An Irresistible Bachelor(37)
When she got to the mirror Nathaniel was holding, she frowned and cranked the microscope closer to the canvas. The paint layer was thicker in this area, suggesting an extra coat had been applied. The craquelure was different as well, the pattern tighter and the direction subtly dissimilar. She told herself she was imagining things, but further inspection only confirmed what had gotten her attention. There was something faintly inconsistent about the paint layer over the glass portion of the mirror, a slight change in the texture of both the brushstrokes and the cracks across the surface of the painting.
Callie pulled back and looked at the portrait with her naked eyes, telling herself not to get worked up. The difference was very subtle and it could be explained by a function of the paint itself. The mirror was one of the few pale parts of the painting, aside from Nathaniel's face and hands. Maybe Copley had used a different kind of oil base for the lighter hues.
She bent down and checked the forehead, cheeks, and chin of the face. The cracks were all consistent with the rest of the painting, which kept her suspicions running instead of slowing them down.
She retrained the microscope on the depiction of the mirror.
The change was so slight that, if it was an alteration, it had been made a long time ago. Or by an expert. And the varnish across that part of the painting was consistent with the rest of the work's surface. She'd just read in a book on Copley's work that the Walker portrait had last been conserved and re-varnished some seventy-five years ago. The change, therefore, could be no more recent than that.
Callie sat back and stared off into space, wondering why the inconsistency hadn't been noted during that prior conservation. The book had mentioned details about the condition of the painting back then, but there had been no reference to any discrepancies in surface texture.
And Gerard Beauvais had seen something, she thought.
She recalled what he'd said about where the painting had been placed in the Blankenbakers' home, over a working fireplace. Such temperature fluctuations could have been the catalyst that revealed the retouching. Which would explain why the last conservationists didn't mention anything.
Maybe it was something as innocent as a repaint by Copley himself. Painters, even great masters, did that frequently. Not liking a shape or a tone, they would paint over what work they had done. Over time, as the paint layer aged, these changes could become more obvious, appearing as shadows in pale backgrounds or as pockets of disruption in the craquelure just like the one over the surface of the mirror.
Thinking perhaps the explanation was as simple as that, she recalled one of the things Professor Melzer had drilled into her. When you see hoofprints, don't think zebras.
It was good advice, she told herself. But damned if she wasn't skeptical anyway.
She spent the rest of the day on her preliminary review of the painting, going over every square inch of the canvas, searching out areas of chipping or flaking, discoloration or fading, changes in brushstroke. Her notes were as copious and objective as she could make them.
When she finally had to stop because her back ached from stooping over the microscope, she stood up feeling pleased. The painting was in good shape and she'd confirmed that there was no extensive work that had to be done. A removal of the old varnish and a cleaning, followed by an application of a new coat of varnish to protect the surface would be all Nathaniel would need.
She felt better able to complete the project and figured she'd probably only need another day to finish the documentation. And then the real fun would begin.
As she left the garage, she decided not to tell Jack about her suspicions. The chances of her making a neophyte mistake and jumping to a wrong conclusion were very real. And you didn't tell a man who's just spent five million dollars on a painting that it might have a flaw, based on a single inspection done before the thing was even cleaned. You waited until you were 100 percent sure and backed up by half a dozen other professionals in the field.
Wearing hockey pads was probably a good idea, too.
On Saturday, Jack hung up the phone oh his desk and stretched in his chair. He was doing a deal with Nick Farrell, the renowned corporate raider. The guy was off-loading his interest in an international conglomerate and Jack was happy to take the shares off his hands. The company owned various European wireless and fiber optic networks arid would fit in perfectly with Jack's private portfolio of international broadcasting and TV stations. Farrell was going to realize a hefty profit and Jack was positioning himself to be one of the largest providers of electronic media and Internet service on the European continent. It was a good deal for them both.