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reach the swimming pool, which was big enough to give any man a workout on his daily swim. ‘What a wonderful setting, with those trees in the background and the mountains beyond,’ she said brightly.
He nodded in brief agreement, but said nothing more until they reached a summerhouse on the way back to the house. ‘Before we return, let us inspect the estufa. Would this suit for your work? Here you have daylight, no one to disturb you, but you are near the house. Also,’ he added, ‘it revolves, for you to follow the light.’
Katherine ran up a shallow flight of steps into an octagonal room with a table and wicker chairs, a tiled floor and as much natural light from the windows as she could wish for. She beamed at Roberto. ‘This is perfect! All I need now is the painting, plus a large blanket and my equipment and I’ll get started.’
‘Coffee first,’ he said firmly, and waved his stick in the direction of the house. ‘We shall drink it on the varanda, where the painting awaits.’
It was frustrating for Katherine to keep to Roberto’s slow pace. Excitement and apprehension filled her now the moment of truth had finally arrived. Even if the painting was all he believed it to be, she might fail to identify the artist, which would be disaster after insisting that she possessed the necessary expertise. As they mounted the veranda steps the sight of the swathed package on the table accelerated her pulse.
‘Shall I unmask him?’ asked Roberto.
Katherine nodded, swallowing. ‘Yes, please.’
With care, he removed the wrappings from the un-framed canvas, then stood back. ‘A little dirty, nao e?’
‘Normal if there’s any age to the painting,’ she agreed, nerves suddenly gone as she looked down at the canvas, which showed a young dark-haired man in sober eighteenth century clothing. ‘Certainly no dandy,’ said Katherine slowly, ‘though he would look a lot more elegant without the layers of overpaint. The jacket is just a blob and there’s too much neck cloth.’
‘What does that mean?’ demanded Roberto, face tense.
‘The overpaint may be hiding a repair in the canvas, or an addition by another artist,’ she said absently, her eyes glued to the subject’s face, which had suffered less than the body. Itching to get started, she smiled absently at her client. ‘If you’ll have my gear sent over to the summerhouse—with a thick blanket to lay the painting on, please—I’ll get to work straight away.’
‘First you must drink coffee,’ he insisted as Jorge appeared to place a coffee pot on the waiting tray. Roberto gave him some quick-fire instructions, and the man bore the tripod and work box off to the summerhouse. ‘I shall carry the painting there myself when you are ready,’ he told Katherine, pulling out a chair for her.
Wishing she could get straight on with the job, she began pouring coffee. ‘After I’ve cleaned the painting with white spirit, I can remove some of the overpaint with solvent, if you wish. By then I might even have some idea about the artist.’ She had a pretty wild idea already, but had no intention of dropping names at this stage. Further investigation might prove her horribly wrong, and Roberto de Sousa’s faith in her opinion would be gone for good.
He sat down beside her. ‘You must not work too long without taking a break. Jorge will fetch you when lunch is ready.’
‘I won’t be able to face a meal in the middle of the day,’ she warned.
‘You must eat for energy. A small sandwich, at least,’ he said firmly. ‘I will join you here at one.’ He looked up as Jorge returned. ‘All is ready?’
‘Sim, senhor.’
Katherine found that the summerhouse had already been dusted and swept, and a second table brought in to hold a tray with glasses and bottled water in an ice bucket, also a large metal bell with a wooden handle and a thick brown blanket.
Katherine positioned the blanket where the light was brightest and Roberto laid the painting down on it. He stood back, his eyes on her face as she subjected the painted face to a close scrutiny.
Katherine took her time, her excitement mounting. He looked familiar. Could she possibly be right about the artist?
She turned to smile absently at Roberto. ‘Right. I’ll make a start now.’
He smiled wryly. ‘You wish me to leave you to your detecting, nao e?’ He touched the bell. ‘Ring if you need anything. Jorge will come. I shall see you at lunch.’
Alone with the portrait at last, Katherine took off the spectacles to peer through her magnifying glass. ‘Right, young sir. Time for your close up.’
She went over every inch of the painting, then took a photograph to record its original state. Her instinct was screaming at her to start cleaning, but she doggedly kept to her usual routine. Once she’d taken everything she needed from her box, she pulled on a builder’s mask and her binocular headband, drew in a deep breath and moistened the first cotton bud with white spirit.
CHAPTER TWO
KATHERINE could have sworn that only minutes had passed when Roberto himself arrived to say lunch awaited her on the veranda, by which time the bin liner at Katherine’s feet was piling up with swabs and she was in no mood to break off to eat. But she smiled politely and straightened her back as she exchanged the binocular lenses for her spectacles, aware of his obvious disappointment that she had so little to show for her labours.
‘I’m just taking off the dirt. You’ll only see a difference when I get to the overpaint.’
‘I did not expect him to look worse than before,’ he admitted.
‘I look worse, too,’ she said ruefully as they walked back to the house. ‘I need a scrub.’
‘I shall wait on the varanda,’ Roberto said. ‘There is no hurry.’
‘Yes, there is,’ she contradicted. ‘I must get back to work.’
His lips twitched. ‘You enjoy your detecting so much?’
‘I do.’ She could have added that in this case it was almost unbearably exciting, but said nothing in case she was wrong.
Over lunch, Roberto told Katherine that he would be out for most of the following day. ‘Be sure to stop and rest often. I shall tell Lidia to see to this.’
‘Oh, I will,’ she assured him.
‘Have you any thoughts yet about the hand that painted our young man?’ Roberto asked, filling their coffee cups.
‘At this stage it’s hard to tell. After I’ve cleaned the canvas I’ll remove some of the overpaint to look for signature brush strokes. They function like fingerprints to identify the painter. But I’ll only do enough to form an opinion. If the painting is valuable I’ll leave the rest to the restorer James uses most, a lady with the necessary experience. Unless there is someone else you have in mind, of course.’
‘I have not. It was my intention to leave all in Senhor Massey’s hands. But I would trust you to do all, Dr Lister,’ he added with formality.
That was a relief! ‘It’s very kind of you, but I’m an art historian, not a professional restorer. Besides, I can’t stay here that long.’
‘You are so eager to return to England? You have a lover waiting there for you?’ His eyes gleamed as colour rose in her face at the sudden descent into the personal.
‘I have a friend, yes. But I was referring to my job,’ she said frostily.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I am sure Mr Massey would allow you to stay if I asked.’
Katherine finished her coffee and stood up. ‘That’s up to him.’
‘If he agreed, it would cause problems in your private life if you stay here?’ Roberto got up more slowly, jaw clenched at the effort.
‘None