The Goldenacre Episode 28

Later, on the bus to his work, with the city sliding by outside the windows – chimneys and grey roofs, the hills and terraces rising, unfolding like a gently opening pop-up book – Tallis read the notes on The Goldenacre from Carver’s file.

There was a footnote on its creation: it had been painted in 1927.

There was, it said, a “prep. sketch (pencil, charcoal, paper) in Glasgow School of Art archives”.

He wanted to see it.

He arrived at the Public Gallery late. A police car was outside, its luminous yellow stripes aglare in the cool sunshine.

An officer was talking to Theseus Campbell on the stairs.

As Tallis crunched up the drive, Theseus ushered the officer inside.

Tallis walked past the security guard and into the white main hall, but Theseus and the officer had gone.

He did not feel ready for his large empty office.

He walked left, into a new exhibition. It was a small display of new contemporary art, from Scottish artists, or artists trained in Scotland.

There was a dark room. He walked into it and sat on a soft leather seat, opposite a large screen.

But the film did not play. It was just a blank screen, and he was sitting in twilight.

There were footsteps in the corridor outside. Tallis began to shift away from the door.

Mungo passed, holding a file, rubbing his hair.

“Mungo,” Tallis said, from the dark. Mungo stopped. He looked back, and then looked around. “Mungo – in here,” Tallis said, louder.

Mungo bent slightly and peered into the darkened gallery.

“Mr Tallis?”

“Yes, indeed. Will you join me?” Mungo sloped in. He looked at the empty screen.

“Well, that’s not working. What are you doing here?”

“Just having a sit-down. I was wondering, have we heard any more from Denholm House about my visit?”

“Well... ” Mungo said, perching on the end of the seat.

There was a silence. Mungo was chewing his bottom lip and holding the file close to his chest.

“That parcel you received was absolutely horrific,” he said quietly.

Tallis nodded. “But I am fine. Are you?” Mungo shuddered. “Who would do that? I mean...”

“I think it is some kind of prank. No one will want to own up to it, though,” Tallis said. “Someone has bought a pig’s tongue from a butcher and given everyone a fright.”

“But why?”

“Some people have a strange sense of humour, Mungo.

“What’s in the file?”

“Ah, yes,” Mungo said, his eyes screwed up. “Well, this is from Sir Dennis, for you.” “Another file? Has he heard of email?” “I think so,” Mungo said. “But he doesn’t like anything, he says, being permanent. He does not like setting precedents.”

He turned to face Tallis and added: “I think I may have made an error, a mistake. To be honest.”

Tallis peered at the young man. He looked suddenly stricken.

“What kind of mistake?” he said softly. The room was dark, and the corridor outside bright.

“I mentioned, I shouldn’t have. I mentioned to Sir Dennis, to Carver, that you wanted to see the Mackintosh yourself.”

“The Goldenacre? Yes, of course. That is why I am here. Why should that be...”

“I should have just called the Farquharsons myself and arranged it for you. Just like you asked.”

Tallis wondered what was going on. Mungo raised his head. “This is how I lost my job in the press office. That’s why I’m stuck being your gofer.”

He looked up and added: “No offence.” Tallis put a hand on Mungo’s side of the bench. “But what is wrong with mentioning it to Carver? He knows why I am here.”

Mungo muttered. “It’s... He doesn’t want you to go. He said there – he was quite cutting, actually – he said you didn’t need to see it in person, and that it would be a waste of time and you are here to do paperwork only. He nixed it. Basically. So, I was all of a dither but didn’t, in the end, cancel the appointment I made for you. He was so rude. Dismissive.”

“Mungo, that’s fine, it’s all fine,” Tallis said. “I am sure there is a misunderstanding.”

Mungo looked up. “There’s no misunderstanding, Thomas. I am an anxious person but I am not stupid. If you forgive me. He doesn’t want you to go. He was quite forceful.”

Tallis looked away, to the blank screen. He heard footsteps in the corridor, and a member of the public – looking curiously into the room – walked slowly by. There were other noises, and a black-clad member of the technical staff walked in.

“Oh, hello, Mungo,” the woman said, and then turning to Tallis, she nodded and smiled. “The film will be running presently.”

She opened a panel in the wall and began pressing buttons.

Mungo said he should be going, he had met with the police officer and needed a rest.

“About the parcel?” Tallis asked. “Yes, of course,” Mungo said, rubbing his eyes. “It was brief. She didn’t ask many questions.”

“OK,” Tallis said.

Mungo looked as if his brain was not working. He was slumped now. He was still holding the Manila file to his chest.

“Let me see it, then,” Tallis said. Mungo handed it over and then crossed his arms.

Tallis opened it. It was the rough draft of the press release announcing the Mackintosh show, planned for later in the year.

“The Goldenacre – A Gift to the Nation,” said the putative headline. There was a good image of the painting, in all its loveliness and strangeness.

Mungo looked at him. Images were flickering on his eyes.

The film had been turned on, and stags and deer were moving rapidly over the screen.

More tomorrow.

Philip Miller lives in Edinburgh. An awardwinning journalist for 20 years, he is now a civil servant. The Goldenacre, published by Birlinn, follows his previous novels, The Blue Horse and All The Galaxies. His latest novel, The Hollow Tree, is to be a sequel to The Goldenacre.

He said you didn’t need to see it in person, and that it would be a waste of time and you are here to do paperwork only