‘She was pregnant? That’s a possibility,’ she said. ‘Is there anything in the letters about a baby, or paying for lying-in expenses, or anything like that?’ she asked.
Angelo forced himself to damp down the longing and the loss, and work with his lawyer’s head on. Dry facts. Not feelings. He scanned through the letters. ‘Nothing. No further mentions of Barrington and nothing at all about Alice. He talks about his paintings and that’s about it.’
‘We need to look at other sources, then.’ She frowned. ‘Has the local history group got in touch with you yet?’
‘No.’ He looked at her. ‘Maybe we need to do what Nonno did and visit the place ourselves, see if there’s anything still there. I know it’s half a century since Nonno visited, and a century more since Carulli was there, but if there’s a big house then it’s highly likely there’s some kind of archive.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘And hopefully they have a different attitude to filing than my grandfather does.’
She smiled back. ‘Hopefully.’
When they got to the palazzo, Leo was frailer than the previous week but thrilled to see them, and he was even more thrilled when Angelo and Mariana handed over the package of what they’d found so far.
‘Can you remember the name of the people at the big house?’ Mariana asked. ‘Was it Fisher?’
‘I can’t remember,’ Leo said. ‘So many things I should have asked them. But it was seeing the painting, seeing how nearly it was thrown away—all I could think of right then was rescuing it.’
‘I found something else, Nonno,’ Angelo said. ‘Cine films from when you and Nonna were first married and when Mamma was small. I had them transferred to digital. Would you like to see them?’
‘My Frederica?’ Leo’s eyes went misty.
Angelo played the films on his laptop, and Leo was actually in tears by the time they’d finished.
‘I brought a copy for you on DVD, Nonno,’ Angelo said. ‘And I have copies for Mamma and Cammie.’
‘You’re a good boy,’ Leo said. ‘Steady, like your father was. I liked Roderick. He was good for my Lucrezia.’
‘Not dramatic and arty, like you and Mamma, or even Cammie,’ Angelo said. ‘Mariana’s been teaching me about art. It seems I like Turner and van Gogh and Degas.’
‘Then there’s hope for you yet,’ Leo said. ‘Teach him to love the Macchiaioli and my Girl, Mariana.’
‘I’m working on it,’ she said with a smile.
* * *
Leo perked up again the next morning, when Jeremy arrived, enthused over the collection as a whole and then stared at The Girl in the Window for a whole five minutes without saying a word.
‘I—I’m lost for words,’ he said, ‘and Mariana will tell you that really doesn’t happen very often.’
‘But, because we don’t have a signature and we don’t have enough of a paper trail, yet,’ Mariana said, ‘we’ll need to do tests on the painting.’
‘Will you let us take your Girl to London, Nonno?’ Angelo asked. ‘I won’t let it out of my sight between here and London, and I’ll deliver it to the lab myself.’
‘And the tests will prove it’s Carulli?’ Leo asked.
‘I’d be astounded if they didn’t,’ Jeremy said. ‘I’ve taught history of art for thirty-five years and my period is the nineteenth century. Professionally I’m considered an expert, and I’m pretty sure this is a Carulli. But, with all the forgery scandals in the art world, we need to go that step further than just my word.’
‘Then take my Girl,’ Leo said.
Mariana hugged him. ‘Thank you. We’ll take extra-special care of her.’
* * *
On the way back to London on Sunday, Angelo said, ‘Jeremy’s pulling strings and sorting out the lab for us so I’m delivering the painting there first thing on Monday morning.’
‘Nigel’s meeting us at the lab to see the picture for himself,’ Mariana said.
‘And then,’ he said, ‘I’m driving us to Norfolk and we’ll see what we can find at Barrington. It might be an idea to take an overnight bag.’