Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I glance down at the polished floor again, my fingers drumming a rhythm on the glass surface. Hearing my friends’ voices makes me crave home in a way that makes my chest ache, but even as I feel the whirl of homesickness wash over me and the thought of leaving beckons, part of me is still fascinated by the idea of what’s in that house. The paintings. The masterpieces. The old masters I’ve spent my life dreaming about, the chance to work on them, to restore them to their former glory tugs at me, a lure I can’t quite ignore. What a delight it would be to work on such works of genius.
The door rattles faintly, and I glance up and see Gavin coming back in. I press the cell phone to my ear.
“Guys, I have to go. The solicitor is back.”
I hear Olivia telling me to keep them updated as I end the call and slip my phone back into my purse, which is now plopped on the chair Sheldon vacated.
“Miss Button,” Gavin’s voice is smooth and measured as he sits back down. “Are you ready to proceed?”
I hesitate, swallowing the lump in my throat. Then, in a flash of clarity, I decide. My heart hammers, but my voice is firm. I know I am making the right choice.
“Gavin, I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind. I want to go home. Back to the UK. I’m not doing this challenge. It’s absurd to say the least.”
There’s a pause, a subtle shift in his tone.
“That is, of course, your right, and if you are sure, then a flight will be arranged for you whenever you are ready to leave. But I must ask one more thing of you first. Before you make your final decision, your father requested that you see his art collection first. He wanted you to be acquainted with the paintings before you take any action. It was very important to him.”
I grit my teeth. The truth is, I am reluctant to see them because it’s just killing time and now my decision is made. I just want to leave, and I am afraid seeing the collection will only make me question my decision and leave a sense of regret.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll see them.”
The drive back to the estate with Gavin is silent except for the soft purr of the car engine. Gavin doesn’t speak, and I don’t know what there is left to say, so I don’t either. My mind spins with apprehension, curiosity, anticipation, and dread all tangled together into a hard vibrating knot.
When we arrive at the house, we enter through the main doors, and he leads me down a long hallway I haven’t yet traversed. The walls here are adorned with tapestries and portraits of Joseph in various stages of his life. In some of the paintings, he is smiling; in others, he is brooding. In all of them, he is commanding. His eyes in every piece seem to be watching me, judging me, challenging me, asking me if I have what it takes to pass his tests, or if I will be a disappointment to him. Finally, we stop before a set of heavy metal doors. Gavin keys in a set of numbers on a pad, then scans his iris. The safe opens slowly, and I step into a vault that feels like a cathedral.
The room is vast with tall ceilings. I can tell instantly that the temperature and the humidity are perfectly controlled. As I look around in awe, the reinforced steel ceilings start rolling away, leaving a glass ceiling. The whole place becomes suffused with sunlight. Gavin leads me towards an alcove. The paintings are mounted carefully in their own frames, and all in protective wooden supports. Some are still covered with a thin layer of breathable sheeting. I recognize the smell and rejoice in it. Varnish, dry canvas, and something ancient… the scent of history preserved.
I stop at the first painting and lift the cloth covering. It catches my breath. Wow! A Vermeer! Oh wow! I remember this painting. An anonymous bidder bought it in 2015 at an auction in Amsterdam. My father was the buyer. The light falls across the delicate, flawless brushwork. I know that rich colors are hidden behind the aged brown glazes. My fingers itch to remove the centuries-old glaze, to reveal the hidden brilliance beneath it, to bring the painting back to life.
Gavin stands silently behind me, his presence unobtrusive, but I know he is watching my reaction like a hawk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t offer commentary. He simply watches me as I take in each uncovered work, as though the paintings themselves will speak and demand my respect and attention.
I wander slowly from one masterpiece to the next. Murillo, Titian, Rembrandt. Each canvas is literally priceless. Each brush stroke is a challenge, a responsibility, an absolute privilege. To bring these masterpieces back to their original luster and magnificence. I know I can do it. My pulse quickens and my heart pounds in my chest. This is what I’ve trained for, what I’ve dreamed about. This right here is my idea of heaven.