is quite the opposite of a Buddhist retreat,” he said with a laugh. “We live here in excess.”
“It’s very beautiful excess,” Jac said.
And it was. The green marble floor, antique tapestries on the wall, heavy brass chandeliers glowing with soft light, and opulent vases of fragrant flowers were all in perfect harmony with one another. The great room to the right and the glimpse of the library all looked exquisitely decorated. Jac loved old houses, castles, ruins, cemeteries, burial sites, anything left behind in the quake of the passage of time.
Behind them, a white stone staircase, shaped like a double helix, rose toward the upper floors. Jac had seen a similar one, which legend said was designed by Leonardo da Vinci himself, at the Château de Chambord. There two separate staircases intertwined and rose three floors without meeting.
“It’s magical,” she said.
“Yes,” Serge said. “We’ve had experts examine them, and these stairs are in direct proportion to those at Chambord—just about thirty percent smaller.”
“That means this building goes back to the fifteenth century?”
“The original structure. With some additions and many renovations along the way. We still aren’t finished. I’ve been working on the reconstruction here for three years. The most extensive job I’ve ever undertaken. And one of the most complicated. There were so many mistakes to undo before we even could start restoring.”
“So you’re an architect?”
“I am.”
“Robbie mentioned you, actually. He told me that as a preservationist you were a perfectionist. He was very impressed with the house.”
Serge smiled, and Jac saw melancholy change his eyes, making them smaller for the moment. She couldn’t be sure how close they had become, but there was no question Serge had cared about her brother.
“Did you find Robbie? Did you hire him?”
“No. Melinoe, my stepsister, brought him in. I believe that a mutual friend of theirs, Malachai Samuels, introduced them.”
She was taken aback. Robbie had never told her how he came to accept this commission. Malachai? She knew so little about what Robbie was doing here. All he’d said was he was working on an experiment with Melinoe. Did it have something to do with reincarnation? Was Melinoe Cypros another disciple of Malachai Samuels?
No, Robbie, Jac said to herself. Whatever you started here, it isn’t something I have any interest in finishing.
“I don’t want to take you away from your work. I’m happy to just pack up Robbie’s things and be on my way.”
“Not at all. From what Robbie told me, I’m sure you’d be interested in seeing the house and some of the ruins on the grounds. Melinoe and I were hoping you’d stay and have lunch with us. Are you free?”
Jac was torn. She wouldn’t have minded going on the tour—the house fascinated her. But at the same time she was uncomfortable about staying now that she knew of Melinoe’s interest in the one subject Jac wanted to avoid.
“Robbie often said that he wanted to bring you up here so you could see some of the older areas we’ve discovered. Can I show you around now? Then after lunch you can collect his things.”
Jac’s fascination won out. If the conversation turned to past-life theory, she thought, I’ll just not engage.
Serge led her down the main hall and into the living room. Everywhere Jac looked were multiples. The sign of an avid collector. There were not two Foo dogs on the mantel as one would expect, but six. There were four Fabergé eggs on an end table on one side of the couch.
Jac had of course heard of Melinoe; it was difficult not to have heard of her. The only daughter of a Greek shipping magnate who’d died when Melinoe was in her teens, she was still called the “Billionaire Orphan” by the press, even though she was now middle-aged.
Jac marveled at a grouping of a dozen architectural prints on the south wall. Palladian, she was certain. A Renoir hung over the
“It’s very beautiful excess,” Jac said.
And it was. The green marble floor, antique tapestries on the wall, heavy brass chandeliers glowing with soft light, and opulent vases of fragrant flowers were all in perfect harmony with one another. The great room to the right and the glimpse of the library all looked exquisitely decorated. Jac loved old houses, castles, ruins, cemeteries, burial sites, anything left behind in the quake of the passage of time.
Behind them, a white stone staircase, shaped like a double helix, rose toward the upper floors. Jac had seen a similar one, which legend said was designed by Leonardo da Vinci himself, at the Château de Chambord. There two separate staircases intertwined and rose three floors without meeting.
“It’s magical,” she said.
“Yes,” Serge said. “We’ve had experts examine them, and these stairs are in direct proportion to those at Chambord—just about thirty percent smaller.”
“That means this building goes back to the fifteenth century?”
“The original structure. With some additions and many renovations along the way. We still aren’t finished. I’ve been working on the reconstruction here for three years. The most extensive job I’ve ever undertaken. And one of the most complicated. There were so many mistakes to undo before we even could start restoring.”
“So you’re an architect?”
“I am.”
“Robbie mentioned you, actually. He told me that as a preservationist you were a perfectionist. He was very impressed with the house.”
Serge smiled, and Jac saw melancholy change his eyes, making them smaller for the moment. She couldn’t be sure how close they had become, but there was no question Serge had cared about her brother.
“Did you find Robbie? Did you hire him?”
“No. Melinoe, my stepsister, brought him in. I believe that a mutual friend of theirs, Malachai Samuels, introduced them.”
She was taken aback. Robbie had never told her how he came to accept this commission. Malachai? She knew so little about what Robbie was doing here. All he’d said was he was working on an experiment with Melinoe. Did it have something to do with reincarnation? Was Melinoe Cypros another disciple of Malachai Samuels?
No, Robbie, Jac said to herself. Whatever you started here, it isn’t something I have any interest in finishing.
“I don’t want to take you away from your work. I’m happy to just pack up Robbie’s things and be on my way.”
“Not at all. From what Robbie told me, I’m sure you’d be interested in seeing the house and some of the ruins on the grounds. Melinoe and I were hoping you’d stay and have lunch with us. Are you free?”
Jac was torn. She wouldn’t have minded going on the tour—the house fascinated her. But at the same time she was uncomfortable about staying now that she knew of Melinoe’s interest in the one subject Jac wanted to avoid.
“Robbie often said that he wanted to bring you up here so you could see some of the older areas we’ve discovered. Can I show you around now? Then after lunch you can collect his things.”
Jac’s fascination won out. If the conversation turned to past-life theory, she thought, I’ll just not engage.
Serge led her down the main hall and into the living room. Everywhere Jac looked were multiples. The sign of an avid collector. There were not two Foo dogs on the mantel as one would expect, but six. There were four Fabergé eggs on an end table on one side of the couch.
Jac had of course heard of Melinoe; it was difficult not to have heard of her. The only daughter of a Greek shipping magnate who’d died when Melinoe was in her teens, she was still called the “Billionaire Orphan” by the press, even though she was now middle-aged.
Jac marveled at a grouping of a dozen architectural prints on the south wall. Palladian, she was certain. A Renoir hung over the
Similar Books
