‘What about you?’ she asked.
Was she being polite, or was she really interested? ‘I followed in my father’s footsteps,’ he said. ‘Dad died from a heart attack ten years ago, so I didn’t get to work with him like I’d planned to, but his old firm offered me a job in their Mergers and Acquisitions team when I qualified, and I worked my way up.’
‘You never wanted to be an art collector or an artist?’
‘Like my grandfather, you mean? No. I loved staying in Florence with him and my grandmother every summer, and I’ve probably seen every piece of art in the city with the pair of them, but Nonno always says that Cammie—my sister, who’s an accountant—and Mamma are the only ones who appreciate art.’
‘Your mother’s a painter or collector?’
‘No.’ He looked at her. ‘Are you interested in any of the other arts, Mariana?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you might have heard of her. Lucrezia Moretti—she kept her maiden name professionally.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid her name isn’t familiar.’
He smiled. ‘I grew up with it, but I know opera isn’t to everyone’s taste.’
She blinked. ‘Your mother’s an opera singer?’
He inclined his head. ‘She’s officially retired now. But every so often she can be tempted back on stage by a director she admires, if the role is right. Though the artistic genes have bypassed me.’
‘You don’t have to be able to make art to appreciate it,’ she said.
‘Sometimes it’s hard to appreciate it. I understand why my grandfather thinks I’m a philistine—I hated being dragged round an art gallery or a museum as a child when I could’ve been outside running around a garden instead,’ he said. ‘To be honest, I still feel a bit that way. I’d rather walk by the river or in a garden.’
She smiled. ‘My mother’s the same. Garden centres for her are like art galleries for me. She says she’d rather be able to smell the flowers than look at a painting of them.’
‘Your mother,’ he said, ‘sounds wise.’
‘So what made you pick law as a career?’ she asked.
‘Listening to my dad talk about fairness and making things right. I admired him, and I wanted to do the same kind of thing that he did. My mother is very dramatic and—’ he grimaced ‘—it feels mean saying this, but she was a bit chaotic, when I was a child. Being an opera singer, she’s meant to be flamboyant, but sometimes I found it a bit too much to handle. I liked things calm and organised. I was happiest when Dad and I took the dog for a walk by the river at the crack of dawn and everything was quiet—kind of an oasis.’ He smiled. ‘Sad to say, I was probably the only teenage boy in the history of the world who never got yelled at to tidy his room, because it was always neat and tidy.’
She looked slightly worried, and he remembered what he’d read about her ex in that article. ‘I’m a neat freak, and I’m probably a bit of a control freak where my work’s concerned, but I do try to listen to my colleagues and be fair. So please tell me if I say or do anything that makes you uncomfortable, because I don’t want you to feel worried about anything.’
‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’
Maybe she’d open up more if he asked her about the task in hand. ‘How exactly do you evaluate a painting? What evidence do you look for?’
‘I’m assuming you want the general outline first, rather than my plan for any one specific painting?’ she asked.
‘The specifics can come later. A generalisation would give me a useful background.’ Angelo pushed away the thought that he really liked seeing the animation in Mariana’s face when she talked about art, the passion in her blue eyes. This wasn’t about her or that flare of attraction that he needed to ignore; it was about making his grandfather’s dream come true.
‘I’d start by measuring the painting, then I’d record the dimensions, a description of the frame, the medium—oils, watercolour, pastels or whatever—whether it’s signed, the style and the subject, and if there’s any inscription or anything on the frame. Then I’d check the back of the painting for exhibition marks, dealer stamps, gallery labels and any signs of previous ownership.’