A Stranger in Wynnedower (25 page)

“Checking on her?”

“Something happened in
the attic. Someone was up there with me.”

Jack shook his head,
impatience in the quick movement. “Someone? Not Helene or May?”

“No. I think someone
was.…” Saying it aloud made it sound silly.

“Did you see someone?”

“Not exactly. Part of a
shoe, that’s all. I hid.”

“You hid.” He frowned.

“Must you repeat what I
say?”

Jack stared at her,
examining her face and causing her heart to race.

“So, you were concerned
because something happened in the attic and you went to check on Helene because
David Kilmer has been coming around looking for her.”

“Yes, that’s it
exactly.” He made her actions sound reasonable. She felt the worst of the
tension leave her.

“Alright. Come with
me.”

“Escorting me from the
premises?” Rachel blinked back tears. “You don’t trust me to leave on my own?”

“I don’t want you to
leave. Come with me.”

He no longer seemed
angry. Which made her angry.

“Wait a minute. A short
time ago you were kicking me out. Now you’re not? It’s too much for me. I need
an explanation.”

He took a breath.
“Earlier, I thought you were satisfying your curiosity at my sister’s expense.”

Rachel bit her lip. She
knew he expected her to explode. She wouldn’t.

He brushed his hair
back from his forehead with one striking gesture. “I understand now. Angry? No,
I’m not angry anymore. I don’t understand why you kept Kilmer a secret. Then
again, you didn’t know me any better than you knew Kilmer. You didn’t know you
were being used.”

True, she hadn’t known
at first, but she’d figured it out pretty quickly. She bit her lip.

“Satisfied? Don’t keep
secrets from me about things that concern me, my family, or Wynnedower, okay?”
He took silence for assent. “Good. Then come with me.”

He led the way to his
quarters. He pulled a cardboard box out of a morass of jumbled books and stuff
in the corner. He put the box on his desk and lifted out some black frames. Old
and chipped, they were similar to the kind used to frame certificates and
office awards.

“See?”

She accepted one of the
frames from him. It was a group photo of several men in suits and a woman. The
woman’s mode of dress fixed the timeframe for Rachel. Her skirt was long, and
the fabric was draped with no crinoline. She wore a shirtwaist. Her hair was
piled on top of her head. The men were arrayed along the stairs in various
poses, even lounging, certainly nothing stiff as one might see in formal
antique photos. There was an air of noblesse oblige to the photo that made her
think of long ago when the rich could afford to flirt with unconventional
lifestyles and dally with new ideas. She tore her attention away from it.

“Jack, what about David
Kilmer?”

“I don’t know. I have
to think about it.” He shook his head. “But not right now.”

“You aren’t angry?”

“Angry? At Kilmer, yes.
Not at you.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t help
smiling. She hid her expression by looking down at the framed photograph.

Jack pointed a finger,
touching the glass. “The man in the middle, with the goatee, is my
great-grandfather.”

“The others?” She
turned it over. Names were scribbled on the back in a tall, looping hand. “Is
this correct?”

“What?”

She pointed to the
names, faded and scribbled. “These. I can barely decipher them, but is
that...Sloan? Kuhn? Those names are familiar. I’m going to research them and
see if I can tie the names up with the faces.”

Her brain was
galloping. She was positive she recognized those names. This could be the heart
of his renovation, of marketing Wynnedower.

Griffin Wynne—artist
and patron of the arts—the poster from the 1913 Armory Show she’d found in the
attic—tales of visiting artists—the photographic proof of high times at
Wynnedower. There was value to be mined here. Perhaps they could play on the
myth of the hidden treasure? Why not? Slogans bloomed in her head.
Myth and
History and Treasure. Or maybe Myth, Mystique and Roaring High Times…..

She took the next
framed photograph from his hands. It showed women in Greek togas—very short
ones. Ivy was wrapped around their heads, and they were smiling and posing. She
picked up another one.

“Who’s in this photo?”
Excited, she tapped her finger on the glass. “Oh, goodness, Jack. I don’t know who’s
standing next to Griffin, but this is your stairway, Wynnedower’s staircase,
and that’s a Manet on the wall behind them.”

Jack sat on the arm of
his sofa. “When I found the photos, it brought back memories. Things I’d
forgotten. I remember these from the library. They hung in there when I was a
kid. I knew you’d get a kick out of them, but then I found you upstairs at
Helene’s door. You should’ve come directly to me. You know that, right?”

She sat the framed photos
down on his desk. It was difficult to come back to an awkward topic, but
important.

“He told me that he and
Helene fell in love and you paid him to go away.”

Jack checked out the
view, now pitch dark, before answering. “He was using my sister.”

“He said he loved her.
If he was using her, then for what? What did he hope to gain?”

“A fortune that no
longer existed? Maybe this house?” He looked at the ceiling molding, then
around the room. “Something this house represented to him, maybe.” He added
softly, “He grew up not far from here. As a child he came with his grandfather
to do work around here. He was about the same age as Helene, a little younger
than me. He wanted to be one of us. He wasn’t one of us. He wanted a way in,
maybe.”

He shrugged. “More
likely, he wanted the wealth that didn’t exist. Hasn’t existed since old
Griffin Wynne partied hearty with his artist buddies and threw his fortune into
their various schemes and dreams.”

Had Kilmer mentioned
growing up in the area? Knowing Jack and Helene as children? She didn’t think
he had…or maybe it was just a lack of specifics and she’d assumed. Had he done
that deliberately? No matter, Jack had taken care of him before and would
again.

“One more thing. After
you and May went up to Helene, I felt a draft and realized the French doors to
the conservatory were open and the cardboard patch in the exterior door was on
the floor.”

He stared. “That’s how
he got in?”

“He. Or someone else. We
need to get that pane fixed. It’s glass, so it’s no more than a psychological
barrier, but better than cardboard. We also need a locksmith to put a better
lock on the door.”

He nodded. “A glazier
and a locksmith. That’s beyond Brendan’s skill. Can you arrange it?”

“I can.” Now they could
move on to more important things. “Jack. You know I have a weird kind of brain,
right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “This is none of my business, except you
did invite me in and pay me to apply my skills to this house and its contents,
so, as you said earlier, you did make it my business? I’m not a marketer, not a
business person in any sense. I count things and collect extraneous information
along the way. I can’t help it.”

“Get it over with. I
think you drag out explanations and questions to torture me into doing what you
want.”

She did a quick check
of his face. He was smiling. She picked up one of the framed photos and turned
it to face him. “This is the answer.”

Confusion clouded his
face. He shook his head. “To what?”

“To the renovation
question.”

“The renovation or sale
question?”

“If you move forward
with the renovation, yes. If you decide to sell, a certain amount of
renovation, plus this.” She waved the photo. “This could only help the price.
That is, unless you sell to someone who only wants to knock it down for an
office or a subdivision.”

Visions filled her
head. She paced as she explained. “The concept of the birth of modern art, the
mystique of the bohemian lifestyle, the gilded age into the roaring twenties,
there’s so much we can go with. Build upon. It’s real. It really happened
here.” She closed her eyes and dramatically drew in a deep breath. “It’s still
in the air. The atmosphere here is steeped in it. And what about you? You’re
having your own exhibition.”

“A small gallery
showing.”

“In New York City.
Don’t downplay it.”

He shoved his hands in
his pockets as he paced slowly with short steps, thinking, absorbed. Finally he
stopped and shook his head, perhaps hoping to dislodge thoughts he wasn’t ready
to deal with right now. On the other hand, he hadn’t laughed at her or gotten
angry.

She spoke softly. “It
might be interesting to get some good copies of some of the paintings that were
at the Armory show. It was a seminal event and remembered in a lot of quarters.
In fact, someone at the University of Virginia did a big thing about it on the
anniversary of the exhibition. It’s on the Web. I found it when I was preparing
for the interview with Mr. Ballew. I did a lot of surfing and reading, brushing
up for the interview.”

Jack said, “Maybe
replicas, maybe some biographical stuff of some of the artists, reflected in
the public rooms and in the guest rooms. Wait.” He held up his hand as if
directing traffic, as if he could thereby direct their thoughts.

“This deserves thought
and I don’t have time. I don’t have time to deal with Kilmer either, but I have
to make time for that, for Helene’s sake.” He put the framed photos back into
the top of the box.

“Wait,” Rachel echoed.
“I understand you can’t be side-tracked right now, but do you mind if I keep
the photos in my room? For inspiration? I’ll have ideas for you when you return
from New York.”

He smiled. She read
appreciation in his eyes. Admiration. Well, that was probably pushing it too
far. Attraction? Maybe, but it and everything else came in third or later for
Jack. Everything stacked up behind Helene and his painting. And Wynnedower.

She understood. They
both had responsibilities. For her, everything had come second to Jeremy.

A shiver took her. To
consider shoving Jeremy out of the top priority spot felt like anticipating a
gravitational shift of the poles. Why? Because then her choices would all be
about herself and accountable to her, with no ‘Jeremy’ in the equation.

Jack handed her the
photographs. “What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking about
my brother.” She traced the circumference of one frame with a finger. “I have
to let him go. To live his life, I mean. But it’s so sudden. One day he was a
child and our worlds revolved around each other. Everything I’ve ever done was
for him or because of him. I’ve spent my life worrying and planning for him.
Now my worry is what happened to change him so suddenly? Has he gotten in with
the wrong people? I don’t know.”

“Was it sudden?
Really?”

“He talked about
wanting to be independent.” She shook her head. “But he’s all set to go back to
college to get his advanced degree—I don’t want him to throw it away because
he’s suddenly gotten touchy about taking money from me or found the wrong crowd
or….”

“Or the wrong woman?”

He made it sound like
jealousy.

“I want the best for
him. As you do for Helene.”

The conversational
atmosphere switched off.

Jack said, “I’ve got to
get back to work.” He left.

Why did she bother with
him?

He came back and stuck
his head through the open doorway. “Thanks, Rachel.” And then he was gone
again.

She put the frames back
in the box, turned off the light and closed the door to his quarters. While
carrying the box up the stairs, she admitted once and for all that she wanted
to stay. It wasn’t about waiting for Jeremy or about saving money or finishing
a job.

She wanted to stay at
Wynnedower. Jack and Helene needed her.

“Rachel?”

Startled, she jumped
and the measuring tape snapped back into its case.

“Sorry. I scared you.”

It was the tone of his
voice that scared her and his expression. Subdued, almost depressed.

“Not scared. I was
focused, checking the measurements the carpenter made.” She rattled on,
watching his face. “Not that I don’t trust him, but the numbers didn’t line up
with the other estimates.”

“I’ve seen some of them
coming by. I appreciate your efforts. May mentioned it, too.”

“Should I translate
that as ‘complained’?” She tried to keep it light. It had been a short two days
since their exciting conversation about art and ideas for marketing Wynnedower.
Just today a carpenter and a general contractor had come by, so eager to get
inside the mansion that they were practically drooling. “This is what you
wanted, right?”