The Prize

by Vanessa Fewings

  Tobias read my confliction and gestured for me to end the call.

  “I’ll come to you,” she said.

  My gaze shot to Tobias.

  “Clara, I have to go. I love you.”

  She sighed heavily. “I love you. Be careful. Call again soon.”

  I hung up and dropped my phone into Tobias’s outstretched hand. I couldn’t work out if I felt better for having spoken with her. At least she knew I was thinking of her and I was safe.

  “You okay?” Tobias tucked the phone away.

  “It went as expected.” I pushed myself to my feet. “Actually, I feel a little sick.”

  “Can I do anything?”

  “I’m okay.”

  He gave me a sympathetic smile. “I get it.”

  Trying to calm my anxiety from just having called home, I blew out a wary breath. Hearing Clara’s voice was yet another reminder of how far out of my comfort zone I’d come.

  I followed Tobias along the well-worn pathway with its uneven tiles. We continued down a sprawling archway with stone pillars to our left and it gave this place the flair of a cathedral.

  “Why are we here?” I managed to keep up with his purposeful strides.

  “There’s someone I need to talk with.”

  “You’re not seriously dragging a church into this?”

  “Monastery.”

  “I’m not doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Whatever you’re up to.”

  “Go wait in the car, then.”

  I followed him through the door and we were greeted by the scent of incense and melting candle wax. This small chapel reminded me of the days when I’d gone to church with my dad. There was a bucket at the front to catch the leaks from the imminent rain.

  This place was no less holy for its dilapidated state, and I broke away from Tobias to lean on a pew and genuflect toward the nave. Bowing my head in respect I whispered a small prayer. When I rose and turned to look at Tobias, he was bathed in the morning light streaming in from the stained-glass windows and he was gazing up at the frescoed ceiling.

  I crossed the space between us and followed his gaze, admiring the fading fresco detailing monks in prayer with Christ in the center offering his blessing. There was a sacredness to this place; a humility. From the look of the images above someone had begun to restore the artwork and had brightened the colors and lovingly tried to repair the damage.

  “Let’s just go.” I reached up to adjust his scarf.

  He replied in a language I’d never heard before and it sounded lyrically complex and caused the fine hairs on my forearms to prickle.

  “That wasn’t French. What was that?”

  “You spoke to your god. I spoke to mine.”

  “What language was that?”

  “Djinang.” Tobias towered over me. “I asked God to let you see my side of things.”

  I grabbed his lapels and rose onto my tiptoes. “My side is rational.”

  “I see you, Zara Leighton. Right inside your soul.” His lips lingered close to mine. “I feel what you feel. Sense what you sense. You’re close to a breakthrough.”

  “Breakthrough?”

  “You’re realizing the world is not perfect.” He arched a brow.

  “I know.”

  He shook his head. “You’re in denial.”

  “We mustn’t do any wrong here.”

  “The only law I follow is gravity.”

  My icy glare held his, and then settled on his lips which were annoyingly kissable.

  A deep voice boomed from across the chapel. “We don’t do weddings.”

  I broke away and gestured my apology toward the middle-aged monk who was walking toward us.

  Tobias extended his hand to him. “Brother Lawrence?”

  “Yes.” He beamed a welcoming smile as they shook hands.

  “We have an appointment with you.”

  “Mr. Wilder?” Brother Lawrence looked amused. “I thought you’d be older for some reason.”

  He shook my hand enthusiastically too and seemed happy to see us, and I couldn’t help but squint my disapproval at Tobias.

  We walked through the nave all the way to his office that was a cozy space. He poured us two cups of coffee. “You found us without difficulty?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” Tobias wrapped his hands around his mug. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

  “My pleasure, of course.”

  “You’re familiar with my gallery in LA?”

  “Yes. Your collection rivals the Getty, Mr. Wilder. Quite the accomplishment.” Brother Lawrence adjusted his belt. “Over the phone you mentioned you’re opening a new gallery in the Bronx?”

  “I’m hoping to open it next month.” Tobias straightened in his seat. “We’re putting together a collection of both ancient and modern pieces, and I want to showcase artists who are undiscovered.”

  “And you’d like us to consider showing Brother Bay’s paintings?”

  “His work’s remarkable.”

  “We’re very proud of him.” He gestured his earnestness. “He remains modest nevertheless.”

  “He uses the same techniques as the old masters?” said Tobias.

  “Yes, how did you hear about his work?”

  “I read the article on him in Time magazine,” said Tobias. “I’m surprised more people haven’t heard of him.”

  “We don’t use social media.” Lawrence turned his attention to the garden. “When Brother Bay sells a painting it helps keep the lights on here. Bringing more attention to his work would be beneficial for all of us.”

  Tobias smiled his approval. “With your blessing, I’d very much like to showcase a few of his paintings at The Plaza later this week. I’m arranging a charity ball there, and I’d be delighted to present his art. If a collector shows an interest in purchasing a piece, I’ll refer the buyer to you. Though you might consider Christie’s in the future when his popularity picks up.”

  “This is extraordinarily kind of you.”

  “I’m all for supporting young talent. I take a certain pride in discovering modern masters. Though Brother Bay’s work is already receiving attention.”

  Brother Lawrence looked impressed. “Thank you, Mr. Wilder.”

  Tobias set his mug down on the coffee table and pushed himself to his feet. “May we meet with him?”

  “Of course.” Brother Lawrence led the way out.

  We headed across the courtyard and along the cloister. I tugged on the back of Tobias’s jacket to warn him I was watching his every move. He turned and flashed a megawatt smile back at me and raised his brows playfully. We stopped before an old wooden door with a metal ring for a handle.

  Lawrence knocked once. “Here we are.”

  We stepped inside the chilled room and I sucked in a breath of awe—

  The walls were adorned with modern portraits that were remarkably real, and what stunned me most was the artist had captured his subjects using a technique adapted from the old masters. I moved closer to one of them in a golden frame and realized if this man ever wanted to become a forger the art world would be in trouble.

  Each painting reflected the soul of the individual who had posed. My gaze followed the rows of frames that led to a larger room where daylight flooded in. In the center a monk was standing before an easel and painting with the same style of the others.

  We were in the company of a genius.

  The monk turned and looked back at us with kindness in his expression, a young man of no older than thirty.

  Tobias nudged my arm and I followed his gaze toward the stack of canvases resting in a wooden tray.

  I pointed to them. “He even makes his own canvases?”

  Brother Lawrence nodded. “Bay uses paints from ingred
ients he either grows or creates from scratch. He’s obsessed with the sixteenth century.” He reached for one of the canvases and handed it to me. “He’ll tell you all about it. Don’t let him talk your ear off.” He winked. “If you’ll excuse me.” Brother Lawrence threw us a wave as he headed out.

  I turned over the canvas and marveled at the smoothness of it, assuming Tobias knew the Mona Lisa had been painted upon a handmade linen cloth of tight warp and loose weft, just like this one. If studied under a microscope the weave would appear irregular. It was the kind of hemp the specialists would look for.

  Tobias held his hand out for it. “May I?”

  I gave it to him. “Can we talk?”

  “Will you excuse us?” He smiled over at Brother Bay and led me toward a corner. “I’m not doing anything wrong, Zara.”

  “Are you really going to showcase his paintings?” I whispered.

  “Yes, they’re incredible. I’ll be proud to show them off.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “I’m here to learn.” He narrowed his gaze on me. “What are you up to?”

  I ignored his cheekiness. “Learn what exactly?”

  “Why don’t you take a walk in the garden?”

  I pointed to him. “And leave you alone in here. No way.”

  He leaned toward my ear. “Just don’t distract me with your fidgeting.”

  “Everything okay?” Brother Bay called over.

  “Yes, sorry.” Tobias ignored my glare and strolled back toward Brother Bay. “I imagine making this canvas by hand is a form of prayer for you?”

  Brother Bay nodded. “Would you like to keep it?”

  “I would love that.” Tobias rolled it up and tucked it into his jacket. “How long have you been painting?”

  “Since I was a boy.”

  He reminded me of those protégés who seemed to be born with a brush in their hand just knowing how to paint.

  “Brother Lawrence has approved us showcasing your paintings at my charity ball at The Plaza,” said Wilder. “If this sounds like something you’d be interested in?”

  “How many other artists are collaborating in this event?”

  “Just you,” he replied with a glint of pride for him.

  Brother Bay seemed to mull over this. “What’s the catch, Mr. Wilder?”

  “Catch?”

  “Yes, we may be men of God but we’re not naive. Why me?”

  Tobias caressed his jaw thoughtfully. “Are you familiar with my work in London? This is what I do. I save places of historical importance and keep history alive. It’s a passion of mine. The past teaches us so much. Brother Lawrence is a man of pride. This monastery has been self-sufficient for over one hundred years. I respect that. This is a self-sufficient endeavor. All I do is show your work. It must speak for itself.”

  “What do you get out of restoring old places?” he pushed.

  Tobias turned to face Brother Bay’s painting on the easel. “The same joy you get from creating that, I imagine. Only this is a God-given gift that you have. We all have our passions. Art history is mine. I’m currently showcasing the Qin Terra-Cotta Army in LA.”

  “I bet that is quite something,” he said wistfully.

  “It really is.”

  “We’ll keep all the profits?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Brother Bay glanced over at me. “If Brother Lawrence signs off on it. I just won’t be there. We don’t engage in acts of ego.”

  “You have my word your work will be honored,” I piped up.

  “Thank you.” He smiled and seemed to brighten at the thought.

  I’d personally seen Tobias’s philanthropic work in London and knew he had enough integrity to honor his word to these monks. They might even be able to restore their gorgeous fresco in the chapel, which would take a team of specialists who wouldn’t come cheap.

  “I hear you use Rembrandt’s technique?” Tobias sounded impressed. “I can see it in your work.”

  “Yes, I use a blurring technique.” He placed his brush down and turned to Tobias.

  “These imperceptible transitions are called sfumato,” said Wilder.

  “You know your art, then. It’s how I ensure soft transitions.” Bay pointed to the canvas. “No harsh outlines ensure there is no way of seeing that the person on the canvas isn’t real.”

  Tobias sighed in respect. “The father of the technique was Leonardo da Vinci.”

  “And Raphael also perfected it,” I said, realizing where this was going.

  Bay pointed to his canvas. “The sfumato technique mellows colors and our imaginations fill in the rest.”

  “Which is why Mona Lisa smiles when you look into her eyes,” said Tobias.

  “And her smile drops when you look at her mouth,” said Bay, flashing me a smile. “If only I was that good.”

  “Trust me, you are,” said Tobias. “I’d also very much like to show your work in my new gallery.”

  “I would like that very much,” he said. “Do you paint, Mr. Wilder?”

  “Only dabble in watercolors,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch you work. If you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not,” said Bay. “Anything in particular you’re interested in?”

  Tobias pulled up a bar stool and sat. “Tell me more about the sfumato technique?”

  “What about it interests you?”

  “Everything,” said Wilder.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I’D NOT SEEN Tobias for two days.

  He’d warned me he was heading into “the zone” and would be isolating himself as part of his process by getting absorbed into his project. I’d failed to dissuade him. This time apart should have been good for me but I missed him. Even if he was hidden away in his man cave working away on her.

  I’d tried to settle in the library where I’d pulled book after book off the shelves but found nothing to hold my attention. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t wrap my head around my colleagues at Huntly Pierre being disappointed in me.

  I couldn’t hold back any longer and went in search of my iPhone. I began in the most logical place, his bedroom. I was reminded that this had once been the maid’s quarters. Tobias had told me he preferred it down here because it was quieter. Or maybe it was because there was less in here to remind him of his grandmother. There was really nothing in here to make the place homey and as I turned around in the center I wondered if this was Wilder’s way of punishing himself. There were no luxuries in here and nothing to bring comfort.

  The gym was a few doors down so it was convenient in that way but other than this it reflected Wilder’s desire for isolation. Unlike me he’d made his bed and his possessions were well organized too, from the way he’d hung his clothes in the wardrobe and lined up his shoes in an orderly fashion. I searched the top drawers of the dresser and found my phone—only it had been dismantled and was in pieces; unusable. He knew I’d come looking for it.

  No doubt if I left the house to go and find a phone to call Huntly Pierre, Tobias would probably know I’d left and he’d come after me. I mulled over how far I’d have to get away from the house before I made the call so as not to compromise this place. I paced trying to think this through. If I unwittingly led the FBI here they’d search the house—

  That would be a disaster.

  I stopped before a painting of a woman on the beach with her two children who were playing in the sand. I wanted to climb through the canvas and be transported into the happy scene. I wanted to wade into the ocean and swim off.

  My grit was wavering.

  I realized I’d not eaten anything since yesterday afternoon and was actually pretty hungry. Heading back the way I’d come I returned to the kitchen. I rummaged around in the fridge and settled on some provolone cheese and fresh tomatoe
s and then found some whole-wheat bread to make sandwiches. At least when Tobias took a break there’d be something waiting for him to eat.

  Settling at the central island I reached for the remote control and directed it at the walled TV and CNN came on. The world still turned without us no matter what. I wondered if Tobias’s grandmother had ever felt lonely here. I imagined she’d once looked forward to his visits. Her heartbreak at losing her daughter in the plane crash must have been unbearable and then having Tobias whisked off to France by his uncle would have cut deep. I wished I’d had the chance to know her. She’d decorated this place beautifully and had elegant taste. Maybe she’d bought some of these pieces of furniture during her travels.

  Tobias and I had both lost our parents young and I wondered if it was also what had drawn us together. Although he’d been kept isolated I’d watched him with his friends and coworkers in that London pub and he’d reveled in their company. There was a complexity to him and this was why it had taken me this long to understand him. Tobias was a good man but life had distorted his sense of right and wrong.

  A noise came from the upper part of the house, revealing he was out of his man cave. I slid off my bar stool and went in search of him. On the top floor along the hallway was a ladder coming down from what looked like an attic. Taking one rung at a time I gripped the bars and climbed, and at the top peeked into the loft with its low beams and dusty particles twinkling in a stream of sunlight. Tobias was in the corner kneeling over a box.

  “Hey there,” I called out. “What are you doing?” It was so good to see him.

  “Hi, I’m taking a break.” His two-day scruff was back.

  “I made you a sandwich.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Two.” I trod carefully around a stack of boxes. Some were open and others still sealed to hold their secrets. “This looks like fun.”

  “My grandmother’s things. I wish I could go through them all.”

  “Because you have to get back to LA at some point too?”

  “Right.” His tone was infused with uncertainty.

  “Did your grandmother have any other relatives who might help with these?”

  “Maybe my cousin Edward.”