Finding Mr Right In Florence. Kate Hardy
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say, three days to take the photographs, and a couple of days to talk about the paintings, we can fly back to London next Friday.’
She blinked. ‘Are you serious? You want me to spend practically a week in Florence? With no notice?’
‘I want the project done as soon as possible,’ Angelo said. ‘You can stay at the palazzo with us, or I can book a suite in a hotel for you if you’d prefer.’
Stay at a complete stranger’s home—even if he was an elderly man in his final days? This was all going way too fast for her. ‘I haven’t even seen the paintings yet. Until I have, I can’t make any promises.’
‘My grandfather believes they’re genuine, Miss Thackeray, and I trust his judgement. Give me that week. I’ll book a hotel for you. If you come to Florence with me tomorrow, see the paintings and you think I’m wasting your time, then that gives you a few days’ holiday. If you don’t think it’s a waste of time, then that’s a few days of work with some art that I’m guessing will be useful for your studies. Either way, I will pay you a consultancy fee for your time.’
Florence. Where, if the paintings turned out to be a disappointment, she could visit the Galleria d’Arte Moderna at the Pitti Palace, her favourite place in the city, and see some of the paintings she was studying. On the other hand, this could be the chance to see some paintings by her favourite artists that had been lost for decades...
How could she turn down an opportunity like this? ‘All right.’ She took one of her own business cards from her handbag. ‘That’s my work mobile number.’ She scribbled down some more information on the back. ‘And my private mobile and email.’
‘I’ll let you know the flight times and I’ll arrange for a taxi to take you to the airport in the morning,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Miss Thackeray. If you give my secretary your bank details on your way out, I’ll transfer a consultancy fee for your time.’ He named a sum that made her eyes widen.
‘Working on the basis that you’re right about the collection, I’ll need to bring my camera, tripod, photographic lights and an easel,’ she said. ‘Plus my laptop. And I’d prefer them to travel with me in the cabin rather than in the hold.’
‘Noted. I’ll organise the baggage details. And if you can give my secretary your passport details,’ he said, ‘she’ll check you in on the flight.’
In some ways, this was surreal. But it was also the first time she’d felt properly enthusiastic about something since the court case. Maybe this would be the tipping point, the thing that finally helped her to move on and put the past completely behind her.
‘I’ll go home now and arrange it,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Miss Thackeray. I appreciate it.’ He held out his hand to shake hers.
Again, her skin actually tingled where it met his. She’d have to be very careful not to let her attraction to him get in the way. She knew what she was doing where work was concerned, but relationships were a very different matter. Something she really wasn’t good at.
‘May I borrow those photographs?’ she asked. ‘So I can talk to my producer.’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you.’
* * *
On the way home, Mariana used her phone to snap the photographs, emailed the images to Nigel, and then called him.
‘I’m just out of the meeting and I’ve emailed you some photographs. Here’s the elevator pitch. Imagine the equivalent of a chateau full of lost paintings by Degas, Monet and Pisarro. And the owner wants me to catalogue them all and check out the provenance of some of them.’
‘No way,’ Nigel said. ‘No way is there a chateau full of lost French Impressionists.’
‘Equivalent,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s a palazzo in Florence, so we’re talking Italian rather than French Impressionists. It’s the Macchiaioli, the ones I’m studying. And I’m going to see the paintings tomorrow.’
‘What?’
‘Angelo Beresford wants me to authenticate the paintings—and the painting in that last shot I sent you is unsigned. If it’s what my gut tells me it is, then it’d be perfect for the show.’
‘If something sounds too good to be true, Mariana, it usually is.’
Yeah. She knew that one first-hand from the lovely, sweet, gentle man she thought she’d got engaged to—the man who’d turned out to be a control freak with a nasty temper behind the charm. The man who’d almost broken her. ‘It’s worth a look,’ she said. ‘Just think, Nigel. A whole collection. Art that hasn’t been seen for decades.’ Even the idea made her heart rate go up a few notches.
‘So, on the basis of a few photographs, you’re planning to go to Florence tomorrow with a stranger.’
‘A lawyer in a very respectable firm that has very posh offices in the city, and he checks out as genuine,’ she corrected.
‘But the man’s still a stranger.’
‘We’re working on the third series of the show now. How many lost paintings have we found so far?’ she asked.
‘Fourteen, and two where we couldn’t prove the provenance or get them accepted by the experts, but the detective side of the story made really good viewing,’ Nigel said. ‘Along with all the hundreds of people who’ve contacted us about fakes and copies.’
‘I think it’s worth following up,’ she said. ‘I haven’t had a holiday in a year and a half. Worst-case scenario, if it is too good to be true, then I’ll get a few days’ break in Florence. Best-case, if this is an eccentric collector and the paintings are genuine, they’ll fit in with my PhD and make a potential episode of Hidden Treasure—and I think it’ll be our best episode to date.’
‘You really want to do this, don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve got a funny feeling about it.’
‘More like you really want it to be true,’ Nigel said. ‘Like if someone told me they had what they thought was a lost Turner painting and we looked into it for Hidden Treasure and managed to find the provenance. I’d be thrilled.’
‘Exactly.’
Nigel sighed. ‘I’d be happier if someone went with you.’
Mariana knew what he was worrying about. ‘Eric isn’t going to come after me,’ she said. ‘There’s a restraining order in place.’
‘Which he broke last year.’
‘And he has a suspended sentence. He’s not going to risk spending at least two years in prison,’ Mariana said. ‘So I’m going to Florence. I’ll keep you posted.’
She was lucky, Mariana thought as she walked from the tube station to her flat. So very lucky.
Lucky that she had a family and friends who’d refused to give up on her when Eric had started to isolate her from everyone. Lucky that they’d seen through his charm when she hadn’t been able to—and then that they’d seen her failing self-esteem and bolstered her. Lucky that they’d got her into a refuge when things turned nasty and then helped her get a restraining order so he couldn’t come anywhere near her again.
Eric had lied in court. He’d said that she was making it all up. That she was a drama queen begging for attention and she might as well have been on one of those ‘court case’ reality TV shows rather than in a proper court of law.
But the court had seen the truth. That he’d systematically undermined her over the two years of their relationship, made her feel useless and worthless, and isolated her from her family and friends. And her lawyer had found one of his exes; Eric had treated Adele in exactly the same way, and she’d been willing to speak up