Portrait of Shade

by Benjamin Ford

  He would undoubtedly get someone else to try to steal the portrait now Derek was dead, but if she was to believe what she had seen upstairs in Gaia’s office – which made some of what she had heard her father say recently make some kind of vague sense – then the timing was suddenly of great importance.

  Nola raced through the streets of London and made it to her father’s house off Portland Place in record time.

  ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ demanded Dino Clayton as he allowed his daughter into the house, slamming the front door behind her.

  Unused to exercise, Nola fought to control her breath, allowing his tirade of fury to wash over her head.

  ‘What the hell were you playing at, talking to that incompetent fool, Derek, and threatening to tell the bloody Donat whores everything? You nearly ruined everything, you stupid little bitch!’

  When she responded, Nola’s voice dripped with resentment and anger. ‘Shut up, Dad, everything’s changed thanks to you. Derek’s dead, and I’m back on your side, so if you want to get your hands on that painting of you and the other two men, along with it’s secret, you’d better tread very carefully!’

  Dino regarded his daughter as casually as possible. He had known she would recognise his countenance upon the canvas, but had not reckoned with her knowledge of the painting’s secret. ‘And what secret would that be then?’

  Nola glowered petulantly. ‘Don’t play games, Dad. You know exactly what I’m talking about!’ She went on to describe the events she had witnessed less than half an hour earlier, and watched as her father turned quite white, which Nola could not fail to notice. ‘I take it I didn’t imagine things, and that what I saw should not be able to happen?’

  Dino’s pain-wracked face clouded with an unrepressed fury. ‘Damn right, it should never happen!’

  They had reached the living room, and as Nola slumped into one of the comfortable sofas that edged the room beneath the tall windows, she looked up directly into her father’s face. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain everything to me?’

  Dino sat opposite her, his piercing amethyst eyes boring directly into his daughter’s soul. ‘Very well, Nola, I shall tell you everything, but I guarantee you won’t believe most of what I’m about to say, and the things you do believe you won’t like!’

  * * *

  Gaia overcame her shock at seeing the man from the portrait standing in the doorway with few remaining reservations. What she was seeing was patently impossible. He was still there in the portrait, standing between the other two men, yet he was also standing before her, a physical manifestation, even more spectacularly handsome in the flesh. He was her hero and her saviour, and in the end, that was all she needed to know. She had thousands of questions bubbling under her veneer of calm, but she held onto them all.

  The man spoke first, questioning her about her attackers, who he seemed to recognise as being the same thugs who attacked Isadora in Paris. It was clear to him that they were after the painting, and would clearly stop at nothing to obtain it: all the while it remained in the gallery, neither Gaia nor Eudora would be safe.

  Gaia recalled the mysterious visions she had experienced before heading off to collect Isadora’s body from Paris, and she realised this man had been her cousin’s own mysterious benefactor: if only he had been there the second time!

  As Gaia listened to his bizarre explanation of who he was and where he came from, it was clear to the man that she did not totally believe him, even though she had witnessed certain events in her visions, and even though she agreed that his tale was far too bizarre to be a fabrication. Besides, his very existence was proof of the truth. What more evidence did anyone need?

  To convince her further, whilst she prepared a drink, he produced Eudora – though not the Eudora that Gaia knew. This Eudora was different somehow; a little older and a whole lot wiser. This was the Eudora she had seen in her visions; the Eudora who had been speaking to Isadora in her Paris hotel room – the Eudora she had seen speaking to this very man.

  Eudora corroborated the fantastic tale the man told her.

  After a while, Gaia left the room to visit the lavatory, and when she returned to the room, her cousin was gone.

  Gaia decided she should trust her instincts and therefore trust the man. Whether she did so or not, she knew he was right in his assessment that the painting was not safe at the gallery, and neither were she or Eudora, so she decided the best course of action was to help the man.

  From the cellar, she dug out some old clothes that had once belonged to her father. They smelled slightly of mothballs and damp, and were a couple of decades out of fashion, but they were far less conspicuous than the man’s Monastic robes. She gave him some money, and they decided upon a name for him to use, praying he would not be asked to produce any identification. Then she drove him and the painting from the gallery to a hotel on the other side of the city, dropped him off and returned to the gallery to await the return of her own Eudora.

  * * *

  She had been sitting in the kitchen for almost two hours when she heard the door to the gallery downstairs rattling, and then someone banged loudly on the glass. Walking to the top of the stairs, Gaia peered down cautiously, half expecting to see the two burly men who attacked her previously trying to break down the door. She was therefore surprised to see Nola standing on the pavement in the gradually darkening evening, a frantic look on her face.

  Gaia glanced at her watch. As it was just after nine o’clock, she wondered what Nola could possibly want so late on a Friday evening. It concerned her that Eudora had not been in touch all afternoon, and she wondered where her cousin was. What if the two men had got to Eudora first? Eudora could be lying dead somewhere, her corpse awaiting discovery. Should she maybe inform the police of her cousin’s apparent disappearance?

  Gaia decided not to start jumping to conclusions and leave that until the morning. Eudora was probably all right and was almost certain to turn up if she contacted the police now, so she instead made her way down to the gallery and as she approached the door, she saw Nola’s eyes widen in apparent shock when she saw her.

  ‘What are you doing here, Nola?’ Gaia asked as she disabled the alarms and opened the door, allowing the younger woman to burst in.

  ‘Gaia, I didn’t know you were back,’ cried Nola, agitated by something. ‘Is Dora here?’

  Gaia shook her head. Closing the door, she locked it again and indicated that Nola should lead the way up the spiral stairs. ‘I’ve been here since mid afternoon, when I arrived back to find the gallery and apartment empty. I have no idea where Eudora is. Is something wrong, Nola?’

  The girl started to shake her head, then changed her mind and nodded reluctantly. ‘I’m actually glad Dora’s not here, because I’ve made a huge booboo!’

  ‘Oh dear, what have you done this time?’ asked Gaia softly in a genuinely pitying voice as she followed Nola up the stairs. Though they all got on well enough, of them all, Eudora was the one who tended to lose her temper if anyone did anything wrong. Nola had been on the business end of Eudora’s anger on more than one occasion, though to the girl’s credit, she always went out of her way to rectify her mistakes.

  At the top of the stairs, Nola waited for Gaia, and then they walked together towards the office. ‘I was supposed to take a new acquisition to Sotheby’s for valuation, but I clean forgot. Dora made it clear that it has to be there by first thing tomorrow, otherwise it won’t be valued in time for its display on Monday, and we have prospective buyers coming in to view it! If I don’t get it done you can imagine what Dora will do! She’ll go spare. She’ll probably sack me this time!’

  Gaia regarded the girl thoughtfully at these words. The Donat Gallery had no dealings with Sotheby’s. Nola was lying for some reason, but Gaia did not know why.

  Whenever anyone from Christies came by to pick up an acquisition for auction or valuation, the three Donat women always said it was going to Sotheby’s by its usual route – always ment
ioning a few of the landmarks. That way, should anyone be listening and thinking of ambushing the van along its route, they would be awaiting it in completely the wrong place. It was a sneaky deception for security reasons, but it worked, and even Nola had no knowledge of this subterfuge, which was all too apparent now.

  ‘Which one is it?’ Gaia asked as they entered the office, knowing instinctively to which painting Nola referred.

  ‘This one right–’ Nola broke off. The portrait was not where it had been resting against that wall. ‘But… but it was right here!’

  ‘Oh, you mean the portrait of the three men and the flaming cross?’

  Nola nodded.

  Gaia smiled. ‘Don’t worry. The man from Sotheby’s stopped by at around five to pick it up.’

  ‘And you gave it to him?’ questioned Nola with a slight frown.

  Gaia smiled slightly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You gave the painting to the man from Sotheby’s?’

  Gaia nodded. ‘That’s right. Don’t worry about Eudora. I won’t tell her, and the man from Sotheby’s isn’t likely to either, so she’ll never know.’

  Nola seemed to falter slightly for just a moment, but her lapse of concentration lasted little more than a fraction of a second. ‘That’s a relief. Thanks, Gaia. I’m sorry if I startled you.’

  Gaia escorted the girl down the passage to the upper external entrance to the apartment and opened the door. ‘That’s okay, Nola. I’ll see you on Monday. Enjoy your weekend.’

  Once Nola was descending the stairs, Gaia closed the door and leaned heavily against it, trying hard to figure out why Nola would have been lying. There was no reason that she could think of, other than Nola was in some way connected to the men who had attacked her earlier. In acknowledging Nola’s pretence by saying that the man from Sotheby’s had been by that afternoon to collect the painting, Gaia knew she had left herself wide open: Nola was certainly no fool – she would know her cover was blown.

  Gaia suddenly remembered that she had not reset the alarm downstairs, and she pushed herself away from the door, intending to make her way down into the gallery. She had not gone more than a few feet when the door was booted open, sending her sprawling.

  She half turned as she fell, to see that the two thugs who had attacked her were back, accompanied by a third even more unpleasant looking man, and they were followed into the apartment by a tall immaculately coiffed blond haired man wearing an equally immaculate pinstripe suit and patent leather brogues.

  Gaia saw Nola hover uncertainly in the doorway behind the man, a look of almost apologetic terror on her face, and then she was gone.

  ‘Good evening, my dear.’ The man said with a French accent. His smile chilled Gaia to the bone, especially when she realised suddenly why he was so inordinately familiar. ‘Now then,’ the man continued, ‘are you going to be sensible and tell me where you’ve sent the painting?’

  ‘Don Dusan from Sotheby’s took it earlier this evening,’ Gaia said with false bravado. She knew instinctively that they would kill her slowly and painfully no matter what she told them, so she might as well tell them nothing, keeping the painting and its secret safe from this evil man.

  The man fixed her intently with his amethyst eyes that blazed with fury and pain, though his smile remained intact, and his saccharine voice was as calm as it had been before. ‘Come now, my dear, you and I both know that Don Dusan does not exist! Tell me where the painting is, and I shall spare you any agony!’

  ‘I told you… Don Dusan has it!’

  The man’s smile faltered slightly, and through the crack, a nasty sneer appeared. ‘It really is senseless to remain stubborn. Look where it led your cousin! I shall obtain the painting eventually, with or without your help, but you really would spare yourself a lot of unnecessary pain if you told me the truth.’

  Tears brimmed in Gaia’s eyes as she conjured up the image of her cousin’s murder in her mind’s eye once more. She really did not want to endure what Isadora had gone through, but she could not allow this vile man to get hold of the portrait. ‘I am telling the truth. Don Dusan has your precious painting!’

  The man’s eyes glowed suddenly with recognition. ‘Ah, I see now: Don… Dušan!’ He nodded, as the false smile that did not warm his features or reach his eyes returned. ‘Yes, very clever! So, where is he then, this Don Dusan?’

  ‘Somewhere you’ll never find him!’ spat Gaia.

  The man turned away with an angry growl, all pretence at civility gone as his true nature burst into the open. ‘Kill her, and then search this place thoroughly from top to bottom.’ Noting the gleam of satisfaction on the faces of his thugs, the man raised a warning finger. ‘Be careful not to damage any of the paintings! I have a use for them, but no use for dead soldiers!’ He turned on his heel and swept from the apartment, closing the door with a soft click, resisting the temptation to slam the door to ram home his threat.

  Nola was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Did she tell you, Father?’

  Dino Clayton shook his head, grimacing as inner voices plagued him once more.

  There was a sudden piercing scream from behind the door at the top of the stairs, and with the second scream, tears welled up in Nola’s eyes.

  ‘Save your tears, Nola,’ Dino said venomously. ‘Get in the car!’

  Wiping her eyes, Nola did as her father ordered, and as the car sped off there was one final scream of agony from within the apartment above the Donat Gallery.

  Then there was silence.

  Chapter Eight

  Eudora sat on the edge of the bed in Nathan’s bedroom, staring at him as he slept peacefully beside her. They had made love for much of the early evening, and as he lay there, snoring contentedly in the afterglow, he looked so peaceful and happy that she had no desire to wake him. She allowed herself a brief smile when she thought of the pleasure their passion had brought to one another in the past few short hours. She had not known such desire was possible. Her love for him intoxicated her, as Nathan’s own love for her blinded him. Loving each other so physically and emotionally had helped in obliterating the pain and grief they both felt, however fleetingly.

  Sadly, as she thought of Isadora, she came to realise their love should not be allowed to flourish.

  She dressed silently and was about to slip out of Nathan’s bedroom when something inexplicably stopped her. She staggered back drunkenly a couple of paces, reaching out blindly to grasp the doorframe as vertigo engulfed her, and she grimaced, her eyes swimming.

  There are three men ransacking the apartment above the gallery. They are remorseless and methodical in their search. They know what they are looking for, and they fully expect to find it there, somewhere, hidden from them. But what they seek is not there. There is nowhere for it to be hidden, but they continue their search.

  Eudora blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. She instinctively knew it was dangerous for her to return to the gallery, so she returned to the bed, undressed and slid between the sheets. Nathan stirred restlessly but did not awaken.

  Something equally restless stirred within Eudora’s mind as she closed her aching eyes.

  She does not want to see them as they approach to kill her. But suddenly she does want to see. She opens her eyes. The first man is upon her, the other two not far behind. She feels the knife plunge into her body and she screams. They are enjoying themselves. She screams again and the third man grabs her tongue, using his knife to sever it, silencing her permanently. As she dies, tears fall from her eyes, but they are not salty tears; they are droplets of blood.

  Eudora was crying, and the sound of her sobs roused Nathan from his sleep. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, turning to look at Eudora. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked gently, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I think Gaia’s dead,’ Eudora whispered as she buried her face in his chest. ‘I can feel it… I saw it!’

  Nathan was dumbfounded. He knew about the psychic connection that had existed between
Gaia and Isadora, and Eudora had told him how Gaia had witnessed Isadora’s murder – he had no reason to disbelieve such a farfetched statement.

  ‘But you said that you didn’t share the psychic connection that existed between Gaia and Isadora.’ He tried to keep his voice level and hoped he did not sound condescending.

  ‘I know,’ Eudora replied in a cracked whisper. ‘I never shared it before, but I’ve just had a vision, as clearly as if I’d been in the apartment with Gaia. She was being murdered. It seemed to me they were the same men she described as being Isadora’s killers.’

  Nathan hugged her tighter, and she responded by returning the hug, luxuriating in the comfort he offered. ‘I’m frightened, Nate,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. Something strange is happening, and it’s connected to that painting and the amethyst jewellery.’

  Nathan kissed the top of her head reassuringly. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he sighed, peering at their reflection in the mirror mounted on the wall opposite the end of the bed, ‘but what’s its connection with you, Gaia and Isadora?’

  Eudora sat up, turning to look at Nathan. ‘I think we’re all innocent bystanders who are being disposed of because we’re getting in the way. I think you’re the connection, Nate: you and your family!’

  Nathan rubbed his temple, shaking his head slightly. ‘I don’t follow.’

  Eudora sighed. ‘As I see it, everything seems to centre around Constantinople and the people who lived there; in the Fourth Century, and in the Sixteenth!’

  ‘Sorry, Dora, I still don’t understand.’

  Eudora wiped away her tears. ‘All of your family, by name at least, seem connected in some way to the two Councils of Nicaea, both convened for different reasons in the Byzantine Empire. Even your surname connects you to Constantinople.’ Sighing, she threw back the covers, reaching for her clothes once more. ‘Come on, it will be easier for you to see if you read it for yourself.’