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it had been subjected to. We did not do a cleaning, so I know less than I would have had we
performed such work. I will say, however, that you would be wise to pay particular attention to
the surface texture."
She opened her mouth to speak, but he looked passively at Jack who had turned back and
was heading for them.
"Discretion among owners is prudent. Especially when things are not clear," Gerard said
softly. He gave her his card after he'd written something on the back. "There is my home phone
number, as well as the one here in the lab. You must call if you have trouble or if you require
another set of eyes. Particularly if you are tempted to go into the paint layer. As you are well
aware, that should not be done lightly."
Jack smiled as he approached. "So, we were wondering if you could spare a what kind
of light did you want?"
"A halogen steam lamp," Callie said. "And a microscope as well, if you don't mind."
Gerard smiled, nodded, and worked miracles. Twenty minutes later, Jack pulled the
Aston Martin around to a rear entrance and a microscope was eased into its trunk. The light and
stand were too big to fit in the car, so they were to be delivered that afternoon.
As they were leaving, Gerard took Callie's hands in his and looked down at them. "These,
along with your eyes, are the most important tools you have. Call me if you need help. Do not be
afraid."
As he squeezed, the full weight of the job hit her and she wondered whether she was up
to the task.
"Ah, cherie, it will be okay," he whispered, as if he knew she wouldn't want Jack hearing
him reassure her. The lilt of his accent was musical. "You have done this before and you will do
fine. There is love in your eyes when you speak of the painting, and you would never hurt what
you love, would you?"
She shook her head with a series of jerks, worried that if the man were any nicer to her,
she might burst into tears.
"So go now, go and do what you have been trained to do. And know if you call me, I will
come."
He squeezed her hands again and then went back into his museum, a slight man with the
bouncing walk of a child.
Later, as they waited for a break in traffic, Jack said, "You've got a hell of a glow going."
She glanced over at him. "What? Oh, Gerard. He's just so amazing. And surprisingly
humble."
"The great ones always are," Jack murmured as he put the car into gear and eased them
into traffic. "What were you two whispering about?"
"He was just giving me some advice."
"Good man to take advice from."
She nodded and tilted her head toward the back of the car. "Generous, too."
His brows tightened. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to disabuse him of the notion that
my portrait is going to hang next to Paul Revere. Damn it, my
mother's ability to commit the assets of others is un-equaled, at least now that my father
is dead."
Callie waited, hoping he would continue, and was disappointed when he didn't. She
shifted her gaze to his hands on the steering wheel. She wanted to ask him to elaborate, but then
he changed the subject.
"By the way, I was wondering if I could introduce you to a friend of mine."
She looked at him with surprise, thinking that taking on another private client after she
finished the Copley conservation would be great. "Of course. But are you sure you don't want to
wait until after you've seen some of my work?"
"This isn't about work."
The Aston Martin darted out in front of a truck and Callie gripped the door again.
"Gray was my college roommate and he's an all-around good guy. He lives in New York,
but he's going to be here for the next couple of weeks. I think you two might get along."
Jack wanted to set her up on a date?
"No pressure, of course," he said, glancing across the seat at hen "I just thought maybe
we could invite him out to Buona Fortuna. You could meet him, see if you like him."
Callie told herself this was normal. This was how people met other people. Through
friends. Contacts.
Business associates.
And it proved how serious he was about keeping things between them... out of the closet,
as it were.
"Er okay."
Jack focused on the traffic again. "Good. That's just great."
The next morning, Callie had just settled in front of the painting when the garage door
opened down below. She got up and went to a window, just in time to see the Aston Martin shoot
down the driveway. She was watching the taillights disappear when Arthur came over and
nudged her thigh with his head.
Work, she thought. She had work to do.
But it was hard to think about the job.
Yesterday, when she and Jack had returned from the museum, he'd helped her set up the
microscope, and after it had arrived, the light as well. In the course of getting her workplace
organized and removing the portrait's massive, gilded frame, he'd asked her innumerable
questions about the project. He wanted to know what the process for cleaning the painting was
going to be. What kind of solvents she would use to remove the dirt and old varnish. What type
of new varnish she would apply at the end to protect the fragile, original oil paint.
Given what had happened that morning, she was surprised by how comfortable she'd felt
around him. He was witty and charming and had smiled at her with respect as she answered each
of his queries. And the best part had been the sense that he was hitting her with all the questions
simply because he was curious, not because he didn't trust her.
He'd been on his way back to the house when she'd asked him how to work the
complicated stereo system. In the process of showing her how to turn the thing on, he'd
discovered that it wasn't working and that had led to him going up into the shallow crawl space
over the room. She'd played nurse to his electronic surgeon as he'd banged and crashed around
overhead, trying to get the speakers to receive a signal.
The cursing that had drifted down through the ceiling had been priceless and when he'd
reemerged, cobwebs hanging from his hair, his beautiful business shirt and slacks covered with
dust, she'd had to laugh.
Still, he'd got the damn thing working.
By the time they'd gone back to the house, dinner had been served and cleared. Jack had
parceled out some leftovers, overdone it with the microwave, and they'd laughed as they tried to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]