She shook her head. ‘If there are too many people working on something, things can get misfiled or missed.’
‘You want to be the one who finds the evidence, don’t you?’
‘Yes. You or me,’ she said. ‘We’re a team.’
His heart missed a beat.
A team.
Then he reminded himself that she was talking about work. Not personal stuff. Given her past, she’d no doubt be wary in the extreme of getting involved with anyone again. And he didn’t exactly come without complications. He needed to bury his attraction towards her—just like he’d buried his emotions ever since his divorce. Cool, calm and collected. That was him. He’d focus on the excitement of the search and not on how much he was enjoying spending time with her and getting to know her.
He drove her home, and agreed to meet her at the university entrance in the morning.
And then he went home to work on the journals. At least they had their first bit of evidence; he photocopied the relevant pages, marked them with a sticky note, and typed up and printed a translation.
Tomorrow, perhaps, they’d find another piece of the puzzle.
CHAPTER SIX
ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, Angelo met Mariana at the university. She was leaning against the wall, reading a book, as he arrived; today she was back to wearing jeans, canvas shoes and a T-shirt, with her hair caught back in a scarf. She looked much more relaxed than she had the previous day, he thought, and he felt slightly out of place in his suit. But a dull corporate lawyer was exactly what he’d been ever since his divorce, working to fill his life and not let himself feel anything.
Oh, honestly. His life was fine just as it was. He didn’t need anything else.
‘Good morning,’ he said as he reached her. And her smile was so sweet that it actually made his heart miss a beat.
‘Hi.’ She slipped the book into her bag. ‘Come and meet Jeremy.’
He reined himself in and followed her to her tutor’s office. The room was almost as untidy as his grandfather’s office, with books in chaotic piles everywhere and pictures and articles torn from magazines pinned haphazardly to a cork board. Had it not been for what he’d seen of Mariana’s neat working habits, Angelo would’ve thought that the old cliché about being artistic and disorganised was actually true.
‘Very pleased to meet you, Mr Beresford.’ Jeremy Hartley shook his hand warmly.
‘Angelo, please. And you, Dr Hartley,’ Angelo replied politely.
‘Jeremy. Mariana’s shown me photographs of your grandfather’s collection—and it’s incredible.’
‘I did have a bit of a moment when I walked into the palazzo and saw the paintings—just like Carter must’ve felt when he realised he’d found Tutankhamun’s tomb,’ Mariana confessed with a smile. ‘And it’s a real privilege to help catalogue them.’
‘Knowing about all these new paintings is going to change things we thought we knew about Carulli,’ Jeremy said. ‘I know it’s a bit forward of me to ask, Angelo, but if there’s any chance I could visit your grandfather and see the paintings, I would be so grateful.’
‘He’s not in the best of health,’ Angelo said. ‘But knowing that you’re interested in his collection and that you believe his unsigned painting is a Carulli—that might help to brighten him a little, so I’m happy to arrange a visit.’
‘Thank you. Obviously I wouldn’t stay long or do anything to tire him out,’ Jeremy said. ‘I’ll be guided totally by you.’
‘I’ve been going through Carulli’s biography,’ Mariana said, taking the book she’d been reading earlier out of her bag. ‘He stayed in England in 1862 and 1863 in a little Norfolk village called Barrington—which is where Leo found the painting, a century later. Leo’s journal mentions buying sketches, and I found a preliminary sketch the other day for his painting Tuscan Harvest—it’s signed and dated and he made a note about the location on the back. I’m hoping that he’s done something similar with our painting so we can prove it stayed where he painted it.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry, Angelo. I mean your grandfather’s painting.’