She opened the wallet and took out the photographs. She studied them closely, but there was no sign of recognition on her face. ‘I don’t know these works, but the styles are familiar,’ she said.
Then she turned to the last photograph. The important one.
‘This is the one you want me to investigate.’ There was a slight crack in her voice, which told him the picture had definitely affected her. That was a good sign.
‘That’s the main one, yes, but I want you to check out all of them,’ he said. ‘Obviously I’ll pay you a consultancy fee.’ And he named a sum that was more than double what the media said she earned each year from the television programme. ‘I’m happy to draw up a contract so everything is official.’
She stared at the photograph. ‘I can’t authenticate a painting from a photograph. I need to examine the actual painting, and I need to see a proper paper trail for the provenance—or as much of it as you have.’
‘Then come to Florence and see the paintings for yourself,’ he said.
She looked torn. So she was considering it; he just needed another sweetener to tip the balance. As Leo’s executor, he had the power to make decisions.
‘It wouldn’t just be authenticating them,’ he said. ‘The family would give you exclusive access to the painting for your studies, before the gallery opens.’ Which, if his grandfather was right and the paintings were genuine, could make a huge difference to her thesis.
‘What do you know about that painting?’ she asked.
‘Just that he bought it in the nineteen-sixties, somewhere in England. The paperwork is probably in his files.’ Honesty compelled him to add, ‘But he hates filing. His paperwork is a total mess and I wouldn’t even know where to start sorting it out.’
‘I’m about to get really busy with the new series,’ she said. ‘Maybe if I start with the unsigned one and, if the initial investigations check out, we might be able to use it as part of the show—but I’d still need to get my producer’s agreement for that. And then, after the summer, I could consider working on the rest.’
After the summer would be too late. ‘I need you to work on them now, Miss Thackeray,’ Angelo said, keeping his tone cool and calm but very definite.
‘Why?’
The thing he’d been trying to make himself come to terms with for the last month. The thing that broke what was left of his heart into tiny, tiny shards. ‘Because my grandfather is dying. He has lung cancer. He was in remission, but his last check-up at the hospital showed that it’s back and they can’t operate. All they can offer him now is palliative care.’
She looked horrified, and he realised he’d been too harsh. But there wasn’t a nice way to say that someone you loved was dying. There just wasn’t. The only way he could cope was to use cold, hard facts. ‘Because I’m the lawyer in the family, he’s asked me to be his executor. His will says he wants his collection authenticated and shown off in a gallery—but I want that unsigned painting examined now and the proof found that it really is what he thinks it is, so he can die happy, knowing he was right all along. I love my grandfather, Miss Thackeray, and I want to make him happy.’ Give him something to distract him in his last few weeks, something else to focus on rather than the disease that was eating away at every breath.
‘Until I’ve examined the paintings myself and inspected the backs,’ she said, ‘I can’t promise anything. And I’d need to get my producer’s agreement about using that unsigned painting on the show.’
‘Why do you want to see the backs of the paintings?’ he asked, not understanding.
‘There are often markings and labels which can help trace its provenance. But I should warn you that there have been lots of scandals over the years in the art world. Copies, forgeries, and even forgeries of forgeries.’
‘So you’re saying my grandfather’s paintings could be fakes.’ Which meant that he was risking making his grandfather’s final weeks miserable, taking all hope away. He didn’t want to do that. But he didn’t want his grandfather to die full of regrets, either.