Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [11]
“Okay, I’ll bite. Who are you, and why are you standing in front of my door?”
He chuckles at my directness and steps aside, allowing me access to my apartment.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Hawthorne. I know it’s a bit unnerving to have someone waiting for you when you arrive home, but I missed you at your office earlier today.”
I close the distance to the door and, after setting down my briefcase, retrieve my key from my pants pocket.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say as I push the door open and stoop for my briefcase.
I see him nod and he gives another small chuckle.
“I guess I didn’t.” He offers a hand. “My name is Gregory Hardy, Dr. Hawthorne. And I have a business proposition for you.”
CHAPTER 3
To the best of my recollection, this is my first time in a drawing room. When the butler—a detached but polite fellow with no discernible accent—brought me here, he said, “If you will wait in the drawing room, sir, Mr. Reese will be with you shortly.” The way he said it, stretching out the words drawing room as if they identified a chamber of mystery, suggested what it might be like to gain entry to the Oval Office—a room with hundreds of years’ worth of world-changing moments woven into the walls and carpet.
Mr. Reese’s drawing room looks like nothing more than a small parlor, with expensive items and the signs of a tasteful decorator’s hand, but a parlor nonetheless. It occurs to me that I’ve never known what a drawing room was and I’m a bit disappointed. Opposite the doorway are an active fireplace and a single burgundy chair half facing the hearth. There’s a book on a fluted end table within arm’s reach of anyone occupying the chair. To my right, two couches the same color as the chair fill out the room. They look new, as if they’ve never been sat on. Although there is a spare feel to the furnishings, I like the balance.
On two walls—the one to my left, and the one harboring the fireplace—are three paintings from the Impressionist school. I recognize two of them and I have no doubt that they are the genuine articles. It seems odd that if I were to view these same pieces in a museum, it would be from behind a velvet rope. Just because I can, I step up to the nearest painting and run my finger along its frame. I’m not bold enough to touch the painting itself. The artwork beneath my hand is probably valued close to one hundred thousand dollars, and I feel a reverence for the singular beauty of the piece. If this is any indicator of other treasures on the property, then Mr. Reese must have more money than God.
I turn away from the painting until I am facing the doorway and, once I register what I’m seeing, my breath catches in my throat. Above a high, narrow table that supports a few bottles of expensive brandy, hangs a large brass mirror that I immediately date as ninth century b.c. The light from the fire sends ripples over the polished metal surface and I see few imperfections on its face. The edges are gilded, the work of a master craftsman, with only small scratches and dents to mark its passage through the better part of three millennia. Like a moth to a flame, I cross the soft, dark carpet until I am mere inches from the artifact, until I can see my face looking out at me. I am beyond words; if the paintings evoked appreciation, this ancient mirror wrenches longing from deep within my soul.
“It’s Hebrew.”
“I know. Somewhere between 860 and 885 b.c.” After another look, I turn from the mirror to meet the lord of this manor.
I’ve seen pictures of the man, although these are scarcer than photos of other men of similar means. Most of them have come from charity events; one documented a talk he gave at UNC. What strikes me most is that he looks frailer in the flesh.
“Very good, Dr. Hawthorne. By my guess, there are less than fifty people in the world who could truly appreciate that mirror.”
“And about that many who could afford it.”
He laughs and it’s a good-natured sound, if labored. He crosses the room and extends a hand that, in better light, reveals the accumulation of years in the wrinkles and liver spots.