The Portrait

They arrived at his parent’s home late in the evening.

Holden opened the wide, tall oaken front door with only a slight push and entered the vacuous entry hall holding the woman’s hand their fingers laced together, as he brought her inside. She was silent, still in awe at the size of the estate house and definitely taken aback by the extent of her new boyfriends’ affluence. When he said he wanted to bring her home, she expected none of this based on his current bohemian lifestyle. As the door closed softly behind her, surprisingly quiet despite its huge weight, she looked all around her at the solid white marble walls, the elegant stone stairway in a matching color and the welded black iron railing leading up to a second-floor balcony. Reaching behind her, she slipped out the cell phone from her rhinestone trimmed back jean pocket and centered the camera on the staircase.

         “Oh, please don’t do that.” Holden implored her.

             She hesitated, looking back at him with a whimsical stare. “No one is going to believe me when I tell them where you live.”

             “I realize that, but my parents are sensitive to appearances. They feel the less people know about what we have, the less they will want it.”

             She looked at him with a curious stare.

             “At least that is what my father believes, and since he owns the house, that is what I must believe.” He smiled the innocent smile of a schoolboy with ice cream, a look that seemed to betray his twenty-eight years.

             “What does your father do?” she said with a cautious tone.

             “He is in real estate, however, most of this.” And he held up his hands as if expecting to catch a falling acrobat. “Was gifted through inheritance by my grandfather. We are now just stewards of his legacy.”

             “He was in real estate also?” she asked.

             “No, he was really just into deals. It was never explained to me what they were, just that they were very successful and …” he held up his index finger as if to point towards a thought bubble over his head. “…very long term.”

             He turned and began to walk towards the staircase, turning only to encourage her to follow. She adjusted her jean jacket, the one where the rhinestone design on the back matched the jeans and slipped her phone back into her back pocket, making sure not to chip or break the bright red polish on her nails.

             Suddenly he stopped in front of a narrow door. “Would you like to meet him?” He said playfully.

             “Who, your grandfather? Sure, I guess.” She said, still in awe at the elegance of the house.

             “Ok. Follow me.” He grabbed the gold handle firmly and turned it with authority. The room was dark with some tasteful track lighting shining up towards a number of landscape paintings along the walls. At the end of the room, there was a large wooden table with three chairs, two at the ends with one behind in the center, and overlooking the setting was an portrait of an elegant man dressed in a sharp cut suit, a flower in the lapel, and a small side table placed next to the plush, high-backed chair he was sitting in. The setting was dated, but she looked intently, trying to figure out how long ago it really was. She was drawn to the face, which seemed pleasant and open, a thin set of wireless glasses perched forward on his nose. Something like a proud uncle overlooking a successful nephew with pleasure, but he did not seem to be a committed man. Short, thin gray hair completed the portrait, his bejeweled hands, the left one on the arm of the chair, and the right one resting on his lap, seemed to complete the picture.

             “Wow, he sure wears a lot of rings.” She commented.

             “Yea, my grandfather was a trophy collector so to speak. When he won a deal over a prized target, he always took something from them to show his power. He also took tie clips, cufflinks, glasses.” Holden turned to face her. “There was a rumor that he actually took everything a man had, and in the end, made him leave his shoes as the ultimate prize.”

              “That’s kind of prickish.” She commented.

             Holden shrugged. “He liked winning.”

             “What about the pen on the table?”

             Holden turned to look at the portrait. “Don’t know anything about that. Maybe I’ll ask my dad, see if he knows.”

             He turned towards her, held out his elbow and smiled. “Come with me and I will show you to your room.” She laced her arm in his and they respectfully walked out the door.

             As they exited the room, Holden softly turned and closed the door behind him.

             “Is it just us here this weekend?” she asked.

             “No, my sister is here as well. My parents are in Italy, so we pretty much have the run of the place.”

             Turning to walk up the marble staircase, she looked behind her, still stunned at the elegant and stateful entrance. But there was something odd about the place. Something felt… unreal.

             Showing her to her room, they embraced, he kissed her lovingly and wished her goodnight.

“This is your room for the evening. Enjoy it. Let me know if you need anything else. Tomorrow I will show you around.”

She entered a wonderfully decorated bedroom with a king-size bed surrounded by antique furniture and a beautiful make up table. Pulling a plush chair away from the makeup table, she placed her backpack by the table, slipped off her jacket and hung it over the back of the chair.

             As she was placing it neatly on the chair, she felt a soft breeze blow through her hair. It felt relaxing and she thought she could smell lavender, then it stopped as soon as it started. She breathed it in deeply and thought what an odd smell for an old house. She then pulled her nightclothes out of her backpack, dressed, then fell into a deep sleep.

             The next morning, she dressed quickly and left the bedroom. Heading down the stairway to the main entrance, she was a little fearful of exploring the mansion with regards to what she would find. As she progressed, she saw Holden enter the main hallway while talking to another woman. They were standing close, their conversation hushed, her arms crossed while he seemed bent over slightly to listen more clearly.

             When she was halfway down the stairs, the two seemed to realize her presence and they separated as they watched her approach.

             “How did you sleep?” Holden asked cheerfully.

             “Awesome!!” she answered. “What a great room!”

             “Excellent!” he replied. “I was hoping you would be comfortable. Oh, this is my younger sister Abigail.” He said as he took a step backwards, sweeping his arm in front of her as if presenting a new appliance.

             “Abigail, this is Denise.” He said completing the introductions.

             “Wonderful to meet you.” Abigail said smiling. “Holden has told my so many great things about you.”

             “Oh, he is a charmer.” Denise said. “This is an amazing house. How long have you had it!”

             Abigail hesitated and crossed her brow. “Many decades, I believe. So many that I think we have lost count.”

             “A nice problem to have.” Denise said. “It is truly fantastic.” She ended, using the last adjective she could think of to describe the abode.

             Suddenly Abigail startled. “Oh, I need to run. Things never seem to get decided around here, so I need to make all the decisions. Holden gets bored easily so it is up to me.” Holding out her hand, she let Denise return the gesture. “Delighted to meet you.” She said, “I will meet both of you for dinner.”

             “I would love that.” Denise returned.

             Throughout the day, Holden showed her the rest of the mansion, explained what history he knew, and they then spent the afternoon on the grounds, enjoying some of the lawn games that were presented.

             As they entered the house, Holden began to lead her towards the dining room, only to have her hesitate. “Oh, my!” she said. “I seem to have lost one of my earrings.”

             “Well, we have been everywhere. What I can do is alert the staff and have them keep an eye out for it.”

             Denise was deep in thought. “I’m certain I put it on this morning, and we went back into that office space first, can I just jump into there and check quickly?“

             “Sure.” Holden said and led her back to the door presented to her last night.

             As soon as she stepped in, she saw her earring on the floor only about a few feet from the entrance. “There it is.” She exclaimed reaching down to pick it up and slipping it into her ear as she rose.

             “That’s funny.” She said as she looked at the portrait of the founder.

             “What dear?” Holden exclaimed.

             “The painting, the man’s glasses. They were on his nose before, now they are in his hands.”

             Holden looked and squinted at the painting. “No, they have always been there. They were painted there years before, so I don’t think they were added.” He chuckled. “We don’t have paintings we switch out. What is there as always been there.”

             “But I could swear he was wearing them. Everything else is the same other than that…”

             “Maybe the light fooled you. The room is dark, and things can be unclear.”

             The was an unsettling stillness between the two of them.

              “Come, let’s go to lunch. We don’t want it to get cold.” Holden offered, then reached and touched her elbow. She followed him out of the room, somewhat dazed and very confused. “I could have sworn….” She stated, allowing the thought to trail away.

             That night, they shared an excellent dinner, with Abigail willingly joining them. The conversation was brisk and light, and they enjoyed each other’s company in the dining room well past dark. When the dark had settled in completely, the three of them went out to the veranda to enjoy the evening sky. It was cloudless, and the stars were full, the constellations complete. Denise even thought she saw a shooting star.

             Staying out well past midnight and full of wine, they headed back into the house to retire.

At the base of the stairs, Holden held her close and kissed her deeply. Slipping out of the kiss, she placed his mouth close to her ear. “I love you.” He said. She closed her arms around his neck tightly, hoping the moment would never die, her spirit fulfilled with the words she always had wanted to hear. “I love you too.” She replied.

             Parting, she slipped away from him and headed back up the stairs. He watched her as she reached the top and childishly blew him a kiss. Joining into the moment, he pretended to catch it and placed his hand over his mouth.

             She retired quickly, the evening filling her with joy and fatigue. She closed her eyes and pulled the sheets up close, thinking about the future, what they could accomplish as a married couple, and parenthood? As she drifted off, these dreams tumbled through her mind. Still, there were the glasses.

             The next morning was similar, yet her curiosity was getting the best of her. As she met Holden at the foyer, she mentioned that she had left her phone in her room and could he get it for her. Obligingly, Holden willfully leapt up the staircase and sprinted to her room. That left enough time for her to reenter the side room and look at the portrait again to curb her curiosity. As she opened the door, everything seemed to be in order as she looked around quickly. Then suddenly she gasped. The pen that was on the table was now on the floor. This was impossible she said to herself. There has to be other paintings… but how?

             “Something wrong?’ Holden asked.

             She jumped as she had not heard him approach. “Um.” she became confused from both the shock and his silent presence. “The pen is on the floor.” She whispered. Holden stepped back and looked around him.

“Did you drop it somewhere else; I don’t see it.” He said.

             “No… the pen in the painting… it is on the floor. Yesterday it was on the table.” She pointed at the object where she last saw it, then where it was now. “There must be another painting.”

             Holden looked at her suspiciously. “This is it, there is no other one.’ He stared at her intensely. “Are you ok?

             “Yes.” She mumbled out. “I’m fine.” Her brow furrowed, and her breathing stumbled. “I know what I saw.” She pointed again at the painting. “That wasn’t there before.”

             “Abigail!!” Holden bellowed.

             A few moments later, Abigail entered the room. “What’s going on?” she asked politely.

             “Has that painting always been here?” he asked.

She chuckled. “Of course, where else would it be?”

“Please look at it carefully, has that painting always been here?”

She exhaled forcefully at her perception of a waste of time. She crossed her arms and stared at the portrait. “Yes.” She suddenly blurted out.

“Anything wrong with the glasses or the pen?” Holden asked.

“No, the glasses have always been in his hand and the pen has always been on the ground. Now can I get back to my ledgers?”

“Sure. Thank you.” Holden followed, although she was already out of the room.

“You see, it was always there.”

Denise was beyond the argument now, and just wanted to get out of the room. Clearly there was no point in debating it, and the self-revelations of her past substance abuse began to rise. She resolved herself to just put the subject out of her mind and continue with the day. She was leaving in the morning, so it was a subject she could package away for the next 24 hours. When she gets home, she can get help and reveal what she did, or didn’t see.

The last day was magical, and as it progressed, the subject became compartmentalized, and she just enjoyed the moment. On this day Holden took her to the estates nearby stables to show her the family horses, then lunch at the vineyard along with a sailboat ride in the afternoon at a nearby private lake. When they returned to the house, she was certain of two things. Holden had a perfectly charmed life with no needs, only wants. Secondly, she felt the oddness of not fitting in. This was not her place and there was definitely an irregularity with what goes on here. Something that she was certain she could every understand. When she got back home, it would be resolved.

While she slept that night, she fell into a deep dream. In the dream she was in a luxurious Rolls Royce limousine traveling along a coastal road. Dressed in a long cotton summer dress, she felt relaxed, confident, and cared for. Reaching a white beach house, she waited until the servants exited the dwelling and ran down over the cobbled driveway to meet her. With the car door opening as if on its own, she slid across the plush leather seats, reaching out her hand and feeling another softly gripping it. As she rose from the seat and exited the car, she noticed Holden, dressed in a sport coat with a loose collar and pressed slacks holding her hand and smiling at her. Feeling a sense of place she had never experienced before, they walked arm and arm towards the front of the house. In the background she could hear the waves crashing against the rocky shore and a soft breeze, fragrant with flowered scents blowing against her face. As they approached the front door, a smiling doorman opened it with ease, perfectly synced with her stride. When she was in the house, the elegance overwhelmed her and she closed her eyes to let the atmosphere carry her away.

Then she heard the door slam shut.

#

             “Denise!!” Holden called from the estate house entrance. Greeted with silence. “Denise!” he called again, as he jumped up the staircase two steps at a time. Reaching the bedroom, he saw a made bed. The backpack was gone and so was she. Disappointed, he turned away, closed the door and slowly walked back down the stairs to the foyer. Upon reaching it, he turned and entered the conference room where all of the paintings were held. Once he was in, he slowly closed the door behind him and walked towards the conference table at the other end. There, at one end sat Abigail and at the other was a vacant chair. In the center was the patriarch, his arms crossed. The painting behind him showing only an empty chair and a table. Through his glasses, the old man studied Holden and watched as he sat in the vacant chair at the end. Confident that they were ready, he took out several spreadsheets and investment journals, laying them neatly in front of them.

             “Now that we are all here, let us begin our next investment moves.” The chairman said. As he began to study the literature in front of him, he occasionally pushed his glasses back, flashing a fingernail with a brilliant red finish.