keep them properly maintained.
Thruing away from the window I thought: Nothing ever remains the same, everything changes. But then as I stood regarding the study I had to amend this thought slightly.
The room was exactly the same as it had been the day I finished decorating it eleven years ago. Nothing had changed here. Crimson glazed walls, dark green plaid carpet, and English antiques that I had culled from different rooms in the farm still made the right statement, in my opinion. Sebastian must have thought the same thing, since he had left everything intact.
I walked through into the adjoining room, which had once been mine, and discovered that the little sitting room looked the way it had in my day.
A melange of blues played against bright yellow walls, and the pieces of black-lacquered Chinoiserie furniture remained where I had placed them so long ago.
Curiosity truly getting the better of me, I wandered into the master bedroom. I was not in the least bit surprised to see that this, too, was unchanged. Shades of Rebecca, I muttered to myself, thinking of the old movie and wondered what Sebastian’s last wife had had to say about my decorating skills.
If I remembered correctly, Betsy Bethune had not spent much time at Laurel Creek Farm. She was a famous concert pianist and was usually performing on a stage in some foreign capital, while Sebastian had been thousands of miles away in some Third World country.
‘Which was why, in the end, they had divorced. They never saw each other, were never together, and Sebastian had told me at the time that it was pointless to continue the marriage.
I noticed a photograph of me in a silver frame, standing on an antique French chest of drawers between two windows. I went over, picked it up, and looked at it.
It was an enlargement of a snap he had taken on our honeymoon in Africa.
There I was, in my safari gear and wide-brimmed bush hat, smiling at the camera. Sebastian had written across the bottom: My darling vivi at the foot of Kilimanjaro.
I continued to gaze at it for a moment, and then I placed it back on the chest, surprised but also touched that he had kept it there for all these years.
“You can have that. If you want,” Jack said, making me jump.
I swung around. “My God, don’t creep up like that! You gave me such a start,” I exclaimed.
He strolled into the bedroom, joined me in front of the chest.
Lifting the photograph, he studied it for a moment, then handed it to me.
“Take it. It’s yours.”
“Thank you. That’s so nice of you, but are you sure?”
He nodded. “I’d keep it myself. But I have better pictures of you.
And Luciana won’t want it.” As he spoke his mouth twitched, and he tried to suppress a laugh. He was unsuccessful and began to chuckle.
I laughed with him. “She came at me like a spitfire a few minutes ago.”
“I noticed her angry stance. What was it all about?”
“She accused me of playing the grieving widow.”
Jack shook his head slowly, looking bemused. “She’s off the wall.
Pay no attention to her.”
“I don’t. But she did make me terribly angry. I wanted to slap her.
That’s why I came upstairs, in order to get a hold of myself.”
“Thought as much. That’s why I came after you.” He peered at me, looking concerned in the same way he had years ago. Clearing his throat, he added, “Are you okay, kid?”
“I’m all right, really. It takes more than Luciana to do me in, as you well know. I suppose I am a bit vulnerable, though. And I was absolutely furious the way she tried to make a scene, today of all days.
She’s as maddening as she ever was.”
“You’re right about that.” Jack opened the top drawer of the chest.
“There’s another reason I followed you. Wanted to give you some of his stuff. It’s in here. Choose anything.”
Taken by surprise I said nothing. Returning the photograph to its place, I looked in the drawer with him.
“It’s all mine. He left it to me.”
Thruing away from the window I thought: Nothing ever remains the same, everything changes. But then as I stood regarding the study I had to amend this thought slightly.
The room was exactly the same as it had been the day I finished decorating it eleven years ago. Nothing had changed here. Crimson glazed walls, dark green plaid carpet, and English antiques that I had culled from different rooms in the farm still made the right statement, in my opinion. Sebastian must have thought the same thing, since he had left everything intact.
I walked through into the adjoining room, which had once been mine, and discovered that the little sitting room looked the way it had in my day.
A melange of blues played against bright yellow walls, and the pieces of black-lacquered Chinoiserie furniture remained where I had placed them so long ago.
Curiosity truly getting the better of me, I wandered into the master bedroom. I was not in the least bit surprised to see that this, too, was unchanged. Shades of Rebecca, I muttered to myself, thinking of the old movie and wondered what Sebastian’s last wife had had to say about my decorating skills.
If I remembered correctly, Betsy Bethune had not spent much time at Laurel Creek Farm. She was a famous concert pianist and was usually performing on a stage in some foreign capital, while Sebastian had been thousands of miles away in some Third World country.
‘Which was why, in the end, they had divorced. They never saw each other, were never together, and Sebastian had told me at the time that it was pointless to continue the marriage.
I noticed a photograph of me in a silver frame, standing on an antique French chest of drawers between two windows. I went over, picked it up, and looked at it.
It was an enlargement of a snap he had taken on our honeymoon in Africa.
There I was, in my safari gear and wide-brimmed bush hat, smiling at the camera. Sebastian had written across the bottom: My darling vivi at the foot of Kilimanjaro.
I continued to gaze at it for a moment, and then I placed it back on the chest, surprised but also touched that he had kept it there for all these years.
“You can have that. If you want,” Jack said, making me jump.
I swung around. “My God, don’t creep up like that! You gave me such a start,” I exclaimed.
He strolled into the bedroom, joined me in front of the chest.
Lifting the photograph, he studied it for a moment, then handed it to me.
“Take it. It’s yours.”
“Thank you. That’s so nice of you, but are you sure?”
He nodded. “I’d keep it myself. But I have better pictures of you.
And Luciana won’t want it.” As he spoke his mouth twitched, and he tried to suppress a laugh. He was unsuccessful and began to chuckle.
I laughed with him. “She came at me like a spitfire a few minutes ago.”
“I noticed her angry stance. What was it all about?”
“She accused me of playing the grieving widow.”
Jack shook his head slowly, looking bemused. “She’s off the wall.
Pay no attention to her.”
“I don’t. But she did make me terribly angry. I wanted to slap her.
That’s why I came upstairs, in order to get a hold of myself.”
“Thought as much. That’s why I came after you.” He peered at me, looking concerned in the same way he had years ago. Clearing his throat, he added, “Are you okay, kid?”
“I’m all right, really. It takes more than Luciana to do me in, as you well know. I suppose I am a bit vulnerable, though. And I was absolutely furious the way she tried to make a scene, today of all days.
She’s as maddening as she ever was.”
“You’re right about that.” Jack opened the top drawer of the chest.
“There’s another reason I followed you. Wanted to give you some of his stuff. It’s in here. Choose anything.”
Taken by surprise I said nothing. Returning the photograph to its place, I looked in the drawer with him.
“It’s all mine. He left it to me.”
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