Lillian

Chapter 1

To my beautiful mom Lilly who died young and who defied the confines of death to live on within me.

The dreams had started the very night he came into the gallery; strange, lengthy, all consuming dreams that left Lillian Parker, the curator, tired and listless, wondering if she was rapidly losing her grip on reality.

From the moment their eyes met she could feel an overwhelming sense of excitement bordering on euphoria, coupled with a distinct feeling that she had not only seen him before but that she had known him somehow. The clothes he wore, the way he stood with his hand on the back of the elegant Victorian chair as well as every line and feature of his face were as familiar to her as her own self and she had started trembling slightly with the exhilaration of it.

He had looked at her with the same look of discovery. His piercing dark eyes had found hers and had locked them in a stare that had spoken volumes without really telling her anything concrete. Where had she seen him before? Given the reality of the situation the thought was impossible yet she knew somehow that this was so. She could feel the knowledge of him, the connection with him beating fiercely within her subconscious and her feet found movement taking her closer to the handsome stranger who seemed to be pulling her to him with just his thoughts.

"Why do I know you?" she found herself whispering.

'Because we are still one.' Was the succinct reply and the voice, rich, soothing, familiar, echoed so rivetingly in her head that she had to gasp despite herself.

The words were a complete mystery to her but still she had to admit that they held a familiar ring to them; as if someone had been telling her the same thing over and over again. In fact she had almost expected him to say those words to her and she gazed mutely up at him as he gazed down at her, finding it impossible to take her eyes from his face.

"Magnificent piece of artwork isn't it Lillian?" the voice close to her made her start in surprise for she had been so engrossed that she hadn't heard Vincent's footsteps until he was standing right beside her.

The large painting was mounted on the southern wall where the last few rays of the evening sun gave it a lifelike ethereal glow. It was as beautifully realistic as it was imposing and its subject stood proudly in a pristine outfit reminiscent of the mid nineteenth century. His face was a handsome mask of serenity with bold expressive eyes that held your gaze, strong high cheekbones and a proud nose. Tall and broad shouldered; he boasted a trim masculine figure that carried off the English redcoat uniform he wore and a soupcon of a smile hovered on lips that seemed as if they were guarding timeless, intimate secrets.

"Magnificent is an understatement Vincent" she answered after a while, still gazing up at him "Why...there's hardly a brush stroke visible!" she turned to look at the little man who had dedicated so many months to the restoration of the piece and gave him a brief smile. "The gallery owes you its deepest appreciation." She remarked in a warm tone and watched him shift uncomfortably, his eyes blinking almost shyly behind his thick glasses.

"I didn't do it for the gallery Lillian," came his soft reply "I did it for you."

Vincent Fuertado, who was undoubtedly one of the best art restorers in the field, had become a very close colleague since Lillian's first day on the job as curator of the Glenheim Art Gallery located in downtown Kingston. The gallery, which had been one of the finest houses on Duke Street in its time, had seen the comings and goings of some of the country's most elite and boasted, even from as far back as then, some of the finest art pieces in the world. Years later it stood with its stately architectural details as one of the premier galleries in the Caribbean and Lillian had stared in awe the first time she set foot in the splendid structure, vowing that she would someday know what it felt like to work in a gallery such as Glenheim.