"Yes, it's quite an old piece. You were recommended…Ben that's right. No actually I would prefer – of course no cost is no object. Right. As complete as possible it's a very special piece, I'm sure you hear that every day but it truly is. Yes I can provide an appropriate space."
He paused tapping the fingers of his free hand on a mahogany desk as he adjusted his grip on the cellphone and listened to the voice on the other end.
"Yes, as soon as possible. I'll send you the paperwork and directions – no you'll want them trust me. Very well, tomorrow then."
He hung up and shook his head. He was going to spend a small fortune on this painting. Admittedly he had the money and all the time in the world but it was still an absurdly extravagant decision. He lifted the lid on his laptop and sat at the desk to send the restorer the forms and information she would need.
Elizabetta Stanton was highly recommended, at the top of everyone's lists and extremely expensive. He didn't care he wanted that delightful painting treated properly and Elizabetta was the closest he would get to a guarantee of that.
When he was out of sight I would amuse myself with daydreams. I genuinely had no idea what would happen should he repair my painting. Would I spring from it fully healed and restored to flesh? Would my withered pathetic rotted corpse in an unknown pauper's grave rise like the villain of an 80s horror movie? Or would I live on in the painting but able to move freely? Able to speak? The delicious whirl of possibilities thrilled me.
Methos put the computer away and returned to the sitting room. He had been careful to place the painting in a section of the room where sunlight would not fall but in plain view. He settled himself into a favorite seat and studied it from afar.
Again it seemed to be different but he couldn't say why. As he sat he slipped in to a doze. He had moved to the little house the month before. It had been a hard move a lot of paperwork and aliases miles and miles of travel and doubling back. He had wanted true peace and quiet. He had even gone the extra step of locating land that had been blessed by several different religions over the years. Methos' groceries were delivered, other needs fulfilled via internet orders and go-betweens. He had exiled himself from the world to lick his wounds.
Eventually his doze became a genuine sleep. He woke after dawn the next day to his doorbell ringing. He rose gracefully from his chair and went to answer it.
He didn't seem to notice or care that his hair was mussed, his clothing wrinkled, and his chin stubbled. He moved with an air of command and power.
"Mr. Pierce?" Someone asked as he opened the door.
The someone was a woman in her late thirties. She was stocky and wore her hair in a severe bun. Her clothing was ten years out of date but impeccably kept. Her hands were stubby and calloused as Methos would find later.
"Ms. Stanton?"
"Sir." She said and handed him a manila envelope he accepted it and stepped aside to allow her entry. He tore the envelope open and spotted the contract he had sent her. He set it aside.
"Welcome I'm glad you found me it can be tricky. The painting is this way." Methos said easily picking up her all business intentions.
He lead her into the sitting room and stood aside content she would find the painting. She did so immediately, like a bird dog after a duck. She knelt in front of it and muttered to herself for a few moments then rose and faced him.
"I will take the position. It will take three months."
"Excellent, provide me with a list of your needs and I'll have them taken care of. Have you seen any other work by this artist Ms. Stanton?"
"No, not personally the works of Basil Hallward are surprisingly rare given their exquisite quality."
Methos committed the name to memory; if there were other extant examples of this man's work he would do his best to locate them.
The days and weeks flew by. Elizabetta made up for her trollish appearance and ham fisted manners with breathtaking brilliance in her craft. I could feel the fibers of my painting being mended and rewoven the original paint preserved and patched with delicate touches. She used all manner of magnifying glasses and loupes to see the finest of details. Basil would have been proud to have such hands repair what the damage I had caused.
"Mr. Pierce the painting will be finished by the end of the week." Elizabetta said one day. Methos was reading an honest to god newspaper in his chair in the sitting room when she gave him the information. He lowered the paper and regarded her calmly.
"Excellent, I'll see you receive a bonus."
"May I ask how you acquired this painting?"
"It was abandoned in a piece of property I purchased several years ago."
"I am glad you saw its value."
"It's one of the most extraordinary pieces I've ever seen. Do you know much about this Basil Hallward? I have not been able to find much about his body of work."
"He is spoken of in hushed voices between professionals in the art world. It is rumored he was a great portrait artist at the turn of the 19th century. His work was heralded and he painted many great people but he disappeared it was thought he suffered an emotional breakdown and fled to France. Rumors persisted for years that he had been murdered by an acquaintance. It was believed the accused man disposed of Basil's body using his skills as a chemist. What really happened is unknown."
Methos drank in the information. Elizabetta had never spoken so long or at such length before.
"Do you have any theories?"
"I believe that when one perfects their life's work they are compelled to change that work and their life. I like to believe he went to France but I wonder if it might not have been a darker ending. Those that create great beauty often labor under a destined tragedy it seems."
"You're very poetic Ms. Stanton."
She blushed furiously and concentrated on packing up her supplies for the day.
