The main painter out of the group of artists she was studying for her PhD.
Intrigued, she flicked into the Internet to check out the firm of solicitors on the headed paper. Their website listed Angelo Beresford as a mergers and acquisitions specialist. So why was he writing to Hidden Treasure? Did a company he was working with think they had a painting worth a considerable amount of money and he wanted her professional opinion?
She didn’t get involved in artwork valuation as a rule. Half her time was spent on her studies, and the other half in detective work for the television programme.
But.
Domenico Carulli.
Her favourite painter.
Angelo Beresford hadn’t said which painting it was, and most of the ones she knew about were in a handful of galleries; there were a few in private hands, but none that she knew of in a corporate collection. Which could mean this was the kind of painting she looked at on Hidden Treasure. One that had gone unremarked and forgotten about for years. The lead was definitely worth checking out.
She picked up the phone and called his number.
‘Mr Beresford’s secretary,’ a plummy voice announced.
‘May I speak to Mr Beresford, please?’ Mariana asked.
‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting. May I take a message?’
‘Thank you. My name’s Mariana Thackeray. He wrote to me saying—’
‘—that he wants to discuss a painting. Yes,’ his secretary confirmed. ‘He was hoping that you’d call. I have his diary in front of me. Would you like me to book an appointment?’
‘Couldn’t I just talk to him on the phone?’ Mariana asked.
‘I think he would prefer a face to face meeting with you, Miss Thackeray.’
Did that mean Angelo Beresford actually had the painting in his office and wanted her to take a look at it? All the hairs on her neck stood up in a rush of adrenaline. ‘All right. When do you suggest?’
‘He’s free at half past two today,’ the secretary said.
It would mean moving her meeting with Nigel, her producer, but if her hunch checked out then she was sure Nigel wouldn’t mind. ‘All right. Can I confirm the address?’ She read out the address from the top of the letter.
‘That’s correct, Miss Thackeray. We’ll see you at half past two.’
‘Thank you for your help.’ She ended the call and rang Nigel.
‘Sweetie, I’m running late. Can we talk about it in our meeting this afternoon?’ he asked.
‘That’s why I’m calling. I need to move our meeting because I’m chasing up a lead.’
‘I’m about to go into another meeting,’ he warned. ‘I can give you thirty seconds.’
‘OK. I’ve been through this week’s mail. Three possibles, lots of sorry-not-for-us-es, and a letter about what I think is an unknown Carulli. A lawyer wants to see me about it this afternoon. So can I see you on Monday morning instead?’
Nigel groaned. ‘I hate Monday mornings.’
‘I’ll bring you a turmeric latte. And one of the pecan and apricot muffins from the bakery round the corner,’ she said, knowing his weaknesses well.
‘All right. As it’s you. I’ve really got to go, sweetie. Let me know how you get on.’
‘Yes, boss,’ she said, even though he’d already hung up.
* * *
At twenty-five minutes past two, Mariana walked into the reception area of the gleaming glass and chrome building where Angelo Beresford worked, and asked for his secretary.
Two minutes later, a smartly dressed middle-aged woman approached her. ‘Miss Thackeray?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr Beresford will see you now.’
The paintings in the reception area were all modern abstracts, Mariana noticed, in keeping with the style of the ultra-modern glass and chrome building. It was a far cry from the kind of art she was studying. The painting must belong to a client, then, rather than to the firm of solicitors.
At half past two on the dot she was shown into Angelo Beresford’s office.
Even though she’d looked him up on the website and discovered that he was a real hotshot in the firm and their youngest partner ever, in the flesh he wasn’t quite what she’d expected. He had the kind of dark hair that would turn curly if he let it grow, dark eyes, a sensual mouth, and the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen.