An Irresistible Bachelor (An Unforgettable Lady #2)(31)

“Jackson, how are you?” The man’s voice was high and lilting, marked with a subtle French accent, and the hands that reached up and removed a pair of tortoiseshell glasses from his nose were beautiful enough to have been a woman’s.

So this was Gerard Beauvais, Callie thought as she shook one of those hands after Jack introduced them. She tried not to get swallowed by hero worship.

Beauvais smiled at her as he motioned them inside. “Come in, come in. Please.”

There were six workstations in the room and at each one a person dressed in a smock was leaning forward toward the surface of a breathtaking work of art. She saw a Pissarro and a David held upright in vise grips and several paintings lying on tables. The place smelled like chemicals, and as her nose tingled, she thought back to her days at NYU.

Only this was no classroom.

This was where Beauvais had carefully repaired the Fra Filippo Lippi that had been splashed with acid. It had taken him two years to find a way to mitigate the damage and conserve what was left of the paint, but the wait had been worth it. He’d also stabilized one of da Vinci’s rare self-portraits in the lab. Da Vinci’s experimentation with paint mediums meant that his exquisite labors could sometimes be ravaged by fading and flaking. Beauvais’s work on the chemical composition of the master’s oils had been revolutionary.

“Your mother is being so generous,” Gerard said to Jack. “As always.”

Jack cracked a dry smile. “I can only imagine.”

“I mean, loaning the Walker painting to us after conservation, how gracious. It will look stunning next to Copley’s Paul Revere. They are perfect companions.” Beauvais smiled. “We will throw a party, yes? Something to properly welcome Nathaniel back to Boston.”

Callie noticed Jack’s eyes narrowing even if Beauvais did not.

“And you,” the man said to her. “I am great friends with Professor Melzer. He speaks very highly of you and that is a rare recommendation indeed. You must be anxious to get down to work.”

She felt blood rush to her face. Or maybe the tingling meant it had left her head altogether. “I’m going to do my best. But I have to admit, I’m nervous.”

“Good. Good, good! You should be.” He wagged his glasses at her. “We should all approach the canvas with sure hands, a clear mind, and palpitations in the chest. It is a sign that you understand the value of what you can do for a painting and the destruction you may cause if you are not reverent and careful. C’est bon!”

As he beamed at her, she was quite sure she didn’t view her fear with the same kind of optimism, but she felt herself relax a little.

“Now, tell me, what of the painting? Have you examined it yet?” Small, rapt eyes searched her face.

As she nodded, she cleared her throat, feeling like she’d had an oral exam sprung on her.

“The canvas is solid and the paint is holding together nicely for the most part, but the varnish layer is yellow and dingy. Technically this will not be a complicated job, but the significance of the painting makes the project rather daunting.” Enthusiasm warmed her voice. “The work is obviously from the period before Copley left for London because his style is still maturing. Even so, the brush technique and use of color are incredible. I can’t wait to see what Nathaniel’s face looks like under the old varnish.”

“Anything else?”

She stared at the man. His smile was just as warm but his eyes had narrowed.

“Not yet.” She hesitated. “Is there something I should be looking for?”

He shrugged but kept his voice low and his eyes on Jack, who was scrutinizing the David. “I examined the painting myself once. In the late nineties. After the Blankenbakers purchased the portrait from Jack’s father, they hung it above a fireplace in their Newport house. They came to me because they were concerned about the effect of the fluctuating heat and changes in humidity it had been subjected to. We did not do a cleaning, so I know less than I would have had we performed such work. I will say, however, that you would be wise to pay particular attention to the surface texture.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he looked passively at Jack, who had turned back and was heading for them.

“Discretion among owners is prudent. Especially when things are not clear,” Gerard said softly. He gave her his card after he’d written something on the back. “There is my home phone number, as well as the one here in the lab. You must call if you have trouble or if you require another set of eyes. Particularly if you are tempted to go into the paint layer. As you are well aware, that should not be done lightly.”

Jack smiled as he approached. “So, we were wondering if you could spare a—What kind of light did you want?”

“A halogen steam lamp,” Callie said. “And a microscope as well, if you don’t mind.”

Gerard smiled, nodded, and worked miracles. Twenty minutes later, Jack pulled the Aston Martin around to a rear entrance and a microscope was eased into its trunk. The light and stand were too big to fit in the car, so they were to be delivered that afternoon.

As they were leaving, Gerard took Callie’s hands in his and looked down at them. “These, along with your eyes, are the most important tools you have. Call me if you need help. Do not be afraid.”

As he squeezed, the full weight of the job hit her and she wondered whether she was up to the task.