the train’s designation and destination.

He rose from his seat without any of the awkwardness he'd displayed before and more congruent with the grace of a ballet dancer with abdominal muscles you could bounce a coin off. He leafed through several of her sketches, mainly done in charcoal and pencil, but stopped at one she'd done in black India ink. "This is your mother?"

"Yes." She was surprised he guessed; the features were barely indicated by three strokes with a Chinese brush, her hair depicted by a mere gesture of ink. "The summer before last, in the garden at home."

"In Laverstone." He nodded thoughtfully.

Her heart skipped a beat, then thumped against her sternum so hard she thought he might hear it. "How did you know?"

He waved a hand toward her boots. "Your footwear is damp and the train has only stopped at Laverstone and Exeter. I'd have seen you on the platform at Exeter and Plymouth, where the train started, has been fine all night. Thus, you must have got on in Laverstone and Laverstone is not a town where a young person might travel to voluntarily."

She breathed again. He wasn't a stalker after all, just very clever at deduction. "Are you an investigator?"

"Not by profession." He lifted the sketch of her mother out of the portfolio and brought it to within a few inches from his face, then turned away from her and lifted his glasses to s. "Is this for sale?"

"It's not finished." She leaned forward to peer at his face but he moved the glasses back into place.

"I think it perfect just as it is." He smiled at her. "Would five hundred be sufficient compensation?"

"Pounds?" She closed her mouth in case she was gawking from surprise. The most she'd sold anything for was less than half that, and that had been for a painting on canvas that had taken her weeks. This was just a sketch she'd made in seconds as part of a freeing-up exercise.

"If you don't mind a bank transfer. I'm afraid I rarely bother to carry cash since the age of contactless payments."

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