Portrait of Shade

by Benjamin Ford

  Eudora nodded. ‘Yes. It seems you have here just about the complete collection of surviving paintings by Dion Taine.’ She pointed them out one by one. ‘Majolica, Sangraal, Trinity, Crucible, and behind Crucible you will find hidden Khan. The only two surviving paintings which are missing are Rose of Seraglio and La Famille.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ demanded Benjamin who, it seemed, was still sceptical about her story.

  Eudora sighed irritably. ‘Because I was there in Constantinople at the time of Dion Taine’s death and because I have been told the history of his paintings, and how many were destroyed by the Sultan. Those which survived were supposedly smuggled out of Constantinople shortly after Dion Taine’s death, all except Rose of Seraglio, which the Sultan actually liked, and La Famille, which was lost somewhere between Constantinople and here.’

  ‘But how do they come to be here in my château?’ demanded Reynard. ‘And why are they hidden in this secret chamber?’

  ‘They are valuable works of art which must remain hidden for a good few years yet. Trust me on that.’ Eudora refused to elaborate, realising she could not tell them about the impending war. ‘As to how they come to be here in the Château Clétiàn, well perhaps it’s because your family, somewhere down the line, is descended from Dion Taine’s family.’

  Benjamin laughed raucously. ‘If Reynard were descended from Dion Taine, do you not think he would perhaps know of it?’

  Reynard glowered at his friend, who realised he had finally overstepped the mark in his continued harassment of Dorothea. ‘Not necessarily,’ he snapped. ‘There’s much about my family of which I know nothing. I for one am willing to believe Dorothea’s story, and I would suggest you adopt that attitude as well.’

  Eudora could tell Benjamin required further convincing, so she stood before Trinity. ‘Watch this,’ she said without a backward glance. The others watched intrigued as she stepped up to the painting, her arms outstretched, and all three gasped in awe and alarm as her arms disappeared up to the elbow. The surface of the painting seemed to ripple as she pushed her arms in further, and then allowed the painting to swallow her head. She stepped ever closer to the painting and eventually disappeared completely.

  The eddying paint settled immediately, leaving the painting whole once more, and she was gone.

  Moaning fearfully, Summer summoned the courage to step closer to the painting, reaching out to touch it. Reynard suppressed a smile as he noticed Benjamin’s oddly subdued demeanour.

  Summer touched the solid surface of the painting, tracing her curious fingers across the face of the beautiful man in the centre, feeling the texture of the paint, marvelling at the rough blotches of oils that moulded the background and the smooth brush strokes that formed the figures. She suddenly screamed as a hand thrust its way out of the painting, grabbing her arm, and then the whole surface of the painting seemed to buckle and bubble, distorting the figures.

  Eudora stepped out into the room, smiling as she gazed into Benjamin’s shocked eyes. ‘I see you need no further convincing, Benjamin.’

  He shook his head. ‘Indeed not, Dorothea. That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed!’ He moved closer, reaching out tentatively to touch the painting as Summer had done, and just as before, its surface was solid, unyielding beneath his touch.

  ‘I was tempted to not come back,’ Eudora said softly, ‘but I have no choice but to see this through right to the end.’

  ‘I am glad,’ Reynard sighed. Pulling her into his arms, he hugged her tight. ‘Oh, Dorothea, it is very strange, but I feel like I have known you my entire life, and yet you entered my life in such bizarre circumstances less than twenty-four hours ago. Can it be that I am falling in love with you?’

  Eudora smiled at him as he released her. ‘Well, love at first sight is certainly no more bizarre than anything else that has happened,’ she said. ‘I would call it destiny.’

  ‘And is it our destiny to spend the rest of our lives together, Dorothea Dieudonné?’

  Eudora nodded. ‘Till death us do part, Reynard,’ she sighed.

  Yes, she thought, destiny has brought us together, and only fate can tear us apart. From this day forward, I am Dorothea.

  There is no going back.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  England looked wonderful, in spite of all the scars left by the war. Dorothea had no first hand memories of the carnage from her life as Eudora, but she had seen photographs and listened to older people talk of life during the war. The reality was far worse than she could have imagined, but those who survived the horrors had a courage and determination that even she had not previously known as they picked up their shattered lives and slowly began to rebuild their country.

  Two years after the end of hostilities, battle scars were still prominent on the landscape.

  Two years after the war ended, the mental scars within the minds of the Clayton family were as fresh as ever.

  They had endured much, remaining in France during the Occupation, witnessing death and destruction on a daily basis. They had seen friends fight for freedom and pay the price; they had seen other friends turn against their countrymen and pay their own price.

  Life in Paris was tough. Forced to flee the château when German troops seized it, Reynard and Dorothea had returned after the war to find the building gutted of all furnishings and treasures. The wine cellars were all but empty, and yet the secret chamber, with its hidden art treasures, remained undisturbed. At the onset of the war, the couple had hidden further paintings, treasures and jewels away in the chamber, including Dorothea’s precious amethyst jewellery, whilst leaving plenty in the château to avoid any Germans becoming suspicious at the lack of valuable artefacts. The last thing they wanted was for someone to go actively looking for a hidden chamber.

  Dorothea, Reynard and their son, Dino, had survived the war; Benjamin had not. The Gestapo had shot him for helping to smuggle a Jewish family out of the country, leaving Summer and their young son, Skye, at the mercy of the German soldiers.

  Nothing had been heard from them since their capture, and during the final year of the war and in the long weary months that followed, Dorothea and Reynard searched tirelessly for the mother and child, refusing to give up hope that the pair still lived.

  Now, at last, their valiant efforts had paid off – and for Reynard at least, the news came from a most unexpected source: his stepsisters in England, who, it seemed, had read an article that had been printed in a recent edition of the Daily Express concerning his desperate search for Summer and her young son.

  When she discovered that her husband had two step-sisters, she asked why he never spoke of them in all the years they had been married, and when he told her how spiteful they had been, she understood his reasons for trying to forget about their existence. But, she reasoned, they had contacted him when they had heard about his search for Summer and Skye, so perhaps they had changed.

  Reynard was not convinced. He sensed his sisters had another motive.

  When Reynard revealed their names, Dorothea choked on the water she was drinking, but would not venture any explanation for her loss of composure. Reynard had learned long ago not to question his wife too much about events from her personal past, so he saw nothing different about this.

  So now, here they were on a train heading from the coast to London, where Eleanor and Leonora would be waiting for them.

  Reynard could not believe ten years had passed since he fled England due to their persistent vindictiveness. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but sometimes felt like only yesterday. Had they changed? Reynard was astonished to find he was suddenly quite eager to meet with them. The war had changed many people in many ways, mostly for the better. He held out hope that the same was true for his two stepsisters.

  Dorothea – the part of her that still wanted to be Eudora – was even more apprehensive about meeting the twins. She knew Leonora would one day give birth to a girl, whom she would name Gaia, while Eleanor would give b
irth at the same time to Isadora, and later, Eudora herself.

  She had seen her mother only once since her abandonment when she was barely five years old, and she was not sure she wanted to see her now. Having spent her entire life as Eudora hating the woman, she was now going to meet her before her own birth and was unconvinced she would be able to keep her emotions in check.

  As the train approached London, however, she reproached herself. She was being foolish. She was a mature woman and should behave as such. She was not Eudora – that life was no longer hers. She was Dorothea Clayton, and Eleanor was not her mother.

  As the train pulled into the station, black smoke billowed out from the engine and steam hissed up from beneath the carriages to block the view of the platform. Eager faces strained to see friends, relatives and loved ones. Dorothea alighted from the carriage, searching for a familiar face in the fog, while Reynard assisted seven-year-old Dino. The boy stood between his parents, staring in bewilderment at the hubbub around him. Reynard ruffled his hair. ‘Welcome to London, Dino.’

  ‘It’s very noisy, father.’

  Reynard smiled at the boy. It seldom crossed his mind that this boy was not really his flesh and blood. His name was the one on the birth certificate, and that was all that mattered. Dino would be shielded from the truth, that he had been conceived in Constantinople of 1568, and that his father was a reincarnated spirit, facts with which the boy need not be burdened.

  Reynard Clayton was his father and always would be.

  At times, the boy displayed startling qualities. He was already fluent in five languages, including English, French and German, and could hold very adult conversations with the most garrulous of people. At times this unnerved Reynard, but he loved his son just the same.

  Reynard spotted the twins first, almost at the same moment they looked over and saw him. He waved at them, an action that Dorothea noticed, and she looked across the crowded platform. The sight of Eleanor chilled her heart, but she steadied herself and put on a false smile as the twins approached.

  Reynard steadied himself too. His stepsisters did not seem to have aged a day, and his old feelings of loathing came flooding back. His instincts warned him that they would be as vindictive as ever, but he forced himself to at least give them the benefit of the doubt for the moment.

  After all, they were the ones who contacted him.

  At the psychiatric hospital where Leonora worked as a nurse, a female patient fitting Summer’s description kept babbling about her son and her husband, and eventually mentioned the names Reynard and Dorothea. Leonora had not initially registered the name until she saw her brother’s article in the Daily Express, but when she told Eleanor, her sister had taken it upon herself to contact Reynard on their behalf, telling him that they thought they might know where to find the woman he sought.

  ‘Hello, Reynard,’ said Eleanor with a wan smile, clearly unsure what kind of reception to expect. ‘You look well.’ She glanced across to Dorothea in curiosity, mumbled a cursory greeting, and then proceeded to ignore her, as did Leonora.

  ‘Thank you,’ Reynard replied warily, feeling uneasy as Leonora linked her arm through his.

  ‘We ought to hurry. The girl is to be transferred to another hospital this afternoon.’

  Reynard pushed her away. ‘What do you mean, transferred to another hospital? Has she been hurt?’

  ‘She’s in a psychiatric hospital, and the mental scars of what happened to her during the war are deep rooted, so she’s being taken to another facility where she can be better cared for. Now, though, I think seeing you again will perhaps be just what she needs.’

  ‘Okay, enough with the pleasantries, Leonora. Why are you being so nice to me? You hate me, and I hate you.’

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Reynard. I don’t hate you. True, I loathed you back when we were younger because your father took mummy away from my daddy. I never forgave him for that, and took it out on you.’

  Reynard pondered her words thoughtfully. What she said was plausible, but he was not about to just throw his arms around her and forgive her. ‘And I suppose Eleanor’s story is the same?’

  Leonora nodded. ‘It was Eleanor who said we should contact you when we realised the girl you’re looking for is a patient at my hospital. War changes people, and I just want us to be friends, but Eleanor has her own motives.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Leonora sighed. ‘Come on, we have a car outside waiting to take us to the hospital. Once you’ve confirmed the girl is the one you seek, I’m sure Eleanor will tell you everything.’

  * * *

  The frightened girl, who crouched on the bed in the stark, bare room, hugging her arms around her drawn up knees, was indeed Summer. Reynard and Dorothea were allowed to go in, and as soon as Summer saw them, she burst into tears.

  ‘Reynard, Dorothea? Can that really be you?’

  Dorothea came to sit on the end of the bed, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘Yes, darling, it’s us. I can’t believe we have found you at last!’

  More tears cascaded down Summer’s cheeks. ‘Oh please, you’ve got to find Skye,’ she implored, clutching hold of Dorothea’s arm. ‘You have to find my little boy!’

  Dorothea promised they would try their best, and reassured Summer that they would secure her release as soon as possible.

  Out in the reception area, Reynard turned on his stepsisters. ‘Surely you could have helped her get out of here before now,’ he snapped.

  ‘She’s been babbling incoherently about her son, you two and her husband, Heinrich, since she was brought here several months ago.’

  Reynard frowned. ‘That’s not right. Her husband was called Benjamin.’

  Leonora shook her head. ‘No, her husband was definitely called Heinrich. At least, that’s the name she used. As I said, she was babbling incoherently, and her stories were so bizarre that nobody believed her, which is why she’s in a psychiatric ward.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Where is her son, Skye?’

  ‘Somewhere in France,’ mumbled Eleanor.

  Eleanor went on to tell Reynard and Dorothea that she had been a war operative helping the Resistance and had been trapped in France for several long months. She met a German deserter called Hartmann, whose brother was a high up member of the Gestapo. This brother, Heinrich, had taken Summer as his unwilling wife, having killed her first husband. Eleanor fell in love with Hartmann and they managed to rescue Summer and Skye, killing Heinrich in the process. They stole his uniform to help aid their flight through the occupied French countryside, and though they avoided German soldiers, French Resistance fighters spotted them. Hartmann was arrested and imprisoned, awaiting execution.

  ‘The war ended before his execution, and he has been in a French prison awaiting trial for war crimes ever since.’

  ‘Surely you could have told the Resistance the truth?’ said Reynard.

  Eleanor shook her head sadly. ‘I tried, but you know what it was like. There’s still a lot of hatred for the Germans, even now. They didn’t believe me. I was lucky they didn’t think I was a collaborator and arrest me too. The only person who could save Hartmann was Summer.’

  ‘So why didn’t you get her to tell the truth?’

  ‘Summer was severely traumatised by her treatment at the hands of Heinrich. He might have married her, but it was against her will, and he raped her on a nightly basis. She was a mess by the time we rescued her, which is why she was sent over to England as soon as possible, whilst the war was still raging.’

  Eleanor paused, staring at her brother imploringly as she continued to tell how during Summer’s fraught rescue, the boy had somehow become lost. It was possible he was dead, but Eleanor was sure he was still alive somewhere in France.

  ‘When I finally returned to England following my fruitless attempts to secure Hartmann’s release, I spent many long months trying to locate Summer, and it was only when Leonora brought the patient and the article in the Daily Express to my a
ttention that I realised I had finally found Hartmann’s last chance at freedom.’

  ‘So,’ said Reynard softly, ‘you want Summer to testify that Hartmann was instrumental in your rescue, and that Heinrich was the Gestapo officer who abused her?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask after the way I treated you, but please, I beg of you, don’t let an innocent man be put on trial.’

  Dorothea listened to all this with subjective interest. Suddenly she saw the woman who would be her mother in a completely new light. She knew Eleanor would marry Anthony Donat in a little over a year, and that in less than ten years time the woman would run off with a German named Hartmann, the man she had loved and so nearly lost during the war.

  Suddenly she could no longer hate this woman. Eleanor had been through as much as she herself had, and deserved pity rather than hatred.

  She reached out and touched Eleanor’s arm. At her touch, Eleanor jolted backwards as if stung by a swarm of bees. She looked at Dorothea properly for the first time, and felt curiously afraid. ‘Don’t worry, Eleanor,’ Dorothea said, ‘everything will turn out fine. Trust me.’

  * * *

  It took several weeks to secure Summer’s release and for her to recover enough to make the return trip to France. She remembered Hartmann’s kindness well and promised she would do whatever was necessary to help him, but that was quite low down on her list of priorities. First, she wanted to find her son. Her maternal instincts told her he was still alive, and as Benjamin had always trusted her instincts when he was alive, so she did now.

  With the help of Reynard and Dorothea, she began her search in the region where Hartmann and Eleanor had helped rescue her. The locals in Orléans were sympathetic to her plight, especially the mothers, though some were a little hostile, recognising her as the wife of the hated Gestapo Officer who had helped plunder their villages and rape their womenfolk. Thankfully, most of them knew enough of the truth to be helpful, but not helpful enough. No one seemed to know anything about the blond haired boy that they were looking for.