by Amy Isaman
“I’m not sure, but there’s something about this picture, this woman, that’s compelling to me. Come look at it.”
Laurel stepped down to her mother, but to her, the picture looked like any other old sepia-toned family portrait. “Do you know who she is?” Laurel asked.
Tricia shook her head. “No idea. I assume she’s one of Darius’ ancestors.”
“You should ask Darius when he gives you your private tour.” Laurel gave her mom a gentle punch in the shoulder.
Her mom stopped abruptly as soon as she opened the door to the garden causing Laurel to crash into her. “Woah, Mom, what are you doing?”
Tricia’s eyes were wide, but her eyebrows were drawn together as she seemed to study the space.
“I… nothing,” she said taking a step out.
“Mom, it’s something. What’s up?”
She shook her head a bit and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Something was off. Her mom hadn’t wanted to stay here. Then, she studied that portrait on the stairs and now seemed almost afraid to go into the backyard. Laurel would ask about it later.
Darius sat at a small metal table underneath a large silver birch tree for which the Inn had obviously taken its name. The garden was large with trees surrounding a lovely patio. Several small tables and outdoor benches were scattered throughout for guests.
Laurel sat in the chair opposite of Darius, leaving the one next to him open for her mom. Maybe a little fling would get a spark back in her mom’s eyes. She was always so focused on being a mom, her job, on surviving and paying the bills that she never took time for herself. In an odd way, she almost missed her mom as much as she missed her dad.
“This is lovely, thank you,” Tricia said.
“Laurel mentioned that today you’re exploring Kensington?”
Tricia nodded, biting into a scone.
Darius continued, “The Victoria and Albert has a new exhibition on Medieval art. Is that an interest of yours?”
“Oh, my gosh, my mom would love that,” Laurel answered. “Any art is an interest of hers. Her dream is to own her own art and antiquities gallery and shop in San Francisco, but she works in art insurance to pay the bills. That’s why we’re here, for a conference.”
“A conference on opening a gallery?” Darius leaned toward Tricia, his face intent. “I’ve sort of got my own gallery here at the Inn, though I rarely sell my pieces. It’d be like cutting off a limb, I’m afraid.”
Tricia laughed. “Oh, I wish it was on opening a gallery. Years ago, I collected smaller pieces to one day do that, but not anymore. This conference isn’t quite that exciting. It’s on appraisals, continuing education kind of stuff. And to answer your question, yes, I love medieval art. It’s not been a focus of mine in my career - that’s been more on fine arts and contemporary work, but my first love is art history and antiques. It’s the stories behind the pieces that draw me to them.”
“Ah, then you’ll love the V & A. Have you been there before?”
“Years and years ago,” Tricia said. “The medieval display sounds wonderful.” She took a bite of her scone and chewed slowly before taking a sip of tea that Darius poured when they sat. “Would you like to go with us?”
Laurel noted her mom was gripping her cup so tightly her knuckles were white. The fine bone china might explode in that grip if Darius didn’t say something soon.
“I’d love to, but I’ve got some obligations this morning. Perhaps at noon? We could meet up at the Grand Entrance?”
“That would be lovely.” Laurel noted her mom’s grip loosen around the fragile cup, but her hand began to shake a bit.
Tricia set the cup down and put her hands in her lap, but it also looked to Laurel that she might be biting back a smile.
Laurel didn’t bother to hide her grin.
Chapter 4
THEY SPENT THE NEXT hours wandering through South Kensington and the grounds at the Victoria and Albert museum. Laurel realized that she could wander London for days and still have tons to see. She had a week with her mom. Then she’d have four days on her own if she didn’t go to the conference. She still hadn’t decided. Since she graduated from college with a degree in graphic design, she was unsure of what she wanted to do career-wise. She learned quite quickly that, while she loved photography and drawing, she had no interest in designing logos for a living.
Her mom had worked in the art world forever but in insurance. She’d done a great job of combining her love of art with a way to make a living, and though it wasn’t her dream job, at least it was something that she enjoyed and that also paid the bills. Laurel still didn’t know how to make a living with what she loved to do, or even if she wanted to. Maybe keeping her art her hobby and her passion was the right path, and she could make a living some other way. But figuring it out was an ongoing struggle for her.
Laurel thought about joining her mom in the art insurance business or maybe even something with appraising, but Laurel wanted to make art, not just evaluate it. Yet as they wandered the city and her mom shared the stories behind the art and pieces that they saw, she’d become fascinated. She’d grown up with art and antiques. Her mom, like Darius, was always a collector though her collection was minuscule compared to his, but Laurel never found the stories behind the pieces interesting until now.
Maybe that was part of growing up.
“Laurel, you there?” her mom interrupted Laurel’s musings. “We probably should head over to the museum if we’re going to meet Darius on time.”
“Yep, we definitely don’t want to be late to this meeting, do we?” Laurel waggled her eyebrows at her mom and smiled.
“This is not a date. We’re just meeting our innkeeper,” Tricia said.
“Hmmm. Is that what’s happening?” Laurel teased. Since her dad’s death, her mom’s loud laugh, her spontaneous side, had gone into hiding. Sure, her mom tried to smile and be herself, but Laurel always felt like it was such an effort. Her mom’s sadness and grief somehow swallowed her up. For years. But in the past six months or so, Laurel had seen glimpses of her old mom. The fun mom who picked her up early from school for a dentist appointment but bailed on the dentist and spent the afternoon at the movies instead. The mom who rode her bike with Laurel to the park for ice cream and frisbee. The mom who blasted her favorite 80s rock bands and sang at the top of her lungs while making dinner. The mom who quoted lines of her favorite movies and plays, who could visit a museum and get so lost in a painting that she became almost statuesque as she viewed it, arms crossed, a peaceful, studied look on her face.
Laurel hadn’t realized how much she missed that part of her mom. And if Darius could help bring it out, she wanted to make sure it happened.
They took a left toward the museum and made it five minutes early to the Grand Entrance that turned out, in fact, to be quite grand. Darius was already there. Laurel thought he looked great in his faded jeans, soft gray t-shirt, and older comfortable looking loafers. He reached out his hand to shake hers and her mom’s each in turn, but Laurel noted with a grin that he held on to her mother’s hand for a beat longer than he held hers.
“Shall we?” he asked, extending his arm toward one of the massive arches that led into the galleries.
Her mom nodded and walked beside him. Laurel let them take the lead and followed behind. They spent several hours meandering through the exhibits. Both Darius and her mom were familiar with much of the art and seemed to delight in seeing who could come up with the most obscure fact or detail to tell Laurel. It was a flirting session like none other Laurel had ever witnessed, but a little bit of spark came into her mother’s voice. A minuscule hint, but it was there. She knew her mom would probably shed a few guilty tears later on, but for right now, she would have followed them all day and given Darius whatever he wanted if he could keep that little light shining in her mom.
At three, they wound around the second floor and entered a room filled with cases. “What�
��s this?” Tricia peered into one.
“This is a newer display as well. One on the history of playing cards. Are you interested? It’s not much of an interest of mine.” Darius glanced at the case and then meandered from the room.
“No, I’ve never been much into card games.” Tricia followed him.
They began to leave, but Laurel paused looking at one case. “Wait a minute. Come here.” She waved them back. “Check this out. These are some of the original Tarot cards.” Laurel leaned over, studying the images.
One immediately caught her eye. The description beneath it referred to it as the “Death” card. A skeleton wore a red cape while a flag flew out of his mouth, but Laurel couldn’t read the Latin text. It looked something like “fine,” but this dude definitely didn’t look fine. He wore a flat red hat with weird bell things hanging from the sides. The skeleton also held a scythe over his shoulder, like the grim reaper. Creepy. She wondered when that card came up in a tarot reading if that meant imminent death, or if you had some time before dying. And, maybe it meant something else entirely.
The other three ancient cards in this display looked relatively harmless compared to the dancing skeleton guy. In one, a lady held up a star, in another a young man held what looked like a giant coin or disk of some sort, and in the last card, two little cherubs were playing at the base of a fountain, happy and harmless.
Laurel felt her mother move in close and peer at the cards over her shoulder. “They’re quite lovely little miniatures,” Tricia murmured. “But that one there is a little creepy.” She pointed at the death card that caught Laurel’s attention.
“Ah, the tarot,” Darius said joining them. “I believe that these cards are some of the earliest ever made. They’re from Italy.”
“Do you know much about them?” Laurel asked.
“Let’s see, how shall I put this.” He paused, studying the cards, before stepping back from the case, a bemused expression on his face. “If you were to ask my great-grandmother that question, she would have told you of their evils and their power. I’ve actually got quite a family history surrounding the cards. When my grandmother died giving birth to my mother, my great-grandmother attributed the death to the tarot.” He paused and studied the cards again before continuing. “I’m not sure if I’d go so far as that, but my great-grandmother instilled a deep and abiding fear of the cards into my mother and my aunt whom she raised. They were all terrified of anything having to do with the cards or divination.”
Laurel noted a younger couple moving closer, listening to Darius tell his story.
“Wow! Why did your great-grandmother think they killed her daughter?” Tricia asked.
“Some sort of curse. But that’s a long story. Perhaps one for another day,” he said, looking up. “Ah, hello. It’s the Maxwell’s.” Darius reached his hand toward the young man and shook it. “Let me introduce you. Laurel and Tricia, this is Brian and Amanda Maxwell. You’re all staying with me at the Silver Birch Inn.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Tricia,” her mom said, reaching her hand out to shake hands.
“That’s quite a story about the cards you shared. I’m assuming your great-grandmother was a religious woman if she was so afraid of them,” Brian said.
“Yes, she absolutely was.”
“So, do you ‘believe’ in them? Or do you believe in the curse like your great-grandma?” Laurel asked, adding air quotes around the word “believe.” Darius’ story was super interesting. Her mom looked just as intrigued, but Laurel wondered if her mom was more interested in the story or the man?
“Well…,” Darius trailed off and Tricia filled the silence.
“Laurel, I’m not sure there’s anything to, as you say, ‘believe’,” her mom said, peering at the cards. “They’re beautiful paintings, though, if nothing else. They’re all hand painted. Can you see the gold tooling on them?” She leaned closer to study the images. “The figures have the flatness characteristic of medieval art. And perhaps there’s some symbolism on them. They’re fascinating from an artistic and historical perspective, but from my admittedly limited knowledge, I understand these are merely fancy versions of the original playing cards. Right? Isn’t that why they’re in this display?” She turned to Darius, her eyebrows up. “I mean, honestly, they’re small portraits of this Italian royal family.” She referenced the information card in the case. “The Visconti-Sforza’s?” She didn’t wait for an answer but peered more closely at the creepy Death card. “And anyway, how on earth could cards cause a death? And what about the lady with the star? What is she supposed to cause?”
Her mom stepped away from the display case, her cheeks pink. “I’m sorry,” she added turning to Darius. “I just completely discounted your family’s beliefs and maybe yours, too. That was horribly rude. I, well, I…” she stumbled, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.
“Don’t feel bad, Tricia. I totally agree with you,” Amanda said. “I don’t think they can tell our future, but they really are beautiful little portraits.”
Darius smiled, “It doesn’t bother me. If nothing else, I’ve learned that people tend to have strong opinions about the cards. My mother and her grandmother certainly did.”
“And what about you?” Tricia asked. “Do you share their beliefs?”
Laurel was curious about his answer. She found the whole idea of the tarot fascinating, but she’d never researched it or anything.
“I suppose a bit. I’ve heard my whole life how the cards were cursed. The story goes way back, as in hundreds of years if you were to believe the family legend, so yes, I definitely believe that people can use them for divination. I’ve never tried it myself as I was raised with the idea that reading the cards would lead to an imminent cursed life and all of my off-spring would die.” He grinned. “The women in my family weren’t known for their subtlety, so I’m not sure if I believe that the cards are cursed or innately evil, but I have to admit that they do make me uncomfortable.”
They all fell silent and studied the cards. The Maxwell’s said goodbye as they moved to the other side of the gallery to continue their tour of the museum.
Darius pointed to a cushioned bench just outside the gallery. “Shall we?” he asked.
Her mom sat next to Darius while Laurel leaned over a case, studying the cards, and pretended not to listen. But she did. She couldn’t help it, and she decided she was justified because she could maybe use something here for her matchmaking plan.
“What about you? Are you bothered by them?” Darius asked her mom as soon as they were seated.
“Well, not the cards themselves, I guess. It’s the whole idea that if they can predict the future, or give us all this information, then that means our life is set in stone and there’s nothing we can do to alter its course. We’re just little puppets here walking this path. It would mean that everything that happens to us is supposed to happen and that no matter what, we can’t stop bad things from happening or even create more goodness because it hasn’t been written in the stars. It’s the whole idea of fate I struggle with. And, it would mean that all those horribly well-meaning people were right.”
“Ah, yes, those ‘horrible well-meaning people,’” Darius nodded. “And who might they be?”
“Oh, now I sound awful, I’m sure. I meant all the people who, after my husband died, would say, ‘everything happens for a reason,’ or ‘he’s in a better place now’ as if our life together had been a hell he needed to escape and their words would somehow comfort me.” Her mom clasped her hands in her lap and Laurel willed her to hold it together and not cry.
“Ah, yes, those people. We have them here in London as well,” Darius said.
“Not comforting words. At all.” She took a deep breath. “And what do you say to them? There’s nothing to say,” she continued answering her own question. “But, I’d like to think I have a little more control over my life and that things don’t ‘happen for a reason.’ Thinking some pasteboard miniature portraits like the
se cards can tell me what will happen because I supposedly have no control is not okay with me. Do you think they can predict the future?” Tricia asked, cocking her head at Darius and studying him, like she had some of the art pieces they’d seen today.
Laurel thought his answer mattered to her mom. Like her mom, her dad would have scoffed at the idea of cards being able to tell the future. They both loved art and beauty, but their feet were firmly planted on the ground with no time or energy for anything remotely ‘woo-woo’ as her mom put it.
Darius leaned his elbows on his knees and paused in thought before speaking. “I think perhaps they can give us some more information, or perhaps another way of looking at something, depending on their interpretation. People have made entire careers out of interpreting them.”
“Yes, but those people have clients who are desperately looking for answers, right?” Tricia raised her eyebrows.
“No, that’s not what I said. I think they can, perhaps, give people clues to their own internal psyche. I’m not sure the cards are inherently evil like my mother thought. But I’ve never actually studied them.”
“You know, Mom,” Laurel interrupted. “We ought to go get a reading. Here. In London. It would be kind of fun.”
Tricia turned to face her, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “A tarot reading?”
“Yeah. Would you do it? Or is it too woo-woo for you?” Laurel smiled at her mom before resuming her study of the cards. She found the images fascinating and oddly compelling. Her mom was right. They were beautiful as art pieces. One of her friends had a deck in college that she played around with, but it was nothing more than fun. Laurel hadn’t realized the cards had such a long history, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more to them.
Tricia rose and joined Laurel, eyeing the cards in the case. “I have zero interest in visiting with some woman while she stares at a crystal ball, pulls cards, and tells me my future. And that one there?” She pointed to the Death card. “That one looks terrifying and creepy.”