Lucia’s gaze wandered, curious, noting every door they passed.
They reached the Conservation Lab, its bright lighting spilling through the open doorway.
“So, this is where all the magic happens?” Lucia asked.
Penelope followed Lucia’s gaze as it drifted over the room’s long worktables draped in clean white cloths, the high-powered magnifiers, the pigment and chemical kits arranged neatly along one counter, and the sleek, climate-controlled cabinets lining the back wall. A sharp, sterile tang hung in the air.
“Impressive,” Lucia murmured.
“Does it fulfill your expectations?” Penelope stepped toward one of the tables where the Bellini lay under soft lighting, ready for the next round of testing.
“And then some, yes.” Lucia’s smile lit up her entire face—her dark eyes seemed to glow and the dimples in her cheeks were…
No.
Penelope cleared her throat. “I’m glad it meets your approval.”
“So, what’s the next step for the paintings? Are you examining both at the same time?”
“I actually have the Alessi under the microscope and could show you a few potential issues I’ve found there first, if you want.”
“Yes, of course.”
Lucia followed Penelope to the workstation. Her energy seemed slightly wired, as if she were suppressing the urge to bounce with excitement.
It almost endeared her to Penelope, who redirected her focus to the work at hand: cataloging Lucia’s reaction to her discoveries.
“All right.” She flipped on the microscope and the attached monitor. After looking through the eyepiece to find the relevant section, she pulled back.
“This is on the screen, too? Like a live feed?”
“Yes. Now look at this here.” Penelope pointed at the upper portion of the image. “The top layers of paint don’t align with traditional underpainting techniques Alessi used.”
Lucia tilted her head.
“Alessi often laid down thin glazes before building texture. This section here, see how the pigment sits flat without optical depth?” She moved the cursor across the area. “That’s…unusual.”
“OK, and that means it’s not the real deal?”
“Not necessarily, but it’s a first strike.”
“And after three, it’s out?” Lucia asked.
“Something like that. But there’s also this.” She zoomed in on another section. “The crack patterns—see them?—they don’t follow natural aging.”
“Cracks?”
“Yes. Craquelure should follow the stress lines of the canvas and the direction it was stretched over time. This looks…introduced.”
“Strike two. It’s not looking good for my client.”
“No, it isn’t.” Penelope held her gaze.
Lucia seemed so open and guileless. Without her research, or even without Valentina in her ear, Penelope might never have suspected her of anything.
She hated the masks people wore, though, to be fair, she didn’t know anything yet, at least not with the degree of certainty that would satisfy her.
“Now, if we look at a digital comparison…” Penelope switched tabs, pulling up a confirmed Alessi. “Look at the drapery. Alessi’s linework was disciplined. The folds here,” she gestured to the screen, “are too loose, too expressive. Lovely, but not his style.”
