Portrait of Shade

by Benjamin Ford

  ‘I’m fine, Nathan. You’re both looking good, considering what has happened. I’m really sorry about Isadora.’

  Eudora had noticed that everyone who said those exact words – I’m really sorry about Isadora – sounded as though they were begging forgiveness because of their own guilt at the crime: if that was the case, so far Isadora’s killers numbered about twenty.

  ‘Thanks, Storm,’ Eudora sighed, trying hard not to sound exasperated.

  Storm took the hint and dropped the subject at once. Noticing the shifty looks passing between Eudora and Nathan, he then saw the ring on Eudora’s wedding finger, but diplomatically remained silent. Having said all along that Nathan and Eudora were made for each other, he had come to believe they stood no chance of ever getting together. Where love was concerned, Nathan always played his cards very close to his chest, even with his best friend.

  ‘Okay then,’ Storm said brightly, ‘where’s this marvellous painting you’d like me to inspect?’

  ‘It’s upstairs, in Gaia’s office,’ said Eudora. She and Nathan remained downstairs as he climbed the staircase. They knew that Storm worked best alone, unencumbered by irritating helpers, no matter how well meaning their assistance, and unimpeded by curious onlookers, whose constant comments would distract him.

  ‘So,’ Nathan said when they were alone, ‘what about this ring?’ He held up Eudora’s hand. ‘Are you going to tell me your theory about how it changed appearance when you put it on?’

  Eudora sighed. It was a long story, and she did not have all the facts, and she was unsure if her theory was even sound. ‘On my eighteenth birthday,’ she began, having taken a deep breath, ‘I was anonymously given a pendant. It was just a simple gold chain with a smooth oval chunk of amethyst attached, accompanied by an unsigned letter. The letter said I should protect the pendant and keep it safe, that there was also a matching amulet and ring, all of which were very special, and that should I find myself in possession of all three then I should guard them with my life, that danger would undoubtedly become part of my life.’

  She pulled out the pendant from beneath her silk blouse, and rolled up her sleeve to reveal the amulet, with its smooth oval of amethyst embedded in the gold.

  In that instant, all three items, exposed to the brilliant afternoon sunlight at the same time, began pulsing with vibrant purple fire. Eudora felt her whole body tingle and throb with the rhythmic beat of each pulse, perfectly attuned to her heartbeat.

  She dropped her sleeve in shock. The pulsing light and the throbbing sensation ceased at once, and the sudden waves of dizziness that had momentarily swamped her, receded rapidly.

  ‘Obviously the three pieces of amethyst are connected in some way… literally!’ muttered Nathan, unable to begin to comprehend the phenomenon he had just witnessed.

  Rubbing her upper arm through her blouse, staring at the ring on her finger, Eudora softly murmured, ‘They’re also linked to the painting in some way!’

  Suddenly she was gone.

  Nathan blinked incredulously. ‘Eudora?’ he whispered, his shock absolute. He repeated her name, louder, and she reappeared at once in exactly the spot from where she had disappeared. Nathan caught her as she crumpled. ‘Are you all right? What happened? Where did you go?’

  Eudora sank heavily onto the sofa, while Nathan hovered uncertainly before her. ‘I was here… and then suddenly I was upstairs, standing in front of the portrait. I just thought about the portrait, and there I was. Then I thought of the place I’d left, and here I am!’ She thought for a moment. ‘The three pieces of jewellery must be formed from the same larger piece of amethyst, and it clearly has special properties. When the pieces are brought together and exposed to sunlight, they seem to draw power from somewhere to give the person who wears them the ability to be elsewhere instantaneously.’

  Nathan frowned. ‘And where did you get that absurd idea?’

  ‘It just came into my mind. However stupid and impossible it sounds though, having witnessed what just happened, don’t you think it’s at least feasible?’

  Nathan nodded cautiously. ‘I guess so. Did Storm see you?’

  Eudora shook her head. ‘No. He was busy rummaging in his bag.’

  ‘That’s all right then. Listen; let’s not discuss this again until he’s gone, okay?’

  ‘That’s fine by me. Nate, where did this ring come from?’

  ‘I found it at an antique fair, here in London. It was quite expensive, but just seemed to call out to me. It’s rumoured to have once been owned by Selim the Second, who lived in Constantinople during the latter half of the Sixteenth Century.’

  ‘Was Selim the Second a king?’ asked Eudora, wondering why everything seemed to come back to Constantinople of the Sixteenth Century.

  ‘He was the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire at the time,’ replied Nathan. ‘That much I know because one of my earlier novels was set in that period and I did a lot of research. I’m certainly glad I wasn’t the brother of an Ottoman Sultan; fratricide was rife in those days!’

  Eudora was appalled at the mere thought of killing one’s brothers. Her eyes widened in disbelief. ‘That’s barbaric! The poor boys must have been living in constant fear of their lives, always watching over their shoulders, too terrified to fall asleep in case they never awoke!’

  ‘Dion Taine, as I recall, was a favourite artist of Selim’s father.’

  ‘What?’ cried Eudora.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ mumbled Nathan, nodding in the direction of the staircase, which Storm Delamare was rapidly descending. They lapsed into an awkward silence as he hurried towards them.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Eudora eagerly.

  Storm was practically rabid with excitement. ‘There’s no doubt about it, Dora. What you’ve got up there is without a doubt a genuine Dion Taine masterpiece, and it most certainly is his lost Trinity!’

  ‘What about the value?’ asked Nathan.

  ‘Considering it’s been missing for fifty years, it’s bound to attract a lot of attention at auction. I think you could be talking in the region of at least fifty million pounds… easily!’

  Chapter Seven

  In Paris, Gaia had the unpleasant task of identifying her cousin’s body. She actually passed out in the morgue, after which she blindly signed all kinds of documents so the French authorities could release the body. Isadora had left little unfinished business in Paris, and having packed her cousin’s belongings, Gaia caught a flight back to London.

  She nodded briefly to the familiar officials as she strode through Customs at London’s Gatwick Airport, and then she was out on the concourse, trying to remember where she had parked the car. It was good to be home, even though she had been gone only a few days.

  Some minutes later her battered lime green Volvo estate joined the steady flow of heavy traffic as it threaded its way from the airport in the direction of Central London.

  She adjusted her rear-view mirror, squinting at the black limo, which had been following her for some time, trying to get a good look at the three men in the car whilst also concentrating on the traffic ahead. She was uncertain, but she could swear the three men had been in Paris at the same time as her, and the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became.

  And more than that: the two men in the front of the car looked like the two she had seen killing Isadora; the man behind she could not see too clearly, but he looked like another heavy.

  She returned her attention to the road ahead, barely keeping within the speed limit as she concentrated on her driving, and managed to lose the black car in the increasingly heavy Central London traffic.

  Reaching the Donat Gallery shortly after four, she was surprised to find the place all locked up. She could see nobody inside, so she rummaged in her bag for her keys, but then remembered she had left them with Eudora when she left for Paris. She opened one of the small compartments in her handbag and drew out the solitary key she always kept there, which unlocked the little used entrance
door to the apartment at the rear of the building.

  As she ventured down the alley between the gallery and the next building, a virtually derelict office block that had been up for sale for eight months and which nobody seemed interested in due to the exorbitant price, she failed to see the black limo pull up behind her unmistakable lime green Volvo. After a few moments, the two men in the front of the car scrambled out and warily followed Gaia down the alley, but by the time they reached the far end, their quarry had vanished.

  Unaware that she had been followed, Gaia climbed the metal stairs that led up to the apartment’s entrance, knowing that once she opened the door she would have exactly one minute to sprint along the passage to her office to disable the alarms. She thought how lucky it was she did not have to go down to the gallery’s main alarm panel as she unlocked the door and slipped into the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

  In the alley below, the two men looked up at the sound and cursed themselves as they saw what they took to be the gallery’s fire escape. Slowly, silently, they climbed.

  Having entered her personal nine-digit code, Gaia waited for the steady bleeping to stop, and sighed with relief when it did so. She seldom entered the apartment through the rear entrance, and this alarm system was only a couple of months old, so she was still becoming acquainted with it. It was far too sophisticated for her liking, but it was infinitely better than their old alarm system, having so far prevented three attempted break-ins. The old system had allowed burglars easy access to the gallery, which was why Eudora had insisted they go for a modern, up-to-date model.

  The only trouble was, none of the Donat woman had mastered the setting and un-setting of the alarm, and they had lost count of how many times they had accidentally set it off. Today, however, Gaia seemed to have mastered it – for a change.

  She threw the key and her handbag on her desk and shivered. Despite the warmth of the afternoon sun, the office was decidedly chilly. ‘Eudora?’ she called, making her way to the living room, adjacent to her office. She could not understand why she was alone: they had all agreed there would always be someone occupying the apartment in case the alarm system failed. The alarm was only set to go off if the door was opened without the alarm being unset, and the only motion sensors were downstairs in the gallery itself.

  There were signs that Eudora had been occupying the apartment, but there was no immediate indication as to why the gallery was closed. Unexpected things always seemed to happen to them, so Gaia was sure that her cousin had good reason.

  She made her way down the passage to the kitchen and put the kettle on, and as she did so, she shivered again. A curious feeling that she was not alone possessed her, and a prickling sensation of observance itched up her spine. She had seen enough thrillers to know not to ask who’s there, and so remained silent as she returned to the office where she hastened over to the desk and picked up the stone Eudora used as a paperweight.

  It was then that she saw the portrait, propped against the wall. She gasped as she recognised it as the one she had seen in her mind’s eye, and as she bent to take a closer look, her previous feelings of being watched disappeared as curiosity got the better of her.

  The creaking of a floorboard in the passage alerted her too late, and she looked up to see two heavyset men advancing on her. She still had the paperweight in her hand, but had no chance to use it as the two men charged at her, knocking her from her feet and sending the paperweight flying through the air. It shattered the glass-topped desk with an almighty crash.

  Gasping for breath, Gaia fought valiantly as she struggled to get free, but her slight build was no match for one of the men, much less both of them.

  * * *

  Across the street from the gallery, Nola had watched the two men stalk Gaia down the alley and climb the metal stairs, forcing open the door at the top. When the alarm did not go off, Nola knew something bad had happened to Gaia. Making certain the third man did not spot her, she made her way down the shadowy alley and followed the men into the apartment, not entirely sure what she was going to do once in there. Her father’s thugs would undoubtedly report back to him if she interfered, and she did not like to think what her father might do if he found out she had tried to thwart his plans.

  Derek was already dead. She did not want anyone else to die – and by that token, she did not want any harm to befall Gaia. Too terrified of her father’s wrath, she had spent the previous night at her grandmother’s house, deciding that today she would confess all to Eudora; but Nathan had been at the gallery, then her grandmother turned up, followed by the odd man with white hair, and when he left with Eudora and Nathan, minutes later Gaia had turned up.

  She could hear the struggle coming from down the passage. It seemed Gaia was putting up a valiant fight against the two men. Nola crept slowly and silently along the passage, and cautiously peered around the doorway into Gaia’s office.

  She saw the portrait, propped on the floor against one of the walls, its three subjects staring out, seeming to shout silent encouragement at Gaia, who was on the floor, subdued but still struggling against the two men who pinned her down.

  A subtle movement near the painting drew Nola’s attention away from Gaia’s predicament, and with a soft shriek, she bolted down the passage and fled the apartment.

  * * *

  Gaia became suddenly aware that there was another man in the room, and enfeebled with fatigue from her struggles, she at first thought she was imagining things. From the corner of her eye, she could see a tall blond man, leaning against the painting, looking momentarily disoriented.

  As the life was being slowly choked from her body, Gaia blinked back tears and saw the new intruder launch himself at her two attackers. He displayed superhuman strength as he shifted one of them effortlessly across the room to land amid the broken glass of the desk.

  His sudden miraculous appearance distracted Gaia’s other attacker and she sharply brought her knee up to his solar plexus, winding him enough for her to break free, and then she was on her feet, running for the stairs that led to the gallery.

  But her attacker had recovered, bringing her down with a flying rugby tackle.

  Her hands flailed madly in a desperate act of self-preservation as her attacker produced a knife. She screamed, struggling to keep the blade from touching her. ‘Please,’ she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks, ‘I don’t want to die! What do you want? Why do you want to kill me? Why did you kill my sister?’

  She could see the second attacker stagger from the office further down the hall. He leaned against the wall, clutching his head. ‘It’s not you we want,’ he gasped.

  ‘Your sister was in the way, and so are you,’ said the man brandishing the knife with a sneer. ‘We want what you have in your possession, and your knowledge of it makes you a liability. Your sister had to die, and so must you!’

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ intoned a silky, masculine voice from within the office, and a long arm reached through the doorway, grabbed the injured man by the lapels of his jacket and yanked him swiftly backwards as though he were no heavier than a few sheets of paper.

  ‘Abe?’ cried the man atop Gaia. ‘Abe, are you all right?’ When there was no response from his companion, he rose to his feet, pulling Gaia after him as he cautiously moved towards the threatening opening.

  Suddenly the arm was back, plucking the man through the doorway, leaving Gaia to sprawl on the floor of the passageway, gasping as she fought to control both her fear and her breathing. She was distantly aware of a commotion in the office. The intruders were obviously fighting with the mysterious man.

  Then the two burly men came staggering out of the office, blood seeping from the corners of their mouths, bruises already forming on their faces. They ignored Gaia as they staggered down the passage to the entrance of the apartment, and once they were gone, Gaia rose shakily to her feet, followed them, and slammed and locked the door, not looking to see whether they were still on the st
aircase outside, or whether they had left the vicinity.

  With a sigh of relief, she leaned heavily against the door, and then glanced up, slightly fearful as she heard movement from the office. She stood upright, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for her mysterious saviour to show himself.

  A shadow formed in the doorway, and the man stepped out into the passage. When she looked at him properly, Gaia gasped in shock, for there before her, dressed in his brown Monastic robes, stood the man from the portrait.

  * * *

  Watching from her vantage point across the road, unwilling to walk away, yet unable to return into the gallery, Nola was astonished to see the two thugs emerge from the gloomy alley at a stumbling run, one clutching his chest as though in pain, whist his companion supported him. Both looked bruised and battered, their mouths bloodied. As she watched, they clambered into the waiting car, which roared off down the road, hurtling around the corner into Regent Street without pausing, barely avoiding oncoming traffic.

  Nola still could not decide whether she had really seen the surface of the portrait beginning to bubble, the colours bleeding into one another, allowing the Monk in the centre to detach himself from its surface to step into the room, or whether what she had seen was just her fevered imagination. One thing was certain: one slight woman against two huge thugs like those two could simply not have caused the injuries they had clearly sustained.

  She inclined her head slightly: she had not imagined it.

  She suddenly understood exactly why her father was so determined to get his hands on the mysterious portrait, and it was nothing to do with the fact that it was rare and incredibly valuable, nor was it anything to do with the fact that the painting had once belonged to his parents.

  She remembered her father using the word ‘revenge’ and she decided to help him if it meant they could once again live as a normal family. She understood that now friendship with the Donat women was not nearly as important as familial ties, and decided to apologise to her father for betraying his trust in her.