CHAPTER 10
ach weekday morning at seven o’clock, James Ponder pulled into his parking space at the back of Ponder House, entered theE building, walked to his second-floor office, and reviewed his calendar for the day (hardly necessary since that was also the last thing he did before leaving his office the previous evening). Then he would retrace his steps, walk a few doors down to the Chalice, purchase a coffee, and return to begin the day’s work. He typically had an undisturbed hour or so before his office officially opened at nine.
Sometime thereafter, if the weather was agreeable, he would stroll to the post office for a bit of exercise.
He was a pleasant, reserved man who personified discipline and routine. His daily attire was a starched shirt, expensive tie, suit or sport coat, and shined shoes. That meager level of decorum and formality made him an anachronism in the casual, virtual, tech-driven marketplace of Golden. Nonetheless, and despite his outdated ways, Mr. Ponder was a highly regarded and well-connected presence in the
community.
He had influence.
His office building, inside and out, was a picture of refinement and order, a stark antithesis to Tony’s bookshop. Theo, to his credit, would prove to be as comfortable in one as he was in the other.
Theo stepped beneath the awning and stood before the heavy door, locked at the moment, that led into Ponder House. The door was veneered in oak with a heavy steel frame and two deadbolt locks. A gleaming bronze plate was affixed to the wall beside the entrance. It
said:
James Ponder
Broker and Consultant By Appointment Only
Below it, a smaller historical marker, as shiny as the other, stated the
building’s name and year of origin, 1845. A brass lamp fixture, also spotless, was mounted beside the door. The brick walls were brushed
and clean.
Theo pressed a button on the call box.
A matter-of-fact female voice, lacking any inkling of welcome, replied. “May I help you?”
Theo leaned close to the speaker. “Yes, good morning. I would like to make an appointment with Mr. Ponder, please.”
“Are you a client?”
“Not yet.”
The voice was about to announce that Mr. Ponder was not accepting new clients when Theo heard someone behind him.
“May I help you, sir?”
Theo turned to see a man, perhaps as old as himself, meticulously attired and holding a handful of mail.
“Good morning, sir,” Theo said. “Yes, I was just trying to make an appointment with Mr. Ponder. I am new to his town and wanted to ask
about a piece of property.”
”I’m James Ponder.”
They shook hands. Theo bowed slightly.
“Ah, how nice. It’s good to meet you, Mr. Ponder. Please call me Theo.”
“Mr. Ponder,” the female voice squawked through the speaker. “I was just getting ready to tell the gentleman —”
“It’s OK, Mrs. Gidley. Go ahead and let us in.”
The locks released. Mr. Ponder stepped back to let Theo enter first.
The door closed heavily behind them as they stepped into the reception room. In little more than a glance, Theo discerned from the artwork, antiques, topiaries, and rugs that Ponder House was more than a mere office building. Wall hangings were arranged at perfect height and exact right angles, precisely spaced. The tassels of the rug on the pinewood floor were freshly combed. The furnishings suffered no dust, and every item on display — crystal, brass, stone, wood — had been recently polished.
In subsequent visits, Theo would verify that all the artwork, aside from being notably eclectic, was, indeed, original — Cassatt, Thiebaud,
Bartlett, Fujimura; that the mahogany display cabinet with the lion’s paw feet was indeed Thomas Chippendale, late eighteenth century; that the sideboard with satinwood and ebony inlaid checkering was indeed a Hepplewhite; and that the nine-by-twelve rug was indeed a late nineteenth-century Persian Serapi silk. He had no idea about the provenance of the topiary but guessed that it, too, had a distinguished history.
While Theo was doing a quick survey of Ponder’s waiting room, Mr.
Ponder, in a simultaneous glance, was doing one of his own, postulating from the attire, the wristwatch, the cufflinks, and the scarf that the old man standing before him was no ordinary visitor.
Mr. Ponder instructed his long-time secretary, Mrs. Gidley, to hold his calls.
She looked over her glasses, gave a perfunctory nod to her employer, and glared at Theo. She was offended that he had made it past her guard tower, and she made her disdain obvious through cold, dismissive eyes. Theo offered a demure smile in reply.
Mr. Ponder led the way to a well-lit carpeted staircase. “I have an
elevator if you prefer.”
“Thank you. I prefer the stairs.”
For men with eighty-six and seventy-six years of life respectively, Theo and Mr. Ponder navigated the stairs with an admirable absence of hesitation or strain. At the top they turned into a small hallway, fastidiously maintained and bearing more pieces of art. They entered Mr. Ponder’s office, which, like the reception area and hallway, was
well adorned and well cared-for.
A wood carving by Grainger McKoy.
A piece of blown glass on a mahogany pedestal.
A triad of millefiori paperweights from Perthshire.
Theo made a mental note: The man is a connoisseur with an eye for beauty and excellence.
Conspicuously absent was any evidence of brokerage work or any advertisement of credentials. No diplomas. No certificates of membership in professional organizations. No awards, though Mr.
Ponder and his predecessors had amassed many. Aside from a single file folder, an inkwell and pen, a closed laptop, and a calendar, the
desktop was empty, polished, and immaculate.
A photograph, family no doubt, was on the credenza beside Mr.
Ponder’s desk. And a painting of a reserved, thoughtful, and beautiful middle-aged woman — Theo’s assessment of the face in the frame — hung on the wall above the credenza. Mrs. Ponder?
On the east wall of the office, eight-foot windows overlooked Broadway. Curtains and blinds were designed to allow as much or as little light in the room as Mr. Ponder wished. The silence of the room indicated soundproofing that kept street noise from interrupting the serenity of the workspace.
Everything in the office — the furnishings, the artwork, the man himself — exhaled refinement and propriety.
The two men sat at a small table of burled maple. A crystal vase of flowers, gardenias (whose unbruised whiteness suggested they had been put there that very morning), was centered on the table.
“May I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Ponder. I don’t want to take too much of your time.”
“Mr. Theo, Mrs. Gidley was right in saying I’m not taking new clients. I hope she wasn’t too abrupt in telling you so. She’s quite protective of our little business. I am somewhat retired, but I still come to the office every day. She’s been the guardian angel and sergeant-at- arms of Ponder House for over forty years, almost as long as I’ve been here.”
Theo raised a palm. “No need to apologize. She was simply doing her job, and I understand very well the need to keep people away sometimes. I suppose a place like this needs a guardian angel and a good gendarme.”
Mr. Ponder nodded. “You said you wanted to ask me about a piece of property.”
“Oh, yes, but before that, Mr. Ponder, please, I’m new to town, and I see that there has been some restoration to the old buildings in this area. I am interested in architecture, and I could not help but notice the ironwork at your entrance. I hope I’m not being rude in asking — and if you’re busy right now, please forgive me — but could you tell me about Ponder House? I’ve rarely seen a nineteenth-century American
structure in such impeccable condition.”
A light came on in Mr. Ponder’s eyes as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He did indeed know, in what some considered excruciating detail, about the building’s history and design. His attempts to tell that story were usually met with lukewarm interest, or less. Few people had attention spans equal to the length or specificity of Mr. Ponder’s narrative about the office property.
“Actually, my morning is quite open. I’m in no hurry at all.”
And for the next half hour, with only the tamest of interruptions from Theo, Mr. Ponder spoke of the place with clarity and animation, going all the way back to his ancestors who had laid the first stone. Theo sat up straight, elbows on armrests, chin resting on thumbs, eyes fixed on Mr. Ponder. The more intently Theo focused, the longer and more eagerly Mr. Ponder spoke.
To be clear, Theo’s interest was not at all dissembling; he was genuinely interested.
“And the brick?” Theo finally interrupted with words rather than nods and facial expressions. “The brick is made of what, local material? I read on one of the historical markers that there used to be a foundry here, near the river, yes?”
The conversation continued. Question. Answer. Exclamation.
Pronouncement.
“At some point, Mr. Theo, perhaps I can walk you through the town and tell you some of its history.” Theo remembered Tony’s remarks about the old families. “Golden has a rich past. But I’m sure every city could say the same. Now, you mentioned some property. What piece do you have in mind?”
Theo looked down at his hands and blushed. ”I’m almost afraid to tell you now that I know how much you care for it.”
It took a moment for Mr. Ponder to realize what Theo meant.
“Ponder House?”
“Please let me explain. You see, I’m looking for a place to live for a few months, something to rent, and I was told you might have a space at the top of your building. If that’s true, I would be very interested.”
Mr. Ponder shifted in his chair. “Oh, that. Yes, well, Mr. Theo, I do have an apartment, but I’ve never leased it. I don’t think I’m interested
in that. I’m terribly sorry, and I would be happy to help you find a suitable place.”
Theo’s face could not hide his disappointment. “Of course. I certainly understand.”
Mr. Ponder thought for a moment. “How long do you think you’ll be here?” ”I’m not certain but I would guess a few months. Maybe six or
seven.”
“And you’re alone?”
“Yes, I am a widower. My wife died many years ago.”
“No pets.”
Theo smiled. “No pets. It has been my habit to feed birds in the park, but they never follow me home.”
“And, Mr. Theo, forgive me. I don’t think I asked you why you’re here in Golden.”
“I have some business concerns, some properties to take care of.” It was a curiously vague answer, but Mr. Ponder did not ask for details.
Not yet anyway. At the moment, he was contemplating a new possibility. He spoke with the hesitancy of a man weighing his options.
“I don’t know that I will rent the apartment, but if I did, would you be able to walk up three flights of stairs? The entrance to the apartment is a metal stairway in the back. And to get to the stairs, you have to unlock a gate. It’s rather inconvenient.”
Theo, not one to be dissuaded, answered confidently. “I have a great fondness for walking. And I like stairs.”
“It can be pretty noisy down here, especially on weekends, with all the college students and nightlife. Would that be a problem?”
“Perhaps. But not likely. My home in New York has lots of stairs and lots of noise. I might actually find a bit of noise easier to adjust to than total quiet. But Mr. Ponder,” Theo held up an open hand as if to stop further discussion, “I don’t want to impose, and I can tell you have a great affection for this beautiful place. Forgive me for putting you in an awkward position. I withdraw my inquiry and will find a place nearby.
Maybe you could give me a recommendation. But I do wish for a walking tour of the city sometime soon. Now, one final question: Your sign says you are a broker and consultant. I know what a broker is. But
how do you describe your work as a consultant?”
Mr. Ponder’s voice modulated into a business tone. He explained his work as a dispenser of advice, keeper of secrets, agent of calm, and incubator of ideas.
“Sometimes consulting is a matter of a single meeting; other times it might involve long, complicated transactions. They all tend to be very specific, very case by case.”
Theo nodded. “So, is a consultant like a priest or a lawyer? Sworn to secrecy?”
“It depends on the consultant, I suppose. There is no licensing or ethical board for consultants, but if a consultant lacks basic discretion, he or she won’t be in business for long. We often deal with very sensitive information, some of it financial, some of it personal, some of it family related. A good consultant has to be entirely trustworthy and, in my opinion, yes, sworn to secrecy. To me, that’s a cardinal tenet of the profession.”
Theo nodded. “Very good. I might need a consultant while I’m here in your town. If you’re not taking new clients, maybe you could refer me to someone. I certainly don’t want to anger the sergeant-at-arms.”
Theo raised his eyebrows, nodded toward the downstairs, and smiled.
“No new clients, right?”
“Yes, well . . .” Mr. Ponder was clearly intrigued by Theo and wondered what his story might be. He also had a nagging sense, inexplicable, that this meeting might not be as accidental as it appeared.
Theo stood to leave. The ease with which he rose to his feet and straightened his frame belied his years. His vigor was obvious.
“Mr. Theo, would you like to take a look at the upstairs?”
“Please, Mr. Ponder, I’ve already taken far too much of your time.
I’m afraid that if I see the flat, it will be as beautiful as your office and then I will become a nuisance who cannot take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“Now, now.” Mr. Ponder swatted Theo’s objection away with a wave of his hand. “Let me show it to you.”
As they left the office, Theo pointed to the portrait behind Mr.
Ponder’s desk. It bore the same qualities as the pencil portraits that hung on the walls of the Chalice. “This is the work of a master, whoever
it is.”
Mr. Ponder nodded. “I agree. The artist is a local fellow. Asher Glissen. His family’s been in this community for generations. The first time my wife saw this, she cried.”
They walked down the hallway to a locked door. Mr. Ponder entered a code on a keypad and pushed it open. The casing of the door, like that on the entrance downstairs, was thick gauged, obviously installed with imperviousness in mind.
“When I renovated the upstairs as an apartment, I made sure that my office was secure from any risk of intrusion. Over the years, we’ve put in firewalls, motion detectors, and other security, out of concern for my clients as much as anything. One of the reasons I’ve been reluctant to rent upstairs is my fear of bad tenants. My clients wouldn’t want just anyone living here.”
The two men climbed the stairs — unadorned and lacking any attempts at elegance — until they reached another heavy door that required another keycode. The door opened into a furnished sitting room.
Mr. Ponder said, “Let’s start at the entrance.” He led Theo to the rear of the building, the west end. There were windows enough for ample sunlight to fill the room but, at the moment, they were covered with drapes and shades.
Even in the dim light, Theo could see that the apartment, though more modestly decorated than Mr. Ponder’s office, was far too nice for any college students he had ever known. In fact, there were not many adults to whom he would entrust such a residence.
Mr. Ponder unlocked the deadbolts and opened the door. He and Theo stepped out onto the landing. A panoramic view, worthy of a postcard, greeted them. Theo whistled softly in admiration and whispered, “What a glorious sight.”
Mr. Ponder nodded his agreement before looking down at the wrought-iron staircase. He said, “It is a nice view, but it takes forty-five steps to get here. That’s a lot of climbing.”
Theo nodded. “Yes, but that is a small price to pay for a sight like
this.”
They went back inside.
Upon entry, they stepped into a small mudroom, an area which was not actually a room nor a place that had ever suffered the indignity of southern mud. From there, one stepped into a comfortable apartment: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a spacious dining room and sitting area combined. Heart pine floors, the deep gold of spilled honey, were tastefully covered with oriental rugs and runners. High ceilings and tall, ample windows gave a sense of spaciousness to the premises.
One with an appreciation of light and shadow, one with a love for the subtle changes that occur to a room as sun rays move from surface to surface — one like Theo — would find no end to the visual pleasure of such a place.
He shook his head and tsked three times. “Mr. Ponder, I am afraid I shall be a terrible nuisance now that I have seen it.”
Mr. Ponder was pleased by Theo’s favorable opinion of the residence.
But he was, at the same time, a man of caution. He was mindful that this genteel old man with the accent and affable disposition had been a total stranger little more than an hour ago and remained, for now, an unconfirmed inquirer off the street.
Mr. Ponder had encountered no small number of eloquent swindlers and charming charlatans during his days as a broker and consultant to the wealthy. He had sometimes saved his clients from the grasp of ne’er-do-wells before damage could be inflicted. At other times, he helped clients pick up the wreckage of their misplaced trust. And yet, something about Theo felt unassailable.
The cautious Mr. Ponder surprised even himself when he said, “Mr.
Theo, I’d like a couple of days to think this over, but maybe we can work something out. And perhaps you’d like to think it over, too, especially those forty-five steps. They can be a real slog in summertime.”
Theo nodded and smiled. Who uses the word “slog” in America?
Mr. Ponder continued, choosing his words carefully. “I would make one request that I hope won’t offend you. This has been a most unexpected meeting, and very pleasant, but we are still strangers. I owe it to my clients to know who I might be renting the apartment to. Could you provide me with a list of references, or letters of reference, so I can do a bit of due diligence?”
Theo nodded. “I fully understand, and I would want as much myself.
I will gladly give you some numbers to call. But if you have a few more minutes, and if you will assure me that our conversation is confidential, I would like to tell you a bit of my story. Perhaps that will save you some trouble. If not, then I will bother you no more.”
They sat once again in Mr. Ponder’s office. As Theo spoke, the consultant sat in rapt attention. And then there were questions. Lots of questions.
Almost two hours later, Theo and Mr. Ponder rose and walked downstairs. They shook hands.
Theo was now tenant, client, neighbor, and confider to James Ponder.
Theo bowed to Mrs. Gidley on the way out and wished her a nice afternoon. She was not smiling.
Later that day, Mrs. Gidley walked to the second floor.
“Mr. Ponder,” even after forty years, she addressed him formally, “I thought we weren’t taking any new clients.”
He knew by the tone of her voice that she was displeased. Before he could respond, she spoke her mind.
“Mr. Ponder, I mean, I know the decision is yours, but there’s something about the man I don’t like. I’m not sure I trust him. I don’t know why, but I just don’t. He just seems a little too nice and a little too slick, if you ask me. That’s my first impression of him. And we already have as much work as either of us wants.”
Mr. Ponder was polite but firm in his reply. “Anita, I know this is unusual, but I’ve already done some checking and made some phone calls, and I’m comfortable taking him on as a client. I’m not going to be able to tell you an awful lot about him. You know how our profession works. This is one of those times I’ll have to be very guarded. But for now, just do what I tell you.”
There was a decidedness in his voice that squelched any reply. Her face went pale, her lips closed, and her nostrils flared.
“Anita,” he tried to look her in the eyes but they were fixated on a
pen in her hands, “please, trust me.”
She resisted the impulse to argue.
“Well, if he’s going to be such a secret, do you even want me to open a file on him?”
“Yes, let’s do that, but it might be empty for a while. I’ll be doing a lot of the initial paperwork and transactional work myself.”
“What name do I put on the file?”
“Theo.”
She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she prodded. “Theo
who?”
“For now, just put Theo.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Yes. Call our cleaning service, and have them do a deep clean of the apartment. Mr. Theo will be moving in soon.”
Her mouth dropped open, but she did not speak. Her face was a mixture of disbelief and mild horror. What was the cautious Mr.
Ponder getting himself into?
“Yes, sir.” She turned to leave the room.
The guardian angel of Ponder House was not happy.
