‘I’m beginning to understand why your audience likes this sort of thing. It’s finding all the bits of the puzzle and putting them together,’ Angelo said.
‘And they get the speeded-up version, so they don’t have to wait to find the pieces,’ she said with a smile. ‘Though I admit I love this work. I’ve found some sketches and etchings, so I’m making a separate list of them.’
‘This is really going to happen, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘We’ll get his full collection catalogued.’ She took a deep breath. ‘This isn’t a tactful question, but I need to ask. That ticking clock. How long do we have?’
‘Months, if we’re lucky.’
‘But you don’t think we have that long.’
‘No. The specialist admitted it was more likely to be weeks. Six or seven at best.’ And he hated the thought of losing his grandfather. He hated what it would do to his mother and his sister, too.
She went over to him then, and rested her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. It must be so hard for you. I was really close to my grandfather, too, and when he was diagnosed with dementia it was difficult for all of us. Sometimes he’d be bright; sometimes he wouldn’t know who we were. Sometimes it’d change in the middle of a visit—he’d be chatting to me and then suddenly he’d look lost and the light would be gone from his eyes. Seeing him suffer was horrible. But I wouldn’t have missed a single visit, because I knew that having company made his day that little bit brighter. So I kind of understand how it is for you. A long goodbye, where you’re not ready to lose them and you really don’t want them to go, but at the same time you don’t want them to suffer and you want it to be over so they’re at peace.’
‘Yes.’ He reached up to put his hand over hers. ‘That’s exactly it. Thank you for understanding.’
For a second, there was something he couldn’t quite read in her expression. Something he didn’t dare let himself think about. ‘We’d better get on,’ he said, trying to keep it brisk and businesslike.
* * *
Later that afternoon, she came over to his desk again, with her laptop. ‘Would you mind just checking this for me, please?’ she asked.
It was an email to Lucia, asking her to pass on an update to Leo. It was written in very simple Italian, saying that they’d been through three of the diaries and had a list of artwork to look out for, and they’d found references to six of the paintings so far. She’d also found some sketches, and she enclosed a couple of pictures for him.
‘That’s really kind of you,’ Angelo said. ‘And I’m impressed you’ve written in Italian.’
‘It’s a bit schoolgirly, but I wanted to make the effort.’
‘That’s the key thing,’ he said gently. ‘And your Italian is just fine.’
‘I’ll send it now. I’ve backed up all my files.’ She handed him a flash drive. ‘And this is your copy. I’ll update this every day.’
‘Thank you.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘I didn’t realise how late it was.’
‘I got caught up in my work. Sorry. I shouldn’t impose.’
‘Please, don’t apologise.’ And he didn’t like that brief flicker of wariness in her eyes. Was she afraid of him? But, if so, why? Was it to do with her ex? And why did she apologise so much? ‘Don’t feel you have to work ridiculous hours,’ he said. ‘And would you like to stay for dinner?’
‘Thank you for the offer, but my mum is expecting me,’ she said.
Though she didn’t meet his eyes, so he was pretty sure that was a polite fiction.
‘Can I bring my easel and lights tomorrow, so they’re ready when I need to take photographs of any artwork?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’
CHAPTER FIVE
PROFESSIONAL. THAT WAS what she needed to be, Mariana thought. Instead of the jeans and T-shirt she usually wore when she was studying or working off-camera, she dressed in a dark grey business suit, a white shirt and black high-heeled shoes.