Finding Mr Right In Florence. Kate Hardy

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СКАЧАТЬ Sorry, that’s not meant to be unkind. Just that it was the next thing on the search results.’

      ‘I know.’ But it also meant that he knew everything that Eric had done. What a fool she’d been. ‘And you still want me to look at the paintings?’

      ‘Yes, I do.’ He looked straight at her. ‘Speaking out like that takes courage. I admire what you did. And I admire the way that you’ve moved on, done something good with your life.’

      She wasn’t quite there yet, but she was trying. ‘I wanted to help other people in my situation. The interview seemed like the best way.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, ‘that you went through something so horrible.’

      ‘It’s past,’ she said. ‘And I’ve moved on.’ That wasn’t completely true. She’d completed her MA and started her PhD, forged a new career. She’d proved to herself that she wasn’t the pathetic mess Eric had wanted her to believe she was. But she hadn’t dated anyone since Eric. She couldn’t trust herself not to get it so badly wrong as she had last time.

      And this wasn’t about relationships. Yes, so far, Angelo Beresford seemed like a nice guy. He’d been sensitive about her past. And he was attractive—he would’ve made a perfect artist’s model. But for all she knew he could be in a committed relationship. Even if he wasn’t, it didn’t meant that anything could happen between them. She didn’t trust herself—either to find the right person for her, or to make it work. This was going to be strictly business.

      ‘All right. I’ll come to Florence and see the paintings.’

      ‘Good. Tomorrow?’ he asked.

      She stared at him. ‘Tomorrow?’

      ‘I know it sounds like a rush.’ Though he didn’t sound in the slightest bit apologetic.

      ‘It is a rush,’ she corrected.

      ‘Time’s the one thing I don’t have,’ he said.

      She thought of her own grandfather and how much she missed him since his death; she would have done anything to help him in his last days. Anything to make him smile instead of looking so lost and desolate, the light in his eyes gone. Clearly Angelo Beresford wanted to do the same for his grandfather. Who was she to deny that? ‘All right,’ she said.

      ‘May I have your mobile number?’ Angelo asked. ‘I’ll get my secretary to book the flight and contact you with the details.’ He took a business card from his desk and scribbled something on the back. ‘My private mobile, email and address, and my office details on the front,’ he said, handing the card to her. ‘If you do think the paintings are worth working on, what happens next?’

      Now she was on safer ground. Work, not emotions. ‘I’d photograph them, front and back,’ she said. ‘Then I’d set up a computer file for each one and work through the provenance.’

      ‘How long would that take?’

      ‘Photographing, maybe half an hour for each one. Less if I have someone to help me take them down from the walls and put them on an easel. The paperwork really depends—I can do some things online, but I’ll also need to look at any paperwork your grandfather has. I’d like to talk to him about each of the paintings and for him to tell me what he remembers about them, if he’s well enough.’

      ‘Nonno’s always well enough to talk about art,’ Angelo said. He looked as if he was weighing up her words, working something out. ‘So if we allow, say, three days to take the photographs, and a couple of days to talk about the paintings, we can fly back to London next Friday.’

      She blinked. ‘Are you serious? You want me to spend practically a week in Florence? With no notice?’

      ‘I want the project done as soon as possible,’ Angelo said. ‘You can stay at the palazzo with us, or I can book a suite in a hotel for you if you’d prefer.’

      Stay at a complete stranger’s home—even if he was an elderly man in his final days? This was all going way too fast for her. ‘I haven’t even seen the paintings yet. Until I have, I can’t make any promises.’

      ‘My grandfather believes they’re genuine, Miss Thackeray, and I trust his judgement. Give me that week. I’ll book a hotel for you. If you come to Florence with me tomorrow, see the paintings and you think I’m wasting your time, then that gives you a few days’ holiday. If you don’t think it’s a waste of time, then that’s a few days of work with some art that I’m guessing will be useful for your studies. Either way, I will pay you a consultancy fee for your time.’

      Florence. Where, if the paintings turned out to be a disappointment, she could visit the Galleria d’Arte Moderna at the Pitti Palace, her favourite place in the city, and see some of the paintings she was studying. On the other hand, this could be the chance to see some paintings by her favourite artists that had been lost for decades...

      How could she turn down an opportunity like this? ‘All right.’ She took one of her own business cards from her handbag. ‘That’s my work mobile number.’ She scribbled down some more information on the back. ‘And my private mobile and email.’

      ‘I’ll let you know the flight times and I’ll arrange for a taxi to take you to the airport in the morning,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Miss Thackeray. If you give my secretary your bank details on your way out, I’ll transfer a consultancy fee for your time.’ He named a sum that made her eyes widen.

      ‘Working on the basis that you’re right about the collection, I’ll need to bring my camera, tripod, photographic lights and an easel,’ she said. ‘Plus my laptop. And I’d prefer them to travel with me in the cabin rather than in the hold.’

      ‘Noted. I’ll organise the baggage details. And if you can give my secretary your passport details,’ he said, ‘she’ll check you in on the flight.’

      In some ways, this was surreal. But it was also the first time she’d felt properly enthusiastic about something since the court case. Maybe this would be the tipping point, the thing that finally helped her to move on and put the past completely behind her.

      ‘I’ll go home now and arrange it,’ she said.

      ‘Thank you, Miss Thackeray. I appreciate it.’ He held out his hand to shake hers.

      Again, her skin actually tingled where it met his. She’d have to be very careful not to let her attraction to him get in the way. She knew what she was doing where work was concerned, but relationships were a very different matter. Something she really wasn’t good at.

      ‘May I borrow those photographs?’ she asked. ‘So I can talk to my producer.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      * * *

      On the way home, Mariana used her phone to snap the photographs, emailed the images to Nigel, and then called him.

      ‘I’m just out of the meeting and I’ve emailed you some photographs. Here’s the elevator pitch. Imagine the equivalent of a chateau full of lost paintings by Degas, Monet and Pisarro. And the owner wants me to catalogue them all and check out the provenance of some of them.’

      ‘No СКАЧАТЬ