‘You love it as much as he does. I don’t think he’d mind you calling it “ours”,’ he said, smiling at her. Did she have any idea how cute she was when she was all fired up and enthusiastic? She glowed with happiness, and it made him feel warm inside.
‘So do you have any provenance for the painting yet?’ Jeremy asked.
‘I’m building the case,’ Mariana said. ‘But I want to send it for X-rays to see if there are any underlying sketches, and we need to check if the pigment is the same as that in his other English paintings.’
‘Good idea,’ Jeremy said. ‘Do the composition and brushstrokes match his usual style?’
‘Yes.’ She filled Jeremy in on their work so far.
‘It’s the kind of thing all scholars dream about finding,’ Jeremy said, ‘or at least being part of the discovery. An unknown, unsigned Carulli, and others from the same era we’ve not known about before. How utterly amazing.’
‘I’ll speak to my grandfather and arrange a visit,’ Angelo said. ‘And I assume you need some time to discuss whatever you usually discuss with Mariana.’
‘In the circumstances,’ Jeremy said, ‘that’s your call, Mariana.’
‘I’d rather like to go back to working on our research and seeing what it uncovers, because it’s going to affect my thesis,’ Mariana said. ‘But I’ll keep you updated, Jeremy.’
‘And I’ll be in touch to discuss your visit to my grandfather,’ Angelo said. ‘Actually, I’m going to Florence on Saturday, if you’re free.’
‘Saturday? Let me see if I can move a couple of things around,’ Jeremy said, ‘and I’ll let you know.’
When they left her tutor’s office, Mariana looked at Angelo. ‘We agreed, thirty minutes in the National.’
‘All right,’ he said.
‘Let’s start with something older.’ She led him through the rooms. ‘Botticelli,’ she said. ‘Late fifteenth century. This isn’t quite as famous as his paintings in the Uffizi, but this is Venus and Mars. It shows Venus awake and Mars asleep—in other words, love conquers war.’ She grinned. ‘And then you’ve got the rude bits.’
‘Rude bits? But they’re fully clothed,’ Angelo said, frowning.
‘Take a closer look. The little satyrs have pinched his lance and, even though one of them is blowing a trumpet in his ear, Mars isn’t waking up. He’s...um...unarmed,’ she said.
Angelo suddenly realised what she meant.
‘You mean they’ve just had sex and he’s gone to sleep?’ He felt hot all over. How on earth had he ended up discussing sex with Mariana Thackeray in the middle of a public art gallery?
The warmth must’ve shown in his face, because she gave him the cheekiest grin. One that made his heart skip a beat. One that made him want to kiss her and see if he could rouse corresponding heat in her. Even though he knew it was a bad idea, it was hard to resist. How soft would her mouth be against his? How would it feel to have her arms wrapped round him in passion?
‘There’s always something to spot in a painting,’ she said. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s pretty enough,’ he said, trying to be diplomatic.
‘But you wouldn’t want it on your walls.’
‘I wouldn’t spend time gazing at it, no,’ he admitted.
‘So it doesn’t move you.’
‘No.’ She moved him. The fact that right now he could do with a cold shower had nothing to do with the painting and everything to do with her.
‘OK. Renaissance paintings might not be your thing—even though half your family comes from Florence.’ She took him into another room. ‘How about this? Constable’s The Hay Wain.’
‘It’s a pretty landscape,’ he said, again trying to be diplomatic and hoping she wasn’t going to start waxing lyrical over the shape of the clouds. As far as he was concerned, it was just a picture—something he’d glance at but wouldn’t snag his attention.
‘The area still looks like that today,’ she said. ‘But I can see from your face that you’re being polite. Early nineteenth-century landscape isn’t your thing, either. How about a seascape?’ She took him around the corner. ‘Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire.’