The Ties of the Past

It was after dawn by the time he had enough liquid courage to use that key and actually open those doors to the old studio. He wandered the rooms as the ghosts of his memories swirled around him.

He was quickly interrupted by Jean, asking him if he'd slept. He hadn't. He had been too anxious about all this business with his mother to try and quiet his mind. But he was glad that it was morning now, that sunlight was coming through the old curtains. And he was glad that Jean had come to seek him out, wrapped in her cardigan and the vestiges of sleep still in her eyes.

As he told her about the gold leaf, his father locking the door, the painting of Agnes Clasby that seemed to be connected to Virginia McKay's death, Jean seemed to awaken more fully. Her eyes were shining as the tone of her voice increased in enthusiasm. This was what they did best, Lucien thought, he and Jean working through a problem together. Jean had always been good about letting him talk through his theories, about asking him the questions he needed to ponder to put him on the right track. She was brilliant, Jean Beazley, and Lucien knew how incredibly lucky he was to have her by his side for things like this.

It was in his mind to go immediately go to the gallery and find the painting in their storage. But Jean stopped him. "Wait, before you go, you should wash and change. And you should have some breakfast."

Her words were sufficient to slow him down. Another thing he certainly needed from time to time. "Yes, you're right."

Jean nodded and turned to go start making breakfast, but this time he stopped her. "Hang on a moment, Jean," he requested.

She turned back to him, looking at him expectantly.

"What…what do you think of this room? Or rather, rooms?" he asked her.

Jean gazed around with a more critical eye, taking in all of the art and supplies and the clutter and the décor and the furniture covered in white sheets. A small smile played on her lips as she walked past Lucien to the sofa and pulled the sheet off it. They both coughed slightly with the cloud of dust that appeared. Underneath was a brown leather sofa in surprisingly good condition. Jean nodded in satisfaction. "I think these rooms are wonderful, Lucien. And I think they could use a very good clean. Which, after breakfast, I would be rather honored to take care of."

"You would?"

"Yes, I would. There's something about the fact that its all been locked up but kept exactly how she left it. Or maybe it's the art. But I've been in this house a long time and I've never felt your mother's presence before. I feel it here."

Lucien smiled. "Yes, so do I." It was very true, that so little of the house, despite Jean and Mattie living there, had the feel of a woman's presence. The studio certainly did.

"I think I would have liked your mother," Jean told him softly.

"I know she would have adored you, Jean," he replied.

Jean gazed around the old studio again. "I'm glad."