An Irresistible Bachelor(92)

From out of the mess, a shape was emerging. Underneath the blistered and melting layers of paint, she could see the outline of... a face.

She rubbed her eyes.

No, there was definitely a pattern coming through. Behind the pale creams of the mirror's surface, it looked like... the shape of a face.

Her heart started to pound for an altogether different reason than career suicide.



When the phone rang next to her, she grabbed it, hoping to pick up before anyone else did at the house.

Gerard Beauvais's cultured tones were the sweetest sound she could imagine hearing.

"Oh, God, I screwed up," she began, her words running together, just like the melted paint. "I was working over the mirror and I used the wrong strength solvent and I melted part of the paint layer—”

"Okay, okay, cherie. Slow down."

Somehow Beauvais's calm voice reached her inner ear and she forced herself to stop jabbering.

"Now," he said, when she had herself under better control, "tell me exactly what happened from start to finish. And what the chemical composition of your solvent is."

After she was finished, her throat was tight as she waited for his response.

"I must know," he said quietly. ""What was underneath? In the mirror."

"A dark figure, actually." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "In the shape of a head, I think."

Beauvais laughed tensely. "Well, perhaps your mistake is fortuitous. Did the paint layer there react differently to the solvent than the other parts of the portrait?"

"Well, I didn't burn any of the rest of it off, thank God, so it's hard to say. But no, I don't think it did. It came up easily but that could be explained by the increased strength of the solution."

Beauvais was silent for a moment. "I must see it for myself. But do not move the painting. I will come to you tomorrow. I have family here now and cannot leave. In the meantime, say nothing to Jack or his mother. I don't think you should go to them until we know what our plan to remedy the situation is. There is no reason to upset them, if it can be avoided."

Callie's breath came out in a shudder. "God, I feel awful. Jack's going to fire me. I'm never—”

Beauvais laughed easily. "Jack is not going to fire you. And you are going to work again, trust me. The conservation science is administered by human hands and we make mistakes. There is nothing we cannot fix together, but let us not be foolish. I will call on you tomorrow and we will decide what to do."

"How am I ever going to thank you?"

"That, my dear, is simple."

She laughed with a choked sound, finding it hard to imagine she could offer him much of anything.

"You, Callie Burke, are going to do the same thing for someone else when you are well along in your career and a younger colleague has a problem. Twenty-five years ago, I was working on a Titian when I managed to spill raw turpentine in one corner." When he heard her gasp, he laughed merrily. "It was awful. After I retired to la salle de bains wherein I revisited my lunch in a most unpleasant way, I came back, told my mentor what I had done and the two of us took care of it. The painting is hanging in the Uffizi to this day, and every time I go for a visit, I make sure I take a hard look at that canvas. I can still see the strip we had to repaint. Few others can, of course, but it always reminds me of my folly. I will say this. Egos are far more damaging in our line of work than mistakes. So when someone calls on you years from now, remember this experience and do the right thing. Help. Do not judge."

"I feel so ashamed," she whispered. "That I have to come to you like this."

"And that is good. What your regrets will do to you will be far worse than the harsh words of someone else. We all go through this, cherie. Just make sure it is only once."

When Callie hung up the phone, she wiped her eyes with her palms and looked down at Artie who'd come over to offer his condolences. He gave her a little wag as he put his head on her thigh.

Her sense of failure warred with her relief that Beauvais was willing to help and it was a while before she could go back to the house and face anyone. Not saying anything to Jack made her feel uneasy, but she trusted Beauvais implicitly and she knew the man was right. It would be far easier to present the problem to an owner if the solution were offered as well.

As soon as she opened the back door, she was enveloped in a wall of cooking smells. It was like being hugged.