The Epiphanies of the Unknown

Fourth of July 2010.  It was 89 degrees and 7:00PM New York time.  Felix walked through the Manor house he had bought for Ashley surveying the day’s work by the skilled laborers.  Reclaimed wood from various old Brooklyn buildings had been brought in to reconstruct the original beams and joists.  Because the wood was hard oak and literally ancient, it took time to faithfully rebuild what had been accidentally torn down.  Abe told Louis earlier in the day that many of the oak beams came from an old livery stable turned private residence on Court Street that had finally been torn down in order to make way for a Banana Republic clothing store. There was a deep sense of loss when he conveyed the news.  Little by little forgotten parts of New York were being chipped away in the name of progress.  The biggest innovator or demolisher was Robert Moses depending on your perspective.

The air was humid and Felix quickly sweat down his Armani shirt and slacks.  As he wandered from room to room he tried hard to put himself in Ashley’s shoes and genuinely take in the craftsmanship and appreciate the history that was infused in the old house.  The molding and the fleur de lis and the old wallpaper whispered things to him that, perhaps, he had never experienced before.  It was not anything that he could honestly put into words.  Studying the architecture and the brilliant craftsmanship of the old house made him suddenly appreciate the kind of artisanship that brought the house to life, gave it character and a kind of eccentricity…just like Ashley.  The epiphanies came quick and wordless.  It was a sudden burst of knowing.  A quick flash of awareness and being alive just as the house was alive in a hibernating state.  Felix felt an overwhelming need to revive it at any cost---down to the drawer pulls and square headed iron nails that held the planks of the sub-floor in place. 

Ashley was visibly absent for the press conference earlier in the day.  The whole slant to the story was that Felix had taken it upon himself to rebuild a castle for the love of his life.  Louis handled it with great aplomb and manufactured the story that Ashley was absent because she was overseas collecting various authentic materials to help restore the grand mansion. The broadcast on the local evening news made Felix look like a hero, a community activist and protector of the city’s history.  Somehow he didn’t quite feel like a hero.  He felt lost.  His girlfriend was in London with another woman.  He pulled out is cell phone and dialed her number.

“Hey, Felix.” He heard her answer through the tinny, crackling amplifier.  She sounded a million miles away.

“Hey.  How’s your vacation?”  He asked sweetly.

“Felix, it’s 1:00AM here.”  Ashley replied sounding tired.

“Oh, I’m sorry---did I wake you?”

“No.  But I’m about to turn in.  What’s going on?”  She said heavily.

“The Press conference went over really well.”  He said cheerfully.

“Oh, Great---Hey, I’m sorry I wasn’t there.  I’m sure you guys did a great job.” She said.

“Yeah, Mayor Mike came out and everything.  Listen, when are you going to be back because I really want your input on this.  I mean, the house is intricate and amazing.  I want to find authentic materials and things to reconstruct---“

“I’m going to be here for a while.” Ashley interrupted.

“How long?” Felix asked as he fidgeted with a rotten piece of molding that had fallen from the east wing ceiling.

“About three months.” She replied.

“Three months!” He exclaimed.  “Look, are you moving to London with her.  What the hell is going on?  I bought the fucking house.  If you don’t want it I’m selling it.”

“I do want the house, Felix.  I love the house.  I do.  I just…I found these paintings at the Tate and they’re…I don’t know, I can’t describe how they make me feel but they’re important and I want to study them and I need a good amount of time to do that.”

“Are you blowing me off?” Felix said angrily. 

“I thought you said the house was mine.” Ashley said pointedly. 

“Are you going to be with her for three months?” He shot back.

“Her?  She has a name.  She’s not a cat, you know. No.  Chelsea has to be back in New York by the end of the week to finish her article.” She replied.

“I’m flying in.” He threatened.  “If you’re going to do this then do it to my face.”

“I’m living my life, Felix, and you can not control me!” She said raising her voice.  “I am not ‘doing’ anything to you.  You make your choices and you have to be responsible for how you feel about those choices.” She said and she hung up.

“Ashley!  Ashley!”  Felix said and he threw his phone on the floor where it shattered into several pieces.

“That’s gonna cost you.”  A voice said from the darkness.

“Who’s there?” Felix said startled. 

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to make you jump.” The female voice said.  “Louis told me I’d find you here.  I’m Antonia.” She purred as she moved into a work light.  She was petite with short dark hair and a round face.  Her eyes were as black as coal and she looked French.  She was in a pair of hiking shorts and leather sandals.  Felix wiped his sweaty palm on his pants and shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you.” He said embarrassed.  He leaned down and picked up the pieces of his broken cell phone. “What can I do for you?” He said softly.

“I work with the New York Historical society…in the fine art division.”  She began.  “And earlier today as the workmen were removing part of the original rotted lattice work behind the pitted plaster they came across this old wooden draughtsman’s box.  Probably the property of the original owner.”  She explained.

“Mmm, hmmm.” He grunted still reeling from his angry outburst.

“There were old photographs inside.  They were of Mr. Rhys standing next to one of his paintings.”  She continued. “Of course they’re old black and whites, like Carte de visits so the clarity is a bit muddled.”

“And what does this have to do with me?” He asked distracted.

“Well.  It just adds even more value to the property.  I’m not sure how Mr. Rhys fits into art history and more importantly New York City History, but I am now assigned to make sure that no anachronisms, materials or otherwise, are used to renovate this house.” She added.

“Are you the History police?”  He said sarcastically.

“I am.” She replied.  “I am also here to help you research and find the correct materials in order to restore this place to its gilded age grandeur.” She smiled.

Something about how Antonia grinned at that moment seemed to alleviate Felix’s frustration.  Suddenly the fireworks in Prospect Park and the East River began take over the night sky and infuse the moment with a kind of celebration, excitement and even wonder.

“You’re going to help me?” He asked again for reassurance.

“Yes.  I’ve been assigned to help you.  This is a huge undertaking. I’m not even sure where to start.  But we will have to start somewhere and I thought this would give us a clue.” She handed an old cardboard photograph to him.  On the edges he could make out some of the details of the artist’s studio.  It seemed to enliven and even challenge him.

“I’m unreachable.” He said chuckling holding the pieces of his phone. “Want to go for a beer?” He asked. 

“I’m parched.” Antonia replied and they walked through the house and the yard through crowds of kids with sparklers and pockets of inebriated adults to a neighborhood pub.

 

 

Ashley and Chelsea had just returned the rental car when Felix called.  Chelsea dropped the keys in the lock box at the parking lot leaving Ashley on the street to finish her conversation.

“Who was that?” Chelsea asked softly as she returned.

“My ex.” Ashley sighed.

“You have an ex?” Chelsea said feeling uneasy.

“Oh, no, we were never married.  An ex-boyfriend.  He’s a piece of work.” Ashley said shaking it off.

“Oh.” Chelsea replied and the tone of her voice gave way to a different subject.

“What?” Ashley asked.  Chelsea shook her head as her cheeks flushed. “What?” She pressed.

“Nothing. I just…I never knew you had an ex is all.” Chelsea said trying to dodge an uncomfortable subject.

“Why is that hard to believe?” Ashley asked unsure whether or not to feel slighted.

“I just…I can’t picture you with anyone else but me.” Chelsea said in a fragile tone.

The way she said it was incredibly endearing and Ashley felt immediately drawn to her.  As they walked arm and arm into the foyer of the Hotel, they were greeted by the Concierge.

“Ms. Barrett?” An older gentleman called.

“Yes?” Chelsea replied.

“There has been an upgrade to your suite.  Please see the front desk.” He said in his clipped British accent.  The two women were greeted by a hotel representative.

“Hello, my name is Mrs. Chamberlain and I’m pleased to inform you that Mr. Burton has generously moved you both into one of the luxury suites on the top floor.” She said.  “Follow me.”

“What about our stuff?”  Ashley asked.

“Oh, One of the chambermaids carefully gathered your belongings and moved them to the new room.” She beamed as they all stepped onto the lift. In the elevator Mrs. Chamberlain handed Chelsea and Ashley their own keycards.

“This suite comes with a fully stocked bar, access to a car and driver, all the amenities one could wish for.” The woman explained.

“Do we get to have tea with the Queen?” Ashley asked in a smartass tone.  Chelsea jabbed her in the side with an elbow. “Ow!”

Mrs. Chamberlain chuckled pleasantly more out of duty than actual humor.  How many times had she heard that from a crass American.

“And here we are.” She opened the door with her master key and as the door swung open Chelsea and Ashley’s mouths dropped.  The ceilings were twenty feet high, the walls were exposed stone and two exquisitely hand carved walnut canopy beds fitted with luxurious Egyptian linens and fine heavy damask bed curtains cloaked the sleepers in privacy.  On the walls hung what looked to be unicorn tapestries.  If they were not the real thing then they were just as good as the medieval ones hanging at the Cloisters.  The room had a balcony with twelve-foot high French doors.  The windows were just as grand.  Beautiful satin curtains could be drawn to cut out the spill of light from the Eye and other high rise buildings.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”  Mrs. Chamberlain said.  “Oh, and Mr. Burton left this for you.” She placed a note in Chelsea’s hand and quietly slipped away.

 

Dear Chelsea,

When you get this note please call me immediately.  It is urgent I speak with you.  I don’t care what time it is.  I have been given an extraordinary assignment and I must speak with you before I leave.  I hope you enjoy the room.

Very Sincerely,

Scott

 

Chelsea folded the note and picked up the stationary phone on the credenza.

“What are you doing?  It’s 2:00 o’clock in the morning.”  Ashley said.

“He said to call him.” Chelsea replied sheepishly.  Ashley sank down on one of the beds.  Her eyes fixed on an intricate design at the top of the canopy.

 

“Hey Scott.  It’s Chelsea….Yeah, it’s beautiful.  It’s astonishing.  You shouldn’t have, really---but thank you!”  Ashley heard her say.  “It’s really late, though.” Chelsea whispered.

“I can hear you.  I’m still here.”  Ashley said from her bed.

“Okay, okay…Um, It can’t wait til the morning?” Chelsea asked. She sighed and looked over at Ashley’s bed.  “All right.  I’ll be down in a minute.”  She hung up the phone.  Ashley could feel a wave of emotion start to roll over her.  She couldn’t understand why.  She was not the possessive type.  She sat upright and looked at Chelsea who seemed to be wearing shame as a badge.

“I can’t compete.” Ashley said softly and the tears started to roll and her nose started to run.

“What are you talking about?” Chelsea asked startled by her honesty,

“If this is what it takes, I can’t compete.  I can only give you what I have and that’s me.  I’m all there is.” She said softly.

“You don’t understand.  I have to see him.”  She said softly.

“It hurts my feelings that you don’t think I count.” Ashley replied and she rolled over and turned her back. 

Chelsea slipped out into the hallway and all the feelings she had kept guarded came rushing forth.  She heaved with confusion and a kind of grief.  She was at a crossroads wondering which path to take.  She obviously felt strongly about both Ashley and Scott.  If she was carrying Scott’s child, and she was convinced of that truth, perhaps the universe had led her to him. However, she could not remember being intimate with him and was unaware of what that experience was really like.  She did not have the magical moments and an entire past existence tugging at her as she did with Ashley.  And, although she and Ashley had never actually made love she already knew what it would feel like.  It would be all consuming.  It would be the mindful merging of body, mind and spirit. Her Midwestern conventional upbringing seemed to override what her heart appeared to be craving.  Marriage is an institution born and bred of business arrangements.  As long as there are structures and rules in the agreement, all parties can get along. Those sentiments surprised her.  Were they her own thoughts, she wondered.  But what of love?  What of the rules?  Are there any?  What of being annihilated by the thing that stirs that inexplicable passion?  What of being submerged completely in the eddies and tides of sheer ecstasy?  What of identity?  All of these questions churned in Chelsea’s head as she tried to catch her breath and make her way to the hotel lobby.  She had been in this predicament before and she could feel it but she could not put her finger on its origin.  It was a remnant.  A dull, lingering, feeling that touched her edges.  She found a Kleenex in her pocket and quickly dabbed her eyes. Just then the elevator doors opened and there he was…holding a bouquet of freshly cut baby blue hydrangeas.  He smiled endearingly.  How did he know they were her favorite flower?  Where did he find them on such short notice?  Was this an elaborate plan, a grand courtship to win her over?  She wondered and the questions were sharp at their tip.

“Em, you must be tired.  I really appreciate you taking a moment to see me.  How---how are you feeling?”  He asked as he led her to a bevy of puffy chairs in the hotel’s lobby.  As she looked around the hotel patrons coming back from a night of clubbing and pubbing moved in slow motion.  The bustling murmur of youth faded into some unknown vault.  She could hear her own heart and it sped up as she prepared to speak.

“I’m fine. A bit tired.” She said softly.

“I’ll be brief.  I’ve taken an assignment and I leave in about 5 hours. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.  You see, I was the equivalent of a navy seal in the royal forces when I was younger.  And now I have the opportunity to embed myself in Afghanistan and report on the British forces as well as the US forces still there.” He said cheerfully.

“That’s great. Um, wow…how long will you be gone?” She asked a bit upended by the news.

“I’m not sure.” He replied.

“It’s dangerous.” She said.

“Very.” He replied.

“Well, that’s great---congratulations.  That’s, like…real journalism.”  She said.

“Yeah, yeah, the BBC finally threw me a bone.” He said taking her in.

“So…what is this all about?” Chelsea said confused.

“I wanted you to wait for me.” He said softly.

“I haven’t made a decision yet.” She whispered.

“I know.  But if you do decide to go through with it…I wanted you to know that I will be back…and I will be ready…and I won’t ever forget you.”  He replied.

Chelsea took in a deep breath.  “Okay.”

“Okay, what?” He asked as he checked his watch.

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind when I make my decision.” She said and she got up to leave.

“Chelsea.  I was hoping I’d convince you to keep it.” He said anxiously.

“Yeah, well…you’re going to go get your ass shot off and so the probability of me being a single mom is pretty high.  And I have to be honest.  I don’t want to be a single mom.  I want a partner.” She walked over to the elevator bank and she could see him standing there deflated and confused.  She smiled weakly and disappeared behind the metal doors.  As the elevator ascended she could feel the weight of her body.  She felt proud of herself.  There was a rush of relief.  She was not going to settle.  She was not going to repeat a pattern.  She was going to try something new.

The Deep Blue Sea

Ashley stood transfixed. Invigorated. Inspired. Overwhelmed. Transported. Encompassed. The blue wrapped around in thick swirls. Impasto in places, thin and translucent in others. They were large. As large as the walls themselves. The crests of the waves, delicate and dangerous. The expanse of sea and sky, foreboding and liberating. She was in the water. She was under the water and at times gasping for air. It was if she was on Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa, yet abstract and personal. A kind of history was evident in the brush strokes. A memory of blue. A complex variety of hues. Aquamarine, turquoise, prussian, colbalt, indigo, azure, misty, cerulean, periwinkle, royal, robin’s egg, and all the other variations in between. Like a Rothko, the paintings held significance in deep places, a bit more representational like Anselm Kiefer and yet a series of canvas monoliths to rival Whistler and Picasso. Ashley was aware that the paintings were extremely important to art history and yet no one knew of them. Why?, she wondered. The pieces had numerous contemporary ideas and yet they were painted before the dawn of the twentieth century. They were masterpieces before their time and rendered Picasso’s revolutionary style and aesthetic as almost passé. They held the same importance as Manet, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Bonnard and Vulliard combined.

The private gallery of the Tate was eerily silent. In that space Ashley heard no traffic or outside noise. No hushed whispers of museum employees or the far off shuffle of museum patrons quietly moving from one room to another. After a moment the silence was broken as Chelsea, stepping lightly, wandered in and stood next to Ashley.

“How did the interview go?” Ashley whispered.

“Fine. Mr. Hirst is a gracious subject.” Chelsea replied.

“How are you?” Ashley continued.

“I, I actually feel great. Thank you---How are you?” Chelsea asked a little tentative.

“That soup was amazing.” Ashley replied and fixed her gaze on the canvases again.

“They’re…really…overwhelming.” Ashley said softly.

“Uh-huh…Do you realize that you have the same depth, the same gestural strokes?” Chelsea asked. “The same use of color?”

Ashley just nodded her head in silence taking in the expanse of the work. Chelsea walked over to the title card. It read, “Tempest, 1895 New York Harbor.”

“It’s the Irish Sea.” Ashley said.

“No. It’s New York Harbor, says here on the card.” Chelsea corrected.

“It’s the Irish Sea.” Ashley reiterated confidently. Chelsea pulled out her notepad and scribbled something in it.

“Why are these hidden from view? Why aren’t they public?”

“I don’t know.” Chelsea answered. “Maybe they’re too big to guard…Maybe they’ve had incidents where a patron tried to deface or destroy it.”

“No…There’s something in these paintings.” Ashley said as she tried hard to deconstruct them in her mind.

“Like what?” Chelsea asked.

“Something sacred.” Ashley said and it was as if she were in a trance, her eyes fixed on the movement of the water.

“Here’s something I bet you haven’t seen yet. Look at the horizon---or horizon line.” Chelsea directed. “What sets the sky from the ocean?”

“Looks like a slightly different shade of blue.” Ashley answered.

Chelsea shook her head and looked around. “Don’t let the guards see you, but get up as close as you can to the line.”

Ashley stood up on her tiptoes and moved within inches of the painting. There, about the width of a human hair was a fine, straight line painted in brilliant cadmium orange.

“It’s an optical illusion.” Chelsea said.

“It makes sense. They’re complimentary colors. I do that often when I paint. It’s a part of theory.” Ashley said matter-of-factly.

“When have you ever seen orange in the ocean?” Chelsea asked.

“At sunset.”

“Then why not paint a sunset. That’s not a sunset.” Chelsea said.

“Maybe it was ‘his’ sunset…or moonset or, or maybe it is what it is. An orange line.” Ashley replied. “Sometimes a painter makes marks just because it satisfies something.” She stopped and stared at the tiny straight edge. It pierced her thoughts with more questions than answers. “I want to know why they’re hidden from the public. These need to be studied and written about and taught in textbooks and on the web. There’s a chunk of information missing from that entire humanity.”

“I agree.” Chelsea said softly.

“Whom do I talk to?” Ashley queried.

“I guess the Rhys Estate.” Chelsea offered. “That’s what you told me when you found the old pictures at the Frick.” Ashley turned back to gaze at the paintings. Again something flickered across her face and she pulled the orange scarf from her pocket.

“Where’d you get that?” Chelsea asked a bit surprised.

“The Indian woman…at the restaurant. She made the soup.” Ashley replied. She studied the scarf and then analyzed the tiny painted line. They were amazingly close in color. They may have even been the same color at one time but age and dust had altered the hue on the canvases over the ages.

Chelsea reached for the scarf and as her fingers made contact there was something so comforting in the fabric that it made her inhale deeply. It was like recovering a long lost baby blanket. The sensation, the smell, the color all brought about a sense of peace and joy. Ashley still held onto one end of the scarf and she felt oddly peaceful in a foreign place. She felt as though she was riding horseback even though both feet were planted firmly on the ground.

“Do you feel a little woozy?” Ashley asked.

“Yeah. A little drunk, almost. Do you think it was the soup?” Chelsea replied.

“I don’t know…I don’t feel bad…or ill. Do you?” Ashley asked.

“No, not at all. I feel…wonderful.” Chelsea said and her eyes melted into softness. Ashley thought for a moment that Chelsea might kiss her right then but her eyes revealed a sense of restriction and propriety.

“We should get you to a doctor.” Ashley said breaking their silence. “You should be properly examined to see if you really are pregnant.” Chelsea nodded and they moved to the entrance of the grand exhibition space.

“Before we leave we should find out who the executor of the estate is.” Chelsea said. They made their way into the grand hall and through the atrium. A busty woman of about fifty wearing horn rimmed glasses from the sixties greeted them on their way out.

“I trust your experience with the Rhys paintings has been fruitful?” She said in an odd British accent remarkably similar to Julia Child.

“It was an absolute treat and will round out my article for the magazine, thank you.” Chelsea said sweetly. The woman smiled proudly.

“He is one of the best kept secrets in London. We’re very proud of him.” The woman replied.

“Who is the executor of his estate?” Chelsea inquired.

“Oh, my. Well, em…let me see now…I believe it is the Rhys’s granddaughter. Chelsea Thornton Rhys.” The woman answered. Chelsea’s mouth nearly fell to the ground.

“Does she live here in London?” Ashley asked.

“Yes, well, just on the outskirts of London in Essex. But she is ninety eight and residing in a very exclusive assisted living home. It’s very hard to see her. She does not take many appointments.” The woman said.

“Do you have the name of the residence?” Chelsea asked.

“In my office.” The woman said cheerfully as she waved them along with her hand.

“I’ll drive.” Ashley said as the rental car official handed her the key.

“Remember stay to the left.” The man said pleasantly.

“Y’all do it the other way around, don’t ya?” Ashley quipped in her southern drawl. The man stared at her blankly. “It’s all right. We’ll make do.” She added.

“You think we can just show up without an appointment? Seems like a waste of time and money.” Chelsea said.

“Never know until we try…Just feed me the directions from your iphone.” Ashley replied. She turned the key, shifted the mini and off they went.

As they walked down the corridor of the very exclusive residence they both knew that the woman they wanted an interview with was probably worth millions. She had most likely been presented to the queen or may have even been an acquaintance in her youth.

“May I help you?” A snobby woman dressed in heels and Gucci glasses asked from behind the curved concierge island.

“Are you the nurse in charge?” Ashley asked innocently and she could feel Chelsea’s elbow in her side.

“Whom do you wish to see?” The woman purred.

“I’m so sorry to bother you but my name is Chelsea Barrett and I recently paid a visit to the Rhys mausoleum in Green-wood cemetery in New York.” Chelsea began.

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman interrupted.

“I have some information for Ms. Rhys.” Chelsea replied.

“If you do not have an appointment I’m afraid Ms. Rhys cannot see you.” The woman said and she turned away to resume her computer work.

“The bill for the perpetual care is overdue. Now I’m sure it is an oversight by her accountant but I thought I’d handle the matter myself.” Chelsea said. The woman did not reply or even acknowledge Chelsea’s presence.

“Excuse me?” Chelsea said as Ashley moved around the island slowly. “What if I do have an appointment.?”

“I know you do not. Please leave.” The woman said without ever turning.

“Oh my God, you’re on facebook!” Ashley squealed. The woman fumbled to clear her screen. “You were on facebook and it is 4:42 London time. Gawd, I bet your supervisor might want to log on to see what you’ve been doing.” Ashley said sweetly.

The woman jumped up. “I’m very sorry but if you do not have an appointment I cannot let you in.”

“I seem to recall that these places like to start serving dinner round about five, you know for the sun-downers.” Ashley said in her thick accent. The woman stood silent and sheepish. “Why I think it is right nice of you to invite us to dinner on your break in the cafeteria. Thank you so much! We’ll just wait over here for fifteen minutes while you write out the passes and make sure we’re legit.” Ashley grabbed Chelsea’s arm and they sat down in two huge puffy chairs decked out in toile.

“You…are brilliant.” Chelsea whispered.

“I just cannot abide rude people.” Ashley stated. “There’s just no excuse.” And she threaded her fingers thru Chelsea’s as they listened to big band music being piped through the building.

Delilah was her name. She quickly wrote out the building passes for both Ashley and Chelsea. Then cleared her throat. As she handed the stickers to the women she said, “The story is we went to school together in the states. I was the foreign exchange student.”

“You look way older than us.” Ashley said.

“I was the ‘foreign exchange’ student.” Delilah replied emphasizing each word. “I will conveniently excuse myself to go to the loo for five minutes. You will get the information you need. When I return I will escort you from the building. We all understand?” She said in a snotty tone. Ashley and Chelsea nodded and they sauntered down the long elegant hallway to dinner.

After ordering a shank of meat---beef roast, roasted potatoes, overcooked vegetables and Yorkshire pudding Ashley and Chelsea took in the atmosphere. Gentlemen dressed in fine suits, some in wheelchairs, others on walkers and still others with excellent mobility drifted in an out of the elegant cafeteria dressed to look like a posh restaurant complete with wait staff and busboys. Elderly women wore their finest gowns and jewelry as if competing in a pageant, their hair ‘done’ in-house by the beauty shop as part of the compound.

“I feel woefully underdressed.” Ashley whispered to Chelsea.

“You are.” Delilah said pointedly. “That’s why you’re my ‘American friends’.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ashley asked defensively.

“If you take offense by it then you must know.” Delilah said sweetly.

“Look. If you got something to say then say it ‘cause I won’t think twice about givin’ you a fat lip.” Ashley replied.

“Calm down.” Chelsea advised. “We’ll get what we need and then leave.”

At that moment an elderly woman was wheeled in and parked at a small table with another grand dame and gentleman. The waiters hustled by quickly and brought out their evening meal, complete with fine china, the most stunning silverware and pomp and circumstance to rival the Queen’s supper.

“That is Ms. Rhys.” Delilah whispered. “She will look about the room for me, wave and then continue her meal. After she waves I shall excuse myself. Please be brief and then get the hell out of my building.” She smiled. The old woman took in the room and when her eyes rested on Delilah she smiled kindly and waved as predicted. But something caught her attention and she gazed at Ashley for sometime. Her eyes registering recognition and confusion. Then she looked over and saw Chelsea and something made sense in her history. Her napkin fell to the floor as did some of her silverware. A waiter rushed to her table to inquire what the matter was.

“Did you know my grandmother and grandfather were coming tonight?” She said and her voice quivered with upset.