The Painted Dragon. Katherine Woodfine
she had made a particularly good joke. ‘Yes I suppose you’re right there!’ he exclaimed. ‘Probably if I did, old Jarvis wouldn’t have told me yesterday that my fellow’s arms looked more like strings of sausages. I can see you’re going to be a good influence on me.’ He stuck out a hand, and Leo stared at it in surprise. ‘I’m Jonathan Rose, but everyone calls me Jack. What’s your name?’
She managed to shake his hand, and mumble her own name, her face still burning with embarrassment at her own rudeness.
‘Leo – I say, that’s quite a name. Short for Leonora? Oh, I see. Well, Leo it is. You’re new too, aren’t you?’
She nodded, surprised to discover that he was one of the first-year students. He seemed so comfortable, it was like he’d been at the Spencer for years.
‘Seen him?’ asked Jack, gesturing over to the corner of the room with his pencil, where Leo now noticed an older gentleman, with a sweep of iron-grey hair, deep in conversation with Professor Jarvis. He was elegantly dressed in a smart, tailored suit, in contrast to the professor, who was rather shabby in tweeds. Leo noticed that the gentleman’s silk waistcoat was finely patterned, his shoes were polished to a gleaming shine and he wore a gold lapel pin and an elaborate fob watch and chain.
‘Who is he?’ she found herself asking.
‘That’s Randolph Lyle,’ explained Jack in a low voice. ‘He’s one of the most important art collectors in London. But, more than that, he likes to support young artists while they’re getting started. They say he comes here every year looking for new talent.’
Leo looked over at Mr Lyle, intrigued.
‘Maybe that’s what he’s doing here now,’ suggested Jack, but before he could say anything else, Professor Jarvis began to speak, and the lively chatter around them fell silent. ‘This is Mr Randolph Lyle,’ he said in his usual brusque tone. ‘As I hope at least some of you are aware, Mr Lyle is a leading expert on fine art. He has come to speak to you today about an important opportunity. Mr Lyle.’
Mr Lyle gave a small bow. ‘Thank you, Professor. I am delighted to be here to speak to you all this morning. I am honoured to be a supporter of this wonderful institution. I have the greatest interest in our next generation of artists – and am proud to say that in my own small way, I have been able to help some of them on their path to success.’ He spoke with an elaborate politeness that contrasted starkly with the professor’s short, sardonic way of speaking. He looked – and sounded – very much like one of the guests that Leo might have encountered in her mother’s drawing room. ‘Today, as you have heard, I am here to talk to you about one such opportunity. I am currently working on a new exhibition, which will be opening in London in a few weeks’ time.
‘This exhibition is to be unlike any other: a combination of the very best new works and some of the masterpieces that have helped to inspire them. I have been lucky enough to have the chance to bring together a selection of old masters, including some works from my own collection, but also some treasures which have been most generously lent to me by a number of London’s museums, galleries and private collections.
‘The venue for this exhibition will also be rather unusual: it will take place at Sinclair’s, the department store on Piccadilly. As some of you may be aware, I have a passionate interest in bringing our best works of art to what we may call “the masses” – and Mr Sinclair happily shares that enthusiasm. Together, we are mounting what I hope will be one of the most exciting exhibitions of this year, in the store’s beautiful Exhibition Hall. Admission will be free to the general public, and we hope that many hundreds will attend.
‘Today, I am here to seek out some volunteers to assist me with putting together the exhibition. We will require a considerable commitment of time from our volunteers over the next few weeks, but in return I can promise a most interesting, instructive, and I hope also enjoyable experience.’
He smiled around the room again, and Professor Jarvis stepped in. ‘If you’d like to take part, come and see me this afternoon. And now, carry on with your work.’
The room instantly came to life again, with a rustle of papers and a hubbub of voices.
‘Well, I’m definitely volunteering,’ Leo heard Connie say decidedly. ‘I don’t care how much work it is – you’d be mad to miss the chance to get to know Randolph Lyle!’
‘It would be splendid to see all those paintings up close,’ said the freckled boy beside her enthusiastically.
Connie snorted. ‘That’s not the half of it. Lyle can make or break artists’ careers, you know. He’s terribly well connected.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that, but I reckon this exhibition sounds a lark,’ said the boy in a good-natured voice. He turned around. ‘What about you, Jack?’
‘I’m all for it,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s go and put our names down on Jarvis’s list. Coming, Leo?’
Leo glanced back over at Mr Lyle, who was already moving through the room, looking keenly over students’ shoulders to see their drawings. The exhibition sounded interesting, but all the same, she thought it would be a mistake to get involved. It was enough just getting used to being here in London without anything else to think about. Most of all, she wanted to work – and helping with this exhibition would mean time away from that.
‘No thank you,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, it’s your funeral,’ said Connie, shrugging. She grabbed Jack’s sleeve. ‘Come on, let’s go before all the places are filled.’
Leo turned back to her drawing as they all hurried across the room, putting the exhibition out of her mind. She was so absorbed in her work that she barely noticed anything else until the session ended, and she became conscious that the others were beginning to pack up, chattering in little groups as they tidied drawings into portfolios.
‘Time to go,’ said Jack, with a grin, as he shrugged on his jacket. ‘I say, a few of us are off to the Café Royal later – want to come along?’
Leo looked up, uncertainly. Beyond, she could see that Connie and the other boy were waiting for Jack expectantly, their satchels slung over their shoulders.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Café Royal?’ Jack asked in surprise. ‘It’s where all the artists go!’
‘Oh, do come on, Jack,’ said Connie, impatiently. ‘She doesn’t even know what the Café Royal is – of course she doesn’t want to come.’
Leo felt her face flush redder, and she shrugged and shook her head. But Jack was still smiling at her. ‘Well, if you change your mind, you’ll know where we are,’ he said, before he was swept away, at the centre of a gabbling crowd of art students.
Leo was left alone to slowly pack up her things. She always seemed to be lagging behind the other students: she was used to being the last to leave, but today, as she made her way towards the door, Professor Jarvis stopped her.
‘Miss Fitzgerald – you haven’t put your name down to help with the exhibition.’
Leo shook her head. He stared at her for a moment, and she explained: ‘I just want to focus on my work for now, Professor.’
Professor Jarvis gave her a searching look. ‘Mr Lyle has seen your work, and he has requested you particularly for the exhibition, Miss Fitzgerald,’ he said in his dry voice. ‘If he takes an interest in your career, it could be very beneficial for you. I’d suggest you take him up on his offer.’
On London’s bustling Piccadilly Circus, Mr Randolph Lyle’s new exhibition was also creating plenty of conversation. In the Sinclair’s offices, high above the shop, it was time for an afternoon tea break, and the clerks were all discussing the news of the exhibition, while Billy Parker, the office