Chapter 13 #2
The interior was as elegant as the outside.
It was decorated with oil paintings, ornate furniture, fussy tchotchkes, and the occasional taxidermied animal, which creeped me out.
When we reached the end of the hall, Fitzpatrick opened the door to a large, sunny room and said, “This is your studio, Mr. di Pietro. Please look over your supplies and let me know if anything is amiss.”
A cream-colored tarp had been spread out over the wood floor.
In the center of it stood a large blank canvas on an easel, along with a table full of paints and brushes.
There was also a life-size print of the Cezanne, as well as several poster-size photos, blown up to show every detail of the original.
These were mounted to a series of whiteboards on metal stands, which seemed out of place in this old fashioned setting.
Salvatore put our bags on a brown leather sofa and crossed the room to examine the paints.
Meanwhile, I went over to one of the windows.
The garden was beautiful, with gravel paths, small trees and shrubs pruned into tidy shapes, and planter boxes brimming with flowers.
Two groundskeepers were out there, working hard to keep everything pristine.
Fitzpatrick joined me and said, “It’s magnificent, isn’t it? Part of the property dates from the mid-sixteen-hundreds, and the main part of the house was built in the eighteen-forties. The gardens have always been a particular point of pride.”
I asked, “What’s to keep me from running outside and climbing over that big stone wall?”
“Men with guns. There are many on this property. You might not always see them, but trust me when I say, they see you.”
“And if I went out there and told the gardeners I was being held prisoner, what would they do?”
“Nothing. Mr. Ashcroft is an excellent employer. You’ll find we’re all exceedingly loyal to him.”
“Even though he occasionally kidnaps people.”
“I know you didn’t ask for this, Manny.” I was surprised to hear him use my nickname, before remembering he’d read it in Javier’s text.
It also occurred to me that he didn’t know my last name, since he’d addressed everyone else as Mr. so-and-so.
“But you’re in a lovely place, where you’ll be treated like an honored guest—unless you insist on causing trouble or trying to run off. ”
“At which point I’ll be chained up in the dungeon?”
He smiled at me and said, “You certainly have a flair for the dramatic.” He turned away from the window, gesturing to the left as he changed the subject.
“The dining room and kitchen are that way. Dinner is served at seven. If you’re polite to Mrs. Silva, the cook, she might be persuaded to take your meal requests into consideration.
But don’t even think about touching anything in her kitchen.
I tried making myself an egg and toast once in her absence, and she’s still miffed. That was seven years ago.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Very good. Now, one floor up, there are several well-appointed guest rooms to choose from, while here on the ground floor there’s a wonderful library, a screening room with an extensive movie collection, and a billiard room.
If you care to venture outdoors to enjoy this lovely weather, you’ll find a swimming pool, tennis court, putting green, and other amusements.
I trust all of these amenities will be enough to keep you occupied while Mr. di Pietro completes his painting. ”
“In other words, the prison you’re keeping me in is very fancy.”
Fitzpatrick smiled at me. “You can be happy here, or you can be miserable. It’s your choice.” He crossed the room to Salvatore and asked, “Does everything appear satisfactory, Mr. di Pietro?”
“I think so. Whoever assembled these supplies knew what they were doing.”
“Indeed. We brought in an expert with an understanding of not just art, but historical accuracy.”
“The only thing missing is a projector,” Salvatore said. “This will go a lot faster if I can project the original onto the canvas and map it out.”
“I’ll find one right away. If you think of anything else you need, and not just in terms of painting supplies, ask any staff member and they’ll phone me with your request. With that, I’ll leave you to it, gentlemen.”
After Fitzpatrick left, Salvatore turned to me and asked, “Can we talk?”
“Not now. I’m too angry, so all I’ll do is yell.”
“Well, whenever you’re ready, you know where to find me.”
He turned back to the paints and started organizing them, and I picked up my overnight bag and went upstairs.
After checking out every guest room, I selected one at the end of the hall with dark teal paint and framed botanical prints.
It was smaller than the others, but I liked the fact that it was on a corner with windows on two walls.
I opened them to let in some fresh air before curling into a ball on the four poster bed.
All of this was pretty overwhelming, but I had to get a grip. There were days and weeks of this ahead of me. Somehow, I needed to learn to be okay here.
As much as I wanted to keep hiding in my room, hunger drove me out shortly before seven. I could hear something going on downstairs, so I crept down the hall and paused near the top of the staircase.
Several people walked past, either on their own or in small groups. I crouched down and watched them. Nearly half of them were guards dressed in black, some with shoulder holsters. Were they always a part of this household, or had they been brought in specifically for Salvatore and me?
Once the procession ended, I snuck downstairs and went to see where they’d gone.
The double doors to a large kitchen were open.
Ashcroft’s employees were filling plates at a buffet, then taking a seat at one of two long farm tables to eat their meal.
Their conversations were light and cheerful. It all seemed so… normal.
There was another open doorway at the end of the hall.
I darted past the kitchen, fully aware that I was acting like a scared little rabbit, and continued on to the dining room.
Two elaborate place settings and lit candles were set up at one end of a long, mahogany table.
There was also a fancy buffet on a sideboard with silver chafing dishes and crystal bowls full of delicious-looking things.
I hurried over to the food and wrapped four dinner rolls in a cloth napkin. Salvatore came in just as I was sticking the bundle inside my hoodie. “You probably don’t need to worry about them trying to starve us,” he said. “I’m doing everything Ashcroft wants.”
“I know, but my anxiety has been pretty out of control since this started, and it’s stirring up some stuff from my past.”
“What do you mean?”
I hesitated before telling him, “Kit and I were homeless for a while after my mom died, and food insecurity was an issue. Right now, I’m not in control of what’s available, or when, or whether it’ll get taken away at some point.
That’s more or less how I used to feel back then.
Even if there’s no point in hoarding any of this stuff, I feel a little calmer knowing I have my own stash. ”
“I never knew you were homeless.”
“I don’t like to talk about it. Actually, it’s one of the reasons I agreed to make up a fake back story. When I lost the house I grew up in, which was the only home Kit had ever known, I felt like a failure as a father.”
“But you were so young when you became a dad. You can’t blame yourself for hitting a rough patch.”
“I was twenty-four when my mom died and we lost her house. I should have been able to take care of my son and myself by that point. Eventually, I managed to get us into a tiny apartment in a shitty part of town, but I still felt like I was failing. The neighborhood was so rough that Kit couldn’t even play outside.
It was years before I was able to move us into the apartment I live in now. ”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “To me that’s the story of a fighter, a self-made man who overcame adversity and became not only a business owner, but a respected member of your community.”
“That’s not how I see it.” I turned back to the buffet and started filling a plate.
“I was failing as a business owner, too. Sal’s Place was totally in the red, and I was drowning in debt before my son-in-law became my business partner and bailed me out.
If it wasn’t for him, the diner probably would have gone under by now.
I would have let down all the people who rely on it. ”
“I didn’t realize it had been struggling.”
I shrugged and carried my plate to the table. “I wanted you to think I had my shit together, even though that’s far from the truth. It’s why I jumped at the idea of giving each other fake back stories.”
“I wanted you to have the chance to get to know me, instead of leading off with the fact that I was a criminal.”
That was way too much to get into right now, so we both fell silent. He put some pasta on a plate and sat down at the other place setting, which was at the head of the table. I started stuffing my face, but he just poked at his food with a fork.
After a while, he said, “I’m glad you’re speaking to me again.”
“I wasn’t trying to give you the silent treatment earlier. I was just really scared and angry, and I didn’t want to lash out.”
“And now?”
“I’m still upset, but we’re each other’s only ally in this weird fucking alternate universe, so we need to stick together.”
“You’re right about that.”
After a moment, I said, “I know there’s a lot we need to talk about, but can we try to get through this first? I’m almost at my breaking point, and I can’t—”
“That’s fine. We’ll talk whenever you’re ready.”
Before we could say anything else, Fitzpatrick breezed into the room carrying a tablet. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, in that same cheerful tone of his. “I trust you’re enjoying your meal. Mrs. Silva is an outstanding cook.”