by Helena Fallon.
Spencer Reid sat at his kitchen table wondering how he was going to spend his weekend. He had been home over a week and had accomplished an enormous transformation; the apartment was beginning to have a look of a home with the individual touches of its occupant. As he sat on the comfortable black leather chair, he rested his elbows on the glass table top as he nursed his berry red mug of coffee. This time last Saturday, he had been painting this bright yellow wall. Once Spencer had an idea in his head, he liked to follow it through and there really wasn't anything else to do, other than his book. If he tackled that project too quickly he would need to set himself another task to fill his time and give himself direction. Reid had now decided to limit himself, to a chapter a night, after writing 4 chapters yesterday while waiting for all the furniture and furnishings to be delivered. Spencer had now finished 10 chapters; he sipped his coffee thoughtfully.
He still needed to get some more cushions but he liked what he had done so far, even if he now had to transfer money from his savings to pay the credit card bill. Spencer smiled to himself at the thought of the spending spree he had just been on. He had not spent so much money since actually buying this apartment. Reid was normally so fugal that the credit card company had actually rung to check that it was really the Dr. Spencer Reid who normally only bought music, books, food and gas. Once Spencer had explained, that he was finally decorating his apartment, the man interrogating him began to understand the sudden expenditure. However, Adrian, as he had identified himself, had also assumed that Reid now had a partner who had encouraged the sudden change in spending habits. Spencer decided that it was simpler to let these people think that, but Reid was also impressed, and re-assured, that the change in his spending habits had been picked up.
After he had finished the actual decorating on the Monday, the next three days had been spent hunting down the furniture and furnishings. On the Tuesday, he had begun the hunt for a new couch and a dining table. Spencer had wanted something in a classical style that would not date. He didn't like bright coloured couches and knew he wanted a dark brown leather to enhance the warmth of the room. He was not a black leather and chrome man, it might suit Morgan's tastes, but Spencer liked natures growing colours. Suitably dressed, he went to four of the best furniture retailers before he found the couch he wanted. It wasn't just the rich chestnut brown he had been seeking, but it was also comfortable for his long legs and spine with its deep seat and high back. Spencer also bought the matching chair and recliner because he knew that these where going to last him many years and were consequently worth every penny. When these pieces were delivered yesterday, he had the chair placed in the bedroom, in the corner by the window, while the recliner and large couch, that could easily seat four people, went in the area at the far end of the living room.
The dining table was found in the second retailers; a simple rectangular design, but its walnut wood was the attraction. The beautiful natural pattern of the grain sold the piece to him before the assistant even got to Spencer, and he also bought 6 high backed walnut dining chairs with chestnut brown leather seats and backs. The matching sideboard was also of a clean, unfussy design allowing the wood's natural grain to sell the piece. It was 5 foot long and only 2 foot deep with two cupboards, either side four central drawers; plain oval brass handles completed the pleasing looks. The dining furniture had been delivered first, at 8:30, before Goodwill had arrived to take the old things away. For a few minutes, the vestibule was very crowded and Spencer had to push the old couch into the doorway of the bedroom to enable the men to get the sideboard in. The table went near the first window, at the opposite end to where the couch was to go, and Spencer felt very satisfied with the way he was finally defining areas in this substantial room.
Spencer had moved his desk, with his computer, to the middle window and this acted as an invisible dividing line for the room. The couch was lined up with the start of the third window and the recliner was set opposite this final window. To the left and right of the middle window were two new 6 foot high oak bookcases, which sat neatly in the spaces between the first and third windows. These new bookcases were quickly filled with books that had once been neatly stacked on the floor. Behind the couch, but inline with the desk, was the 'Go' table and he placed two of the dining chairs, either side, for the players.
Two more identical tall oak bookcases also stood in the vestibule, opposite the bathroom, and another in the bedroom, on the opposite wall to his bed and near the closets. Next to this bookcase he had a smaller one, only 3 foot high but 4 foot long, that sat beneath his JEM painting. The leather chair was next to this smaller oak bookcase and Spencer thought that it summed him up well; he loved books and when he couldn't sleep, he would read. The new table lamps he had bought with Arthur were now either side of the bed and the old one, he had been using to help him sleep, was on the small bookcase, at the chair end.
Spencer got another mug of coffee and wandered into his living room and placed the mug down on the new coffee table; it was a rectangular shape with a shelf under, but made again of walnut. The beautiful pattern of the top was protected by clear glass, it had been very expensive but Reid knew he wanted it and felt it would last years. He walked over to the windows to open up the drapes and blinds. The drapes for both the living room and the bedroom had been another whole days searching on the Wednesday. He had amused Arthur, when they had met for lunch, with his exploits for the drapes. Spencer had taken the search very seriously and he was not going to put up with second best. Armed with his samples of the wall colours, Spencer had doggedly gone round 15 shops and met, what seemed to him, an army of female assistants who flocked to his side to give their advice in every shop.
In the eighth shop he had found the bedroom drapes, they were a heavy lined Jacquard silk in the Mediterranean blue colour; they looked beautiful when the light caught them against the pale walls. In the tenth shop he found the blinds to compliment those drapes, in a soft white, with a linen effect. The living room drapes had been the hardest to find, but the last shop held the ideal pattern. He had never thought that the teal colour was going to be so hard to accommodate for the drapes. However, the very patient greying Afro-American had a marvellous sense of colour and design and Spencer appreciated her suggestions. He had at first been looking for something in pale peppermint to contrast with the teal and match the rest of the colour scheme. Cindy listened and tried to find fabrics that fell into that colour spectrum, but none seemed right. However, she then said that perhaps he needed to think more boldly, especially as it was a large room. Cindy then took Spencer to another display and showed him the drapes that now graced this spacious room. They were an ivory with bold stylised teal and peppermint leaves, some with gold thread for veins and others with silver and then there were the random vibrant red flowers, the colour of holly berries, with gold and silver centres. There was also an ivory co-ordinating blind, which faintly ghosted the drapes design but on a miniature scale. Reid had been grateful for Cindy's expertise because he was very weary and was about to give up for that day. However, after his evening meal, he had felt re-vitalised and put up his new drapes in both rooms before going to bed.
Spencer opened the drapes by the dining table, and his eyes fell on the second JEM painting that he had bought after having lunch with Arthur. He was so close to the Torpedo Factory Art Centre that he couldn't resist dropping in…it had just arrived and Spencer was captured once again by this artist's gift with oils. This canvas was called 'Northern Lights' and was an abstract interpretation, of the strange phenomena within the Polar Region; the aurora borealis. It was a large rectangular work, 5 foot long and 3 foot tall, of wonderful colour that leapt off the canvas. Swirls, splashes, blobs and dashes of reds, blues, greens, a hint of yellow, purple and indigo together with a tone of a dull deep pink, peeping out of all the activity. It was a restless piece and Spencer thought it represented his own waking mind quite well!
"You like JEM's work, don't you?" Greg the dealer quietly said, coming up beside him.
Spencer didn't take his eyes off the image, "It's magnificent. I would like this, but there's no price tag?"
"That's because the artist has only just delivered it and I've not had a chance to put one on!" the small balding man said, his pale grey eyes alert with amusement. Greg had a reputation locally for dealing with the very best of the Virginian artists.
"$900…and I'll mount it for you on your wall because it will take two of us to do it … this is quite a weight and will need to be done properly…"
"Would you? I know where I want it in my living room," Spencer replied, his eyes still on the painting.
"How does the 'Mist over St. Marks' look?" Greg asked intrigued by this young man who he'd often seen over the past few years browsing, but now in less than a week was buying his most successful artist. The dealer looked carefully at the customer; he didn't look well at all, too pale and far too thin.
"If you put it up for me I'll show you where I've hung it, so you can tell the artist that his work is in good hands…"
"Done!…But I'll let you into a little known fact," Greg's voice teased and Spencer turned to look at him, "JEM is a woman," he whispered, and watched Spencer's eyes widen in surprise.
"Really! You can't tell from her work, at times so delicate and others so bold and strong," replied the young man in a soft thoughtful voice.
"JEM's not one to like the limelight but I've known her for about three years now, she only paints in her spare time…Few artists can live off their art these days and she left New York where she would have had a wider market."
"Then it's our gain…Is she from these parts?"
"Yes, she's a Virginian. Now Phil and I could bring this when we close tonight, anytime after 6 o'clock?" asked Greg, suddenly changing the subject. Spencer thought Greg had probably felt he had revealed a little too much about JEM, so Spencer didn't press further that line of interest.
Greg and his son, Phil, had hung the painting for Spencer and he had made them Earl Grey tea and showed them where he had placed the other JEM. The men were very impressed with his décor and Spencer explained that the new furniture was arriving the next day and the walnut sideboard would be placed beneath this canvas, as they were of a similar length.
Spencer felt that he had made two new friends that night, as the men stayed for nearly 2 hours and chatted about art and music. Greg left with the promise of putting Spencer on his e-mailing list about future evening events, which he held around four times a year, that helped new artists to be seen and some liked to meet the public. Reid was warned that JEM wasn't likely to turn up despite the locals being curious about her.
Spencer sat in the recliner, drinking his coffee and continued wondering what he would do on this Saturday. He would write another chapter tonight, but he had a whole day to fill and it was only 08:03 according to his clock on his new television. He had already been to the bakers for his bagels and supply of doughnuts for the day; the weather looked overcast and it was cooler than yesterday. Reid finally decided to go down to the Farmer's Market and get some fresh fruit and vegetables and then wander around the craft stalls aswell, in case he found something else for his home.
A couple of hours later, his old car was not sounding very well as it spluttered upwards towards his street. Spencer was very attached to this old Volvo, it had been the family car and he had driven it from Las Vegas all the way back to Harvard, the Easter after his Mom had been admitted to Bennington. The family home was sold and he had put books and a few precious things into store. The sanatorium had allowed his mother to have a few personal pieces of furniture like her favourite chair and bookcase for her tiny room. However, most of the family furnishings had suffered through neglect; his mother had not been the cleanest of people and sometimes she would vandalise things she thought contained bugging equipment. Spencer still had the good china, and the odd trinket, that had not been smashed but they were safely boxed up in the closet. The old car sounded definitely sick so he hoped Dennis would be able to fix it; he'd have to ring him on Monday.
Spencer coached the vehicle into his parking space and collected his shopping off the passenger seat. He was at a loose end and it wasn't even midday. How was he going to cope with sick leave now his major project was almost finished? He was pondering this as he opened his apartment door to the sound of his cell ringing; he'd forgotten to put it in the warm grey jacket he was wearing. It was too early for Arthur so he was intrigued.
"Hello," he breathlessly managed, not checking the number display.
"It's Craig, you sound breathless…is everything all right?" the voice asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine, I was just opening the door when I heard the phone…I'd forgotten to take it with me?"
"You're human enough to forget things?" the voice teased.
"It was in the jacket I was wearing yesterday…and I didn't check before leaving…I find not working as left me a bit disorientated from my usual routines," confessed Spencer.
"Yes, it can do that," the voice sympathised, "I was calling because I wondered if you'd like to spend the afternoon over here and perhaps you'd like to stay and share our evening meal with us?"
"That would be good but I'll have to come on the train… my car's sounding sick," Reid confessed, and heard Craig chuckle.
"That car of yours is almost vintage! You ought to buy a new one with your salary."
"Hey, I've been spending this past week …I've been decorating and refurbishing my home," Spencer countered.
"Oh boy, you should have said, my sister's an interior designer and could probably have got you some discounts…Anyway, how about me meeting you off the 3 o'clock train?"
"Yeah, right that'll be good, see you at three then,"
Spencer ended the call and went to put his food away and find places for his recent buys from the craft stalls. He carefully unwrapped the wooden mice and cat, which had been made to put on a shelf as it was peering down in a crouching position. Reid put it on the top of the bookcase, near the couch end of the room and then placed the three mice at various levels along the shelves. Spencer stepped back and grinned to himself…it was just a sense of fun to stop the room looking too serious!
The train was approaching the outskirts of Dale City; Craig and Melinda lived about 10 miles north of this place, but this was their nearest station. Spencer had been to their home a couple of times before, over the past 18 months, but each time had been interrupted by a call to work. Fortunately, they understood because Craig was a surgeon at the Burns Unit and they joked at the Dowland Society, if a phone rang…it was always one or the other of them, summoned to work. Spencer had liked Craig and Melinda from the first time he'd met them, nearly two years ago now, when Craig had left New York and brought his experience back to Virginia. They were a quiet, warm couple, with two young children under the age of five; the atmosphere of their home reminded Spencer of the Bishops'. Craig occasionally mentioned a younger sister, who liked early music, but Spencer had never met her. It appeared that whenever the sister had come to the Dowland meetings then Spencer had been working and at other times, she had choir practice. The train stopped and he made his way to the exit.
"There's Mr. Magic!" the enthusiastic child's voice told the other people mingling in the entrance of the station.
Spencer grinned; Lydia had been shopping with her Mom when they had met, while Spencer had been on his 'drapes hunt'. Spencer had charmed her by magically producing a dime from behind her ear.
Craig grinned back; he was broad shouldered and 6 foot tall of lean muscle, although probably 10 years older than Spencer, they had an easy friendship right from the start because of their love of lute music. Craig's broad open face was gentle and the man often smiled, his whole being gave off a confident steady air, which a surgeon in his position needed when dealing with such damaged patients and their loved ones.
"It's good to see you. Melinda said that you were shopping and looked pretty tired when she saw you on Wednesday," Craig said observing with a medical eye, the very thin and tired looking man before him.
"Yeah, I spent all of Wednesday looking for the right drapes for the bedroom and living room...it was quite an experience!" he confessed, and felt Lydia take his hand. He smiled down at her; she had her father's tight curls but in a straw yellow, rather than the father's dark brown, and Craig's dark eyes. Spencer always thought that blond hair and dark brown eyes were very unusual, but his brain instantly told him that often the hair darkened at puberty. Lydia began to tell him about her kitten, "Boots", for the rest of the journey, while Craig drove to the small community where they lived.
Craig was worried by Spencer's appearance; he'd always been thin but this was serious and he noticed more twitchy nervous movements than usual. Although Spencer had sent round an e-mail saying he'd been hurt on the job, there had been no other explanation. Melinda, a trained nurse, had been upset over Spencer's appearance and Craig was just beginning to understand why…They had both recognised some symptoms of post traumatic stress; they had seen it all before close to home.
The large detached house, in a leafy street, looked cared for and the wide ivy green door swung open to greet their arrival. Melinda stood on the threshold holding Ben; another yellow haired, dark eyed child, who was fast approaching his first birthday.
Spencer was soon swept in and given a mug of coffee and large slice of chocolate cake, which Melinda felt sure he could easily find a space for.
Ben crawled happily away to play with some plastic building blocks and a red and white musical ball, which Lydia seemed to like rolling to her brother. Each time the soft sphere gently hit Ben's plump body, he giggled with delight. The game was occasionally joined by Boots, who would attack the moving target, sending the soft ball careering away from the fascinated Ben.
"Oh they'll be happy for hours," said Craig, "That kitten was the last one of the litter from the hospital boiler room, I got talked into it... I'm a dog person myself."
Spencer grinned, why was it that so many men were afraid to admit that they liked cats? "I like cats, I guess it's the fact that you never feel that you own a cat because of that air of independence they have."
"Feline superiority you mean," grinned Craig, "Let's go to the study, we can talk there without being interrupted." Craig led the way to the book lined room off the hallway, overlooking the back garden.
Spencer followed him with his coffee, and let the calm ambience of this warm family home wrap round his weary body. When they had sat down, on the high-backed burgundy leather chairs, Craig gave his guest a searching look.
"Spencer are you all right?" Craig softly asked, but Spencer could not mistake the serious and concerned tone in the soft voice.
"Yeah, I'm on the mend," the guest re-assured, and Spencer retreated behind his defences, not wanting to touch upon the reasons for his sick leave.
"You know Melinda was really worried after she'd seen you on Wednesday…we both care about our friends," said Craig carefully, who knew that this conversation, which he had rehearsed in his head, was not going as planned already.
"It's OK, Craig, I'm on the mend…" Spencer repeated, hoping that Craig would let the matter drop.
"Bullshit!" Craig said softly. But hearing the word coming from this gentle mannered man surprised Spencer, "I'm a doctor, Melinda was once a nurse with ER training, so we both know that's not quite true...No let me finish," Craig insisted, as he saw Spencer about to interrupt, " We know PTSD when we see it, from watching another at close quarters…You're an FBI agent and the few Quantico people, who attend the Dowland evenings, have been very quiet about the enquiries …You know, 'Seen anything of Spencer?', or Dora's more direct, 'Has anything happened to Spencer?' A lot of people rang one another after your general e-mail. The Quantico Brotherhood, as we call them, were keeping silent, the most we got was, 'He got hurt and he's on sick leave,' Honestly, I really thought I'd have to ask my Dad to pull a few favours…"
"Your Dad?" asked Spencer intrigued, he had never gone into Craig's background.
"Yeah, he's Judge Alan Petersen," replied Craig and watched with satisfaction the look on his guest's face, "I don't like name dropping and we children have always been told that we were to make our own way in our careers but not to do anything to damage Dad's position."
Spencer looked into the dark concerned eyes, he knew instinctively that he could trust Craig with the truth of sorts.
"The truth is I've been in an exclusive clinic. Over two months ago I was kidnapped, drugged and tortured while on the job…in the end, I killed the guy who had mental health problems…multiple personalities. When I came home, I sent out the standard e-mail. But seriously, I've got the Head of the FBI Mental Health Services at Quantico on my case, and two of his best people, so I'm being kept track of now I'm home. The decorating thing was one of the projects I've been given to help me pick up my life again. Every day, my psych, Arthur rings to keep contact."
"Good, I'm relieved to hear that. It's only because Melinda and I care about our friends that I pressed the issue and I'll not say anything to anyone else, other than you're on the mend. So, what have you been doing to you're apartment?"
For the next half-hour Spencer recounted his exploits, occasionally adding his own insights on his situation. Craig listened attentively; this was the first time that Spencer had revealed more personal details.
"I really surprised Arthur. I don't think he realised just how socialised I am, despite being a genius, but I had to do the shopping at an early age…"
"Why…was your Mom ill?"
"Yeah…she hated shopping anyway and was far too interested in her studies of mediaeval literature," Spencer passed over the question quickly and went on to describing his paintings.
"Oh you like JEM's too…We have a few, one in the dining room and a couple in the bedrooms…"
Suddenly the conversation was interrupted by Lydia's excited shouting announcing to the household, "Auntee Jo, it's Auntee Jo!"
Craig looked totally surprised, "Sorry, Spencer, this is unexpected but I've always wanted you to meet Jo,"
"Yeah, I think every time I've seen you at the Dowland Society you tell me she came the time I didn't…I was beginning to think that the mysterious Jo was some kind of 'in joke' between you and Melinda…"
"Come and meet my little sister, she loves early music and has a fine voice," said Craig smiling warmly, and Spencer followed him out to the hall.
Melinda was opening the door and the men were just in time to see Lydia fling herself into her Aunt's arms for a hug, and Ben was not far behind crawling along to be part of the welcome. The dark curly haired woman, dressed in a black cord jacket and denim jeans, bent down to pick up Ben and she tickled his tummy playfully.
"Hello little dumpling," she said to him, as the boy happily gurgled and dribbled and tried to answer back in his own babbling way.
She turned her attention to the adults, and Spencer was immediately struck by the likeness of the two siblings: the hair, the broad open face and the dark eyes.
"Sorry to just drop in without warning," she said, smiling at Spencer warmly, "But I just managed to find a real bargain and its solved your anniversary present from me for this year,"
"It's another four months before our anniversary," said Melinda, who was puzzled and tried not to appear too eager.
"Oh, I just knew you would appreciate it and see I was meant to bring it directly here…Look… two men all ready to carry the box!" she explained, winding up the suspense.
"What box that takes two men to carry?" asked Craig, playing along.
"The one the storekeeper and assistant managed to get in my trunk. Come along, Melinda's dying to know what's inside it!"
Craig grinned at Spencer, "God knows what she's found, these interior designers have weird and wonderful haunts," he confided.
"They do! I can't say that I've ever met one before," replied Spencer, following Craig out to Jo's car. Melinda and Lydia were already beside the silver Lexus waiting for the trunk to open.
"Just don't drop it guys or Melinda will kill you!" Jo warned them, as they carried the large heavy cardboard box into the kitchen as instructed.
"I want to warn you, Jo," began Craig, "This guy is an FBI agent and I don't think you're supposed to threaten them."
"Really," she paused for a moment, "I was not personally threatening anyone, I was just passing on the possibility of dire consequences if you two dropped it,"
"Dad always reckoned she should've done law," said Craig, in a stage whisper.
They lifted the box on to the table and Melinda found a large pair of household scissors to slit the packing tape.
"What's inside, Mommee?" Lydia asked, her excitement making her all fidgety.
Jo was still holding Ben, who was content to look on.
"Are you going to introduce us?" Jo said pointedly to her brother.
"Sorry…Spencer this is my sister, Jo…Jo this is Spencer, the lutenist…"
"You're real! I began to think you were a mass illusion shared by the Dowland Society!" she exclaimed, "Oh this is wonderful, have you brought your lute?"
"No…I didn't think…" began Spencer apologetically.
"Jo we invited him over for the afternoon and to share our meal…" Craig interjected defensively.
"Oh! Jo! These …how can I ever thank you!" Melinda's voice cut in.
All attention turned to Melinda and the box. Melinda was carefully unwrapping an assortment of pieces from a set of expensive fine bone china.
"It was a store that was closing down in a tiny town on the west side of Fredericksburg. I was coming back from a rural craft fair that way…I don't think they knew what they had, said they hadn't sold any of that design in 10 years. The owner had died at Christmas and the daughter had sold the premises and was disposing of the stock. I just said I'd take it because I knew someone who had the service. There's enough to complete your Mom's dinner service now and there's a few spares…"
"Look Craig, there's even a tureen and a spare lid and a replacement coffee pot and …it must have cost the earth, Jo. This has been a discontinued line for over 15 years, my Mom had tried to find replacements before she died…"
"Look, it was a bargain, those people just wanted it off their hands quickly. I gave them a good price, so I can live with my conscience," Jo justified, "I think its really nice to be able to help you complete the thing your Mom really treasured…She had so many happy memories connected with this china and I hope that the tradition will continue with you."
Spencer watched the interchange and felt the warmth between the family gathered in the kitchen. Melinda was fighting back tears with the emotions that surfaced along with memories, but Spencer only sensed the goodness of happy memories brought out into the light with pleasure. He also noticed for the first time Jo's left hand, as Melinda came over to her to give her a hug of gratitude, that would express more than words from her full heart. Spencer recognised the deep scars of defensive knife wounds and wondered who had attacked this warm and vibrant young woman. Was this what Craig was intimating when he said that they understood the symptoms of PTSD because of seeing it at close quarters?
"Oh, I'm sorry, Spencer, we're neglecting you," Melinda suddenly said.
"Don't be silly, I was glad to be of some help with the box and like Jo said, this is a very special bargain and one to be treasured," replied Spencer, who found the words forming spontaneously, but saw that Melinda was pleased with his understanding of the emotional content of the gift.
"Spencer's been decorating his apartment all week…" Craig began, knowing his sister would take it from there…
"Have you, what have you done? Come along Lydia, lets leave Mommy and Daddy to put that very special china away, and you can make Uncle Spencer and me some tea with your tea set…"
Lydia disappeared to find her toys and to set about her task.
"Sorry, Spencer, but she'll want to help and its not wise at her age," Jo whispered, as she led the way into the family room that was full of toys and books and the television, in a corner, if all else failed to entertain this lively little girl.
They sat down together on a couch and Ben wriggled free to explore the floor and his toys.
"Now you were going to tell me about your decorating…" she said, turning towards him and Spencer felt the full impact of her dark eyes. The irises were a very dark brown that, in certain light, gave the impression that they were black; not a sinister cold colour, but large and comforting. The more you looked, the more you were drawn under their spell. Before he could consciously worry about getting nervous, he was telling Craig's sister about his exploits of decorating and shopping, even about the trip with Arthur. In the middle of all of this, they had played a tea party game with Lydia, before the playful kitten had arrived to distract her by attacking a piece of string with a catnip mouse attached. It was a game Lydia had often played with Boots and neither seemed to tire of it. Ben came back to his Aunt, who picked him up, and he contentedly snuggled up to her and fell asleep on her lap, ignoring everything else going on around him.
When Craig returned, he found them deep into conversation about the music of John Dowland and the role of the Silver poets in Elizabethan literature. He decided that he'd not interrupt and went back to the kitchen.
"Does Spencer or Jo need anything?" enquired the attentive Melinda.
"No, I just thought I'd be a bit of a gooseberry…You know how we always thought they'd get on well…"
"We don't say a word to anybody," Melinda said firmly, but the two of them shared knowing smiles…Well it had taken two years to finally introduce them and then it hadn't been planned, but life could be like that sometimes.
Four hours later, Spencer found himself being driven homewards by Jo who, coincidentally, also lived in Alexandria about 10 minutes drive away from his apartment. She wouldn't dream of him going back by train and they were quickly planning to go to a craft fair together the next day, so he could look for more cushions, while Jo was always on the look out for things she could use in her work. She pulled into the small parking area belonging to his apartment block.
"Spencer, I'm going to sound very nosy, but it's my job as an interior designer, er…I really…"
"Would you like to come up and see it?" but he knew the answer, and he actually wanted her professional opinion on his efforts. Spencer admitted to himself that the apartment now revealed a lot more about the owner and he wanted this woman to see his home and crucially, he wanted Jo to like what she saw.
As she took the elevator with him, Jo was amazed at herself; she didn't normally behave like this with people she had only just met. However, she justified her actions to herself by rationalising that Spencer was a trusted friend of Craig and Melinda and he was with the FBI. But for the first time in over four years, she felt comfortable with a man outside of work.
Spencer opened his door and went before her, turning on the lights to the rooms.
"Go ahead and look around, I'll make some tea if you like?" he suggested, remembering from the conversations at Craig's home that this woman preferred tea to coffee, didn't eat red meat and didn't like strong tasting or oily fish." He busied himself in the kitchen putting together his teapot, jug and sugar bowl and cups and saucers all on the shiny black tray.
She had gone to the bathroom first, then the bedroom, where she lingered by the bookcases and noted the titles. Jo looked at bookcases in the vestibule and admired the chest of drawers. The interior designer poked her head round the kitchen door to admire the yellow wall and the table and chairs and thought the etchings were very effective. The zebra blind, she declared, was a dramatic use of pattern and colour that complimented the whole effect of his kitchen. She left Spencer pouring boiling water over Darjeeling tea and entered the living room.
Jo went over to the drapes and closed them to admire their pattern within the overall effect of the room. When Spencer arrived carrying the tray of tea things, Jo was lost in the painting.
"Northern Lights" she said, "it looks just right here."
Spencer placed the tray on the coffee table and looked up at her, how did she know?"
Jo turned and gave him the most open and fullest smile he'd seen from her, "You may be a criminal profiler but, if you ever want a change of career, you could go for interior design…you have a natural flair for it. Don't look so sceptical; interior designers need to profile clients to enable them to dress their homes in a way that expresses their client's personality…"
The man smiled at her, "I was impressed that you knew the painting."
He watched as her face momentarily mirrored the internal debate of her mind. Suddenly the barriers, which had been down from the moment he had met her, snapped up into a defensive position. She turned away from him and back to the canvas.
"Yes, I do know it," she said softly, " I…I…"
Spencer felt doubt sweep through her, something that he had not sensed before, had he touched upon a distressing memory?
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, but the title is on the back so you obviously have seen it before, probably where I bought it…" Spencer soothed, not wanting to upset this interesting woman.
"The Torpedo Factory," she smiled back at him, once more confident and warm, "I get a lot of things I use in my work locally." Jo turned back to the painting, a few more moments passed lost in thought, but then she suddenly changed course.
"This apartment is really beautiful, Spencer, it's so warm and interesting and the use of colour…You know too many men go for minimal, neutral, black and chrome…and to me it's lifeless! Real people have possessions, and colour is important in our lives to express our personalities; neutral tones have to be used very carefully to show off possessions. However, it often ends up just reflecting the rather colourless personalities of the occupants, who choose it, and who are afraid to see beyond the style magazines…they can't think for themselves!"
"Well, I'm glad I'm not a minimalist, I couldn't live without my books and music."
"I should hope not, you're supposed to be a genius so I expected to see divergent interests and I've not been disappointed…The carpet here is a traditional design but it's perfect with the furniture, the red really shows off the walnut coffee table and the chestnut of the couch. I love the terrarium and the bonsai tree and its really wonderful to find a man who's not afraid to use a vase properly. That's a beautiful piece of glass," she enthused as she turned to admire the tall modern vase, placed on the berry red table runner, in the centre of the walnut table. The vase was clear except for two fine long black lines that reached, from a berry red oval to one side near the vase's bottom, to almost the rim. Spencer had placed three white lilies in the vase that morning and now he felt the glow of her praise.
"Overall, it's a wonderful mix of the old and the new and it really works! You can come and work at Fairfax Estates any time, I'll recommend you to my uncle…he owns it, with his wife," she said, and watched him assimilate the information.
"Fairfax Estates, I'm very impressed…you're on the accredited list for FBI accommodation."
"Yes, and my aunt and uncle have worked hard over the years to build up their business. We have very strict vetting procedures for all our tenants and workforce. I'm very fortunate to work for them, but if I ever betrayed the trust they have given me then they would dismiss me…I may be family, but I'm just one of their employees at the end of the day."
Spencer nodded, beginning to understand a little of the work that was entrusted to her discretion. Fairfax Estates housed Pentagon officials, and the like, and such trust was not quickly bought but had been earned over the years.
Jo came to sit on the recliner, Spencer was conscious of the move; here was a woman with a male she had only just met and was consequently keeping some distance between them, no matter how well they seemed to be getting on. Her eyes looked towards the bookcase and she grinned with sheer amusement.
"I like the cat and mice, where did you find those?"
"At the Farmer's Market today," Spencer replied, pleased that she understood their purpose in this room that revealed the man's intellect.
Her dark eyes fell upon the lute case.
"Would you like me to play my lute a little, while you drink your tea?" he asked shyly, wondering if he was sounding too egocentric about his abilities.
Spencer saw Jo's face light up in a mixture of delight and wonderment, "Would you?…You've never been at the meetings when I attended."
Spencer smiled and smoothly rose and went over to the case. He opened it up on the floor and lifted the instrument carefully out, carrying it lovingly back to the couch. Jo watched transfixed; the man who had previously exhibited some nervous mannerisms, seemed to be transformed to a state of serenity once the lute was in his hands. Spencer positioned the lute and adjusted the tuning. The woman watched how the restless fingers, that often gesticulated his speech, were now tamed to play the many strings. Suddenly the room was filled with the enchantment of Dowland and Jo understood all that the members of the Dowland Society had tried to express in words. Here was a lutenist who was not just technically able to play the difficult instrument, but also had the sensitivity to bring alive the emotions of the lute aswell.
She watched; her eyes never leaving the player as he seemed to become melded to his lute. The long wavy hair suited this lutenist; he had a nervous habit of pushing stray strands behind his ears, but this was forgotten now he was playing. Spencer was far too thin for doublet and hose she mused but, noted that like herself, he wore odd socks. Jo wondered just how he had been hurt but dared not ask; she had noticed that afternoon, some of the mannerisms of one suffering from post traumatic stress. However, Spencer was another person once he was expressing himself in music. They did not speak; the music spoke for them. She was content to sit captured by this private recital, and the lutenist was happy to sense her relax and let the music bewitch her. Spencer played for over an hour, occasionally having to retune, but the dark eyed lady watched in fascination and didn't break the magic of the room by speaking.
It was nearly 11 o'clock, so Spencer brought the music to an end with the Fantasie No.3. The last notes lingered on the air, and Jo heard herself sigh with the emotion of it all.
"Farewell, how appropriate," she whispered, reluctant to end the spell, but both knew that she had to leave, "Thank you, that was so beautiful," but there were not the words to express the emotional warmth that filled her during the recital.
Spencer sat back on the couch, still holding the lute close, "You're a very appreciative audience, so the pleasure was all mine," he said softly and watched her glow in the compliment. They exchanged smiles; it had been a special hour for both of them.
"I really must go," Jo reluctantly said, breaking the enchantment, and rising.
"I'll walk you to your car," Spencer said, not wanting her to go alone, despite the safe reputation this area had. Jo smiled her thanks, and they went in companionable silence to the silver Lexus.
"I'll collect you about 9:30," she said as she got into the driver's seat, and gave him a wonderful smile of trust, "Goodnight, Spencer,"
"Goodnight, see you tomorrow,"
Spencer watched her leave the car park and felt a part of him had left with the dark eyed lady. When he returned to the living room, he smelt the gentle perfume that still lingered by the recliner…it had a delicate jasmine base. He replaced his lute in its case and treasured the memory of the music they had shared that evening. Spencer marvelled at the wisdom of Craig, who had often told him that he hoped one day he'd meet his sister because they had quite a lot in common. Reid smiled to himself, he wondered if she always wore odd socks…
The man washed up the tea things and prepared for bed. He had been sleeping badly all week with vivid dreams, usually about his kidnapping, waking him about 5 o'clock every morning. The distant lamp, on the low bookcase, gave out its supportive light as he lay on his bed; he couldn't seem to forget her sensitive face, totally caught up in the emotions of the music. Jo was not like any other woman he had met; she had a sensitivity and interests to match his own in the arts and music. Spencer hoped something would come of this new friendship and realised that with Jo he had not stuttered nervously, blushed or been too overpowering with his facts…Well not too much, he conceded to his inner self! But Jo had only laughed and said that he was on her charity quiz team at future hospital fundraisers. It gave him hope that she wanted this tentative friendship to also continue. Spencer wondered who had hurt her and what was the significance of 'Northern Lights'? He fell asleep pondering about these unknowns, hoping that one day Jo would trust him enough to tell him the answers.
End of Chapter 14