Zeke Ambrose whistled to a tune on the radio as he turned his station wagon in to the driveway of Curtains Up. He was eager to see Remington’s portrait of Belinda as Valerie in Devil in the Details for the first time. All the buzz about the play compounded the usual enthusiasm that Ambrose Gallery patrons expressed when they knew that a Remington Peters exhibition was scheduled. Zeke and Jean were expecting an excellent crowd for tomorrow night’s opening.
Zeke wished for the umpteenth time that Remington would allow his portraits of Belinda to be sold. If he had done that, the portraits would have been in private collections and not destroyed in that horrible studio fire three years ago. Zeke tried not to think about all those fabulous works of art reduced to ash. The idea broke his heart, not only because of the tragic waste but because Remington had lost the most important pieces of his life’s work.
Zeke and Jean had worried that Remington would be crushed, sinking into a depression that wouldn’t allow him to paint again. They’d done all they could think of to support him, enlisting Belinda’s assistance. Her offer of the carriage house as a new home for Remington and his studio had brought the first postfire smile to the painter’s face. Once Remington had moved into Belinda’s place, he was able to begin working again.
Now, with the addition of the painting Zeke was picking up this morning, there would be three Remington Peters portraits of Belinda in her Warrenstown roles. Also already hanging on the wall at the Ambrose Gallery were various landscapes of the Berkshires that Remington would allow to be sold.
Pulling up to the carriage house, Zeke parked, got out, and went to the back of the car. He opened the rear hatch and lifted out the box containing the batting he would carefully wrap around the portrait before transporting it to the gallery. He carried the box to the front door, putting it down to knock.
Zeke knocked again, then a third time. He walked around to the back of the carriage house, cupped his hands against the large window, and tried to see inside. He couldn’t detect any movement. A large canvas stood on the easel, but it was positioned so the painted image Zeke was so anxious to see was obscured from view.
He went back around to the front and was about to get into the station wagon when he saw Remington walking up the driveway.
“Hello,” Zeke called. “I was afraid you were standing me up.”
As Remington approached, Zeke could see his shoulders were slumped and his mouth was turned down. When the two men shook hands, Zeke could feel grit on Remington’s.
“What have you been doing? Gardening?” asked the gallery owner as he looked at the dirt on Remington’s hands and clothes.
Remington brushed at his pants. “No. I just went for a walk in the woods.”
“Oh. Well, let’s get to it, man,” said Zeke, his face brightening. “Let’s go look at the portrait.” He turned toward the front door.
“Zeke, wait.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t give you the portrait.”
Zeke looked at Remington. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not ready.”
“You’re too hard on yourself, Remington. I’m sure it’s glorious.”
“It’s not. Believe me, it’s not.”
“Please, Remington, let’s go look at it. Let me give you my opinion.”
Remington looked down at the ground and spoke softly. “I respect your opinion, Zeke, you know that. But I just can’t let anyone, not even you, see this portrait yet.”