Page 108 of A Christmas Celebration
That was a brave move, given how much money I reckoned he would have had to part with.
‘It would have been manageable and I felt that it was the right thing to do. There was some integrity in starting over, completely fresh,’ he further added. ‘And it would have been fine, had something in me not gone wrong.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked quietly.
‘When I left London and moved in with Jack,’ he said, sounding wretched, ‘I found I couldn’t do it anymore. Icouldn’t paint. Whether it was the shock of taking the plunge or the pressure, I don’t know… but I just couldn’t do it.’
‘Oh, Brodie.’
‘It was killing me,’ he said. ‘I taught a few classes in town to tide me over but they just made the situation worse because I couldn’t stop thinking about why I was having to give them.’
No wonder he had been in such a bad mood the day we met. He had been enabling others when he couldn’t help himself. Painting had been a pleasure when he had cash in the bank, but by giving it away his creativity had become his bread and butter. Hehadto paint in order to live and the pressure had killed his passion stone dead.
‘That must have been tough,’ I sympathized.
‘It was,’ he said, ‘and your well-meaning godfather made it tougher too.’
‘How so?’
‘Because,’ Brodie explained, ‘having snapped up practically my entire original collection, Angus then announced that he wanted more, much more. Starting with a painting which he can give to Catherine for Christmas.’
‘So that’s the return he’s expecting?’ I asked, wondering where Angus had put the rest of Brodie’s work at the hall.
‘That’s it.’ Brodie shrugged. ‘He’s offered me a generous commission and I have to come up with something by the twenty-fifth to earn it. I think he thought that a deadline and something specific to focus on would burst through my creative block and Jack was of the same opinion.’
I felt like finding Angus and Jack and banging their headstogether. Poor Brodie. No wonder he looked like Darcy on a bad day so often!
‘So, tell me,’ I said in a tone which left him in no doubt that I already knew the answer, ‘how has that immense pressure been working out for you?’
‘Not well,’ he laughed, playing along.
‘I can’t believe you can laugh about it.’
‘Up until a few days ago, I couldn’t,’ he said. ‘But now I’ve met Albert and everything has changed. Ever since he welcomed me to the studio and shared his life story, it feels like something has actually been unlocked.’
‘Oh, Brodie,’ I said, feeling relieved on his behalf. ‘That’s wonderful. Albert’s an incredible man, isn’t he?’
‘He certainly is,’ he agreed. ‘And we just clicked the moment I came back after Angus said I’d be welcome. I’d painted something by the time I went home that day. And I’ve barely had a brush out of my hand since.’
He sounded so happy. What a rollercoaster he’d been on. Even the re-telling of this journey had caused a plethora of emotions to pour out of him, so goodness knows how he had felt while he had been living through it.
‘We even painted together this morning.’ He grinned.
‘You didn’t?’ I gasped.
‘We did.’ Brodie nodded. ‘It was amazing.’
I pictured him and Albert working side by side. In stature and age, they were at opposite ends of the scale, but in terms of personal journey, they were peas in a pod. An externally unlikely pairing, but an internal match made in heaven.
‘I suppose it was you who shifted the decoration boxes around in the cottage, wasn’t it?’ I asked, thinking how Albert hadn’t looked at me when I’d told him off.
‘It was,’ he confessed. ‘I told Albert you’d be suspicious about that.’
I shook my head.
‘What a pair of conspirators, you are!’
‘Are you cross?’
