The Living Room (3 page)

Chapter 3

Even with the balcony door cracked open slightly for a breeze, there was little street noise due to the elevation of his penthouse apartment. Daniel lay awake, again staring out the window at his office building in the distance. In the evening, the New York skyline made it easy to slip into a trancelike state and ponder the events of the day.

The discussion with Art and comments from Nancy still played in his head. They were the closest he had to a family, and family had a way of giving advice directly, by showing concern.

He envisioned his parents together and happy. It was a long time since he’d seen them, but their faces remained crystal clear in his mind. They were a cheerful family when he was growing up. Even as an only child, there were rarely moments when he was left alone. His mother stayed at home and took care of the house while raising him. His father was a tradesman. He built houses, or at least the foundations they settled on. Long days and sore nights from the back lifting had dominated most of his life, but he always made it home for supper. The three shared their experiences during the meal. It was the best part of the day.

Daniel remembered their love toward each other, their talks about being a family and always being there for each other. “Till death do us part,” his parents would always say, while teasing each other during disagreements that never escalated in volume.

Then he remembered the terrible accident and the heavily weighted truck that had demolished their more fragile car. It happened during one of the few times he was alone. At home with Art Rothschild, back then just a family friend, he waited at the window to see their car pull up from the short trip to the store. It never returned.

In his mind, he could still faintly hear the sounds of fire trucks, audible through the large pane of glass that he stared beyond. Art was pacing the home, faster and faster, checking his watch as the time continued to pass. Daniel was sent to his room when the police cruiser arrived at the curb sometime later.

Life changed on that day. It was never the same and never as joyous, regardless of any of the success he had achieved.

Awake from the unpleasant memories, Daniel jumped out of bed and turned on the lights—all of them. This sometimes helped cure sudden loneliness. It worked as before but, this time, only for seconds. Positive thinking and personal state-changing techniques had helped for many years, but he was beyond the need for a band-aid. Maybe they were right. Instinctively, he knew they were, but maybe Art was more accurate about the timing. If not now, then when? And if not when, then maybe never.

Daniel knew he needed to get away from work and learn to balance his life a little more. Having a view of the office from home, though it was a perceived bonus during the purchase phase, really had been a harmful crutch to his work addiction. Taking a week or two off work and remodeling the place wouldn’t be enough. He needed something more—a self-intervention into the world anywhere outside of his own, with nothing familiar, nothing scheduled, and a blank timetable.

Suddenly another light came on, this one inside his head. He rushed to the closet for his coat. Reaching into the pocket, he pulled out the pictures that Mr. Stines had given him earlier in the day. He shuffled through them and saw what could be a perfect escape plan to an imperfect palace. One after another, the photographs presented a house of grand scale that had been vigorously overtaken by vines and a lack of care. However, there was a large body of water next to it, and that soothed him. It was cloudy in most of the pictures. They certainly didn’t resemble any of the resort-type brochures that he was used to receiving from the local agents who constantly mail-marketed his building.

As he gazed at the peaceful setting in the picture, Daniel suddenly ignored the possible value of the property and began to question how it had come to belong to him. How had he remained so uninterested over the past few weeks, with all the messages concerning the passing of a relative? Even without knowledge of his uncle’s existence, and having suspicions of being swindled by some unknown caller, why did he not demand more information? How was he prioritizing the events in his life?

His mind was now running wild with self-assessment, most of it less than complimentary. His usually balanced self-confidence was starting to give way. It was time for a major change. He wasn’t going to get any more support than he had right now to make it, so his decision was final.

He turned down the lights and headed back to his room, pictures in hand. The night drifted by slowly, but he managed to get a few hours of sleep.

There was no time to stop for a paper. He wouldn’t read it this morning anyway. Daniel’s corner friend wasn’t concerned about being stood up. He knew the car would pass his street on occasion, especially well before the sun was visible through the morning fog.

Daniel was first in the office, sitting at his desk with the door closed. He stared more inquisitively at the pictures of the house. How long had the place been vacant? Although spectacular in size, with an attractive heritage-like appearance, it must have been an eye-sore to the neighbors, with all its overgrown hedges and shrubbery. He couldn’t see any houses around it, however, at least not in these pictures.

Upon his assistant’s arrival, he was quick to catch her. “Nancy, can you confirm my appointment with Art this morning and let me know when he’s in?”

“Right away,” she replied.

There was really no need to confirm the appointment she had placed in his calendar yesterday, but she could call and ask Susan, Art’s assistant, if he had arrived yet.

Within minutes, Art walked through Daniel’s door.

“I was going to come up and talk to you this morning,” Daniel exclaimed, surprised at Art’s drop-in.

“I know. Nancy just called up, and I happened to answer my own phone for once, so I chose to come down. Is this work or personal?”

“Actually both,” Daniel said, trying as always to speak on a professional level with Art, at least within this building.

Art closed the door and took a seat.

“I’m taking some time off. Not to get
married
,” he added, “but to get away from the office for a while.”

Art grinned proudly, appreciative of the fact that he had gotten through to him. “So you
do
still listen to me!”

“Of course I do. I just assume the really good advice comes from Linda.”

They laughed, and concerns over their previous chat were washed away instantly.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go to England to sell a house I have just inherited, and I need to discuss this with you.”

Art already seemed puzzled with the mention of anything being passed down so many years later.

“Did you know I had an uncle? Apparently, he lived in England, but I don’t know anything else about him. Did Mom or Dad have a brother I didn’t know about?”

“Well, if they did, I never met him either. Linda might know; I’ll call and ask.”

“Well, at this point, I’m not sure it matters. I guess the poor guy passed on, apparently alone, and left his house to my parents—well, their executor now.”

He obviously didn’t have to explain to Art how the legal path had served an inheritance down to him.

“Anyway, I’m going to head over there and take a look. Change of scenery, you know.”

Art recognized that this was going to be tough for the younger man, no matter how cool he played it. Eight years had gone by without his ever witnessing Daniel plan a holiday. That was a long time for anyone. The time was accessible; he undoubtedly had the financial resources to go anywhere he wanted. He just never elected to escape. Art annually had to kick him out of the building around the holidays and, every Christmas Eve after dinner, lectured him about not returning to the office until
after
the New Year had commenced.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked sounding more parental than professional.

“A couple of weeks, if it’s okay. Of course, I’ll have my phone and computer—”

Art cut him off sternly. “Don’t you dare bring that
crap
.”

This was the closest thing to a curse word in Art’s current vocabulary. Daniel often wondered where he came up with some of his other, more common expressions, such as calling people “Wally Birds” when he was annoyed with them, or making his classic reference to “lollygagger” when waiting impatiently for someone’s report.

He knew Art had more within him, though; you didn’t grow up in the streets of Brooklyn without developing a strong arsenal of expletives. Linda, on the other hand, was raised on a Montana acreage in a wealthy Christian family. Years of her compassionate correction had helped reshape Art’s terminology.

“We can hold our own without you for a couple of weeks. You just work on yourself. I’ll handle your accounts personally.”

Knowing that time away from work wasn’t going to be an issue, he had no need to reassure his clients during his absence. Art was his mentor and rarely handled any accounts directly anymore. There was no one better in the building.

“Fine, then. I’ll just bring my music and my water,” he retorted, shaking a half-empty bottle on his desk.

Art smiled at the bottle. “It appears to be half-full again.” With that, Art stood and walked out proudly.

“Nancy, can I see you for a minute please? I need to go over a few things. And can you call the travel agent for me? I need to book a flight to England.”

Somewhat shocked, Nancy gathered her notepad and pen and then headed into his office for dictation. Work wouldn’t normally call him to destinations that far away. It almost hurt her to suppress a smile, but she didn’t want him to see it and misunderstand the reason behind it. She wasn’t happy that he was going somewhere and that she wouldn’t see him every day—she was just delighted that he was going, for any reason other than work.

Daniel spent the rest of the day making shotgun travel plans and notifying his clients of their interim contact. He made a quick call to Martin Stines, confirming his ownership of the new asset in order to avoid any trespassing issues. The house did belong to him, now that signatures had finally been given to satisfy the legal formalities.

Martin provided the address and basic driving instructions that he had received with the file. He first recommended a stop in the nearest town of Canterbury for more specific directions. As the whereabouts of any house keys were unknown, a locksmith would also be required.

Nancy, helpful as always, provided the flight details, driving directions, car rental locations at the airport, and hotel recommendations in Canterbury. His arrival in London was scheduled to be early in the morning, with plenty of time to select appropriate lodging.

It was all happening too fast, but everyone involved in the bookings recognized that Daniel was in a state of action. He didn’t want to spend another day waiting. The equity markets were unpredictable, as always. Any major swings or negative economic news could be enough of a motive for him to talk himself out of the trip. He fled the office before his lights were the last remaining in the view from the street. Change was in the works.

Packing for such a trip wouldn’t normally be that hard for a person. A small suitcase for business travel, usually limited to overnight stays in a nearby state, was the only luggage that took space in the back of his closet. With just a few hours before his departure and only suits and one or two outfits for the gym, he packed light and would pick up the necessary items and clothing once he arrived.

The trip to the airport was uneventful. Traffic was appalling, as always. The cab driver weaved in and out of lanes like a stock car racer, no doubt trying to impress his passenger for a gratuity. Daniel didn’t mind and rather enjoyed it. At least he could handle speed on the ground.

At the checkin gate near tragedy almost struck. There was a seat mix-up and he was sure it wasn’t Nancy’s fault. He always sat in a window seat. The ability to see what was going on outside helped calm his fear of flying. He became more accepting of the fact that his fear had more to do with his lack of control than heights or claustrophobia. He was thankful to switch seats with an attractive woman who relinquished the window seat to him and took the one beside it.

After thanking her repeatedly, he smiled nervously in her direction, and she smiled back. Looking out the window avoided a conversation. He was a polite, courteous, and well-mannered person, but his social skills, while polished in a work environment, were profoundly deficient when conversing with the opposite sex. Most women mistook his silent nature for cockiness, given his pleasant, second-glance appearance.

In reality, he was a nervous wreck in the presence of women. The ability to appear laid-back, humorous, and charming was all within him; however, he always froze in certain moments. This characteristic was long overdue for a change.

Hours passed. They soon neared the end of the long flight. His nerves were calm at this point, assisted by a few drinks and opportunities to discuss scenes from the in-flight movie they had enjoyed. The two spoke comfortably now; his jokes about airplane food, and the irony of supplied sick-bags, seemed to score with every shot.

“So, are you on business or pleasure?” she asked.

“Actually, for me, business is pleasure, but I’m traveling to England to sell a home. How about yourself?”

“Oh, I’m going to meet my family.”

She surprised him with the revelation. He hoped that, by family, she was referring to parents, siblings, or anyone else she might have grown up around. A glance at her ring-less finger showed promise, until she noticed the direction of his eyes.

“Oh, I take it off when I fly,” she said, wiggling her hand and digits. “My finger swells up and starts to hurt after a while.”

She saw the disappointment on his face, although there was never a ploy to deceive him at any point. The conversation was just welcomed. It was a long flight, and he was an attractive man who had started the exchange late in the journey. She hadn’t flirted and had no way of knowing that he had spent the first few hours of the flight working up the nerve to break the ice.