‘We’re working on the next floor.’ He ushered her towards the stairs. Again, there were no paintings on the walls or in the hallway upstairs. She would definitely have had artwork on these walls. The light was fabulous. How could he live in a world with no paintings, when his grandfather was a collector and his mother was an opera singer? Unless his ex had been a painter; but that felt too intrusive to ask.
‘Another living room,’ he said, gesturing to a room on the right, ‘and this is my study.’
Like the other rooms she’d seen, it appeared to have original cornicing. There was a white Adam fireplace with a black-leaded grate, and a mirror on the wall over it to reflect the light from the window; adjacent to the fireplace was a wall full of bookshelves; and between them were two tables with an office chair each. One was completely clear, with a box of the stationery she’d asked for at the side, and the other held a phone, a computer and reading lamp.
The difference between the cluttered study in Leo’s palazzo and his grandson’s minimalist townhouse couldn’t have been more stark.
Again, there was no artwork on the walls: just a very functional clock.
He gestured to the table. ‘I hope that’s satisfactory.’
‘I think,’ she said, ‘I’d almost be afraid to put a single piece of paper on that table.’
He frowned. ‘How else are you meant to sort through Nonno’s papers?’
She nodded at his desk. He’d warned her that he was the only teenage boy who never had to be yelled at to tidy his room, but this went way beyond tidy. ‘Are you sure you won’t mind me breaching your clear desk policy?’
‘It’s your project. Run it as you wish.’ His voice was expressionless, and she made a mental note to make absolutely sure that her desk was clear at the end of each day.
‘I plan to focus on helping you go through the paperwork, but I might need to take some calls from the office,’ Angelo said. ‘Obviously I trust that you’ll keep anything you overhear in strictest confidence.’
‘Of course. But I can work with headphones on, if you prefer.’
He shook his head. ‘That won’t be necessary. I know you’ll keep your word.’
‘Right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have a meeting with my tutor every Wednesday morning and with Nigel on Friday afternoons, and if Nigel needs me to go into the studios I’ll let you have as much notice as possible. Other than that, I’ll try to work the same hours that you do.’
He grimaced. ‘Please don’t feel that I’m going to be a slave driver. This is your area of expertise, not mine—run the project as you see fit.’
‘We have a ticking clock,’ she said gently, not wanting to hurt him by referring to his grandfather’s condition, but wanting to reassure him that she understood the urgency. ‘And I love my job. Working the necessary hours to get the job done on time isn’t a problem.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Shall I bring the first box up for you?’
‘That would be kind.’ She paused. ‘The journal translations—if you can make a timeline as you go, that would be helpful. A note of the date, the artwork he bought, the artist’s name, as much detail as he gives in the journal—any descriptions, measurements, sizes, price and what have you—and a note of the year of the journal and the page number of the entry.’
‘Right.’
He looked slightly offended, and Mariana remembered that he was a partner in a legal firm. At a very young age. Meaning that he was more than bright enough to work it out for himself.
She must’ve flinched, because Angelo said, ‘I’m sorry. Of course you know what information you’re looking for to tie in with the other records. I didn’t mean to snap at you.’
Eric never apologised, and the simple courtesy made Mariana feel as if she could breathe again.
‘I guess I’m used to being the bossy one as well as a neat freak,’ Angelo said. ‘When Dad died, ten years ago, Cammie was in the last year of her degree, Mamma fell apart completely and I was the one who held everything together. It’s become kind of a habit to be in charge.’