The Fate of Pryde, the second in TheTrilogy of Remembrance.

The Fate of Pryde Chapter 3

            “I see.” I glanced at Fizzy who was nodding solemnly. “Do you have a mythological vision or theme in mind, Mr. Pryde?”

            Pryde grinned at me, boyishly. “I hope you will call me Jonathan. I would very much like to call you James. Or do you prefer Jamie?”

“James is fine, Jonathan,” I replied, more stiffly than I intended.

“The work that I propose to Mr. Wainwright is exceptional. I want him to create, first of all, a cartoon—it is a technical term—which incorporates the totality of his vision.”

“Totality?” I asked. 

Once again, the man rose to pace, pausing to examine each painting and sculpture. With his back still turned, he said, “You do realize, James, that Alexander possesses an extraordinary gift. After all, look at these paintings on your wall by far lesser lights.” He flung his arm out in a grand gesture. “This one paints a flower, another—a babbling brook. All very pretty indeed. But if Alexander were to paint a leaf, his leaf would contain the entire universe within a few square inches.”

No doubt, Pryde had been greatly affected by Alexander’s vision as shown in his paintings. Within each leaf, each drop of water or human hair, Alex seemed to convey a light or glow from some innately familiar yet unknowable dimension. To Pryde,each brushstroke contained every ounce of his own life and vitality. The universe was one, and each and every person was an integral part of it. Certainly, Alex’s leaves were no ordinary ones!

“Mr. Pryde…”

“Jonathan, please.”

“Well, yes…Jonathan. I think you should discuss this directly with Alexander along with your interest in the River of Remembrance as soon as possible.”

Pryde smiled broadly. “When can you arrange that?”

“I’ll call and find out when he is available. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?”

“Excellent! I’ll be sure to be available.” Jonathan seemed to hesitate. “Tell me, Jamie, does Alexander ever speak of visions?”

Surprised, I shook my head. “Alex definitely sees the world quite differently from most of us, but he hasn’t spoken of any actual visions. Why do you ask?”

Jonathan shrugged. “His art suggests something of that order, don’t you think?” He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his card. “But, of course, you know the man and his art far better than I.”

I could think of no appropriate reply and so I remained in silent study of his card.

“Don’t forget, I’m at the Ritz for a few more days. I’m available almost any time.”    

            I retrieved their coats. Jonathan turned to me saying, “You haven’t asked me the location of the stained glass windows.”

            “No. Where did you have in mind?”

            “I have a residence in Vence, near Antibes, which is extremely important to me. It’s not just the house but the people in it.”

            I was confused. I said, “You mean this is a private residence for your family?”

            “Yes and no, my friend.” He smiled and seemed to wonder if he should continue. “Do you know Professor Henry Callan, by any chance?”

            I frowned but could recall no one by that name. “No, I don’t think…”

            “You see, Jamie, the home is a very special place.” He laid his hand on my forearm briefly. “In my line of work, I meet so many truly brilliant minds. But sometimes they, especially the exceptionally talented ones, literally burn themselves out. They drive themselves to the ultimate peak of human achievement and then succumb to ill health, madness…even death.” Pryde seemed momentarily exhausted from his outburst of zeal, but he revived himself and spoke scarcely above a whisper. “You see, Jamie, some of these residents have had visions. Sometimes they seem awestruck and at others, terrified. But we hope to understand the nature of these experiences—what they are—where they come from.”

Fizzy, looking slightly concerned, edged closer to his employer.

Pryde continued. “I have a little place in Vence where they can recuperate. It’s called Saint Maxime.” His eyes shone. “Once, centuries ago, it was a home of the Knights of Templar!”

            I searched my memory for any scrap of recollection about the Knights of the Templar, but came up with precious little. Some sort of noble mission to protect pilgrims en route to visit holy places finally came to mind. I was quite sure they had come to a bad end.

            Jonathan began again. “You see at Saint Maxime, we provide a tranquil, yet stimulating atmosphere for the exhausted mind to find solace.” Jonathan leaned in toward me confidentially. “Despite what you may have heard, we offer only the most compassionate care.”

            I edged slightly away. “But I’ve heard nothing of the place until now.”

            “Well then…very good. Alexander will have great freedom in the design of his stained glass.” He tugged lightly on my sleeve. “Before we enter into an agreement, he must come and see the place.”

            This sounded entirely reasonable to me, and I said so. Jonathan tossed on his coat, which I had been holding throughout. He shook my hand warmly and then slid on his leather gloves. “That’s why I asked if Alex experienced visions in his work.”

His companion broke from his naturally sour visage, smiled sweetly and waved goodbye. What a strange pair, I thought, as they climbed inside the beautiful car. I gazed lovingly at it as they drove off. 

In my excitement, I rushed to ring Alex up with the news. No answer. I left a message for him to call as soon as possible. At my computer, I entered the name Jonathan Pryde. More than five hundred thousand entries appeared. Apparently the man was some sort of shipping magnate—import/export. Then, of course, there were the many cultural and sporting events sponsored by him or one of his many companies. He had gifted staggering sums to art galleries around the world and set up endowments at Oxford and Cambridge for English literature and the sciences—especially physics. What an amazing career! It must give Pryde great pleasure to do such good, I thought, Although a little odd, he was, no doubt, an excellent contact for Alex.