dad?’
‘Better. Much better,’ Gabriel assured him, smiling.
‘Brilliant!’ said Wayne with relief. ‘In that case, could we pop in and see him for a minute on the way home?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ she said. ‘Do him good to talk shop with you two. Oh, and by the way, I told him about Adam Dysart. And you were quite right.’ She pulled a face. ‘Feel free to crow. Dad insists I start work on the latest Dysart find right away, and leave the rest until I’ve finished it.’
‘We’ll do anything we can to help,’ said Wayne eagerly.
‘Thanks. I’ll need all the help I can get,’ said Gabriel ruefully, then looked up at the sound of a car approaching. ‘Right. Whose turn to make the coffee?’
A workmanlike estate car cruised slowly down the lane and came to a halt outside the barn. Adam Dysart got out, dressed in conventional jacket and tie in contrast to the night before.
‘Good morning, Miss Brett,’ he said coolly.
‘Good morning,’ returned Gabriel, wrong-footed by his formality. ‘Have you brought the portrait?’
‘Why else would I be here?’ he countered, and bent to remove the swathed canvas from the car.
Right. Forget sweetness and light. ‘Would you bring it inside?’ Gabriel directed him to the padded table under the north light. ‘Lay it down gently, please.’
Adam gave her a scathing look. He removed the covering and laid the painting down, then moved slightly so that Gabriel could stand alongside him to look at the portrait.
She scrutinised it carefully for some time, then took a hand magnifier and made a closer inspection. After a lengthy interval she turned the picture face down on the blanket.
‘Would you take some notes, Eddie?’ Gabriel asked. ‘The canvas is dark and grimy, but fine-woven, and the stretchers are good quality, straight-grained wood. The frame is contemporary, but with no labels or indications as to origin.’ She turned the painting back again and with infinite care rubbed the extreme corner with a gentle fingertip. ‘The paint is dry and flaky, remains matt, and the painting as a whole has many fine, random cracks. This rules out acrylic, and confirms age.’
‘So it could be 1820s?’ said Adam.
‘Possibly,’ Gabriel said cautiously. ‘Eddie, note that the subject occupies only half the canvas, the rest of which is obscured by thick dark paint applied by a different hand. As though someone wanted the rest of the painting obliterated.’
‘So you agree there may be something—or someone—else under there,’ said Adam with satisfaction.
‘Otherwise it’s certainly a great waste of canvas,’ agreed Gabriel, and gave him a polite smile as Wayne came in carrying a tray. ‘Will you have some coffee, Mr Dysart?’
‘I won’t, thanks. I must be off. I’ll be at Dysart’s all day, so ring me there if you need to contact me. Otherwise I’ll be home about seven.’ Adam took a card from his wallet and handed it to Gabriel. ‘All three numbers on that, Miss Brett, including my mobile.’
The two young men discreetly retreated to a far corner of the barn with their coffee, leaving Gabriel in unwanted privacy with Adam.
‘I’ll make a start straight away,’ she said briskly. ‘But, as you well know, initial cleaning can be a painfully slow process.’
‘Take as much time as you want. One thing, though. Your father’s accustomed to frequent visits on my part to check on the work in progress.’ He looked down at her quizzically, obviously expecting her to object. ‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Come whenever you like,’ she said indifferently. ‘By the way, if this picture turns out to be as valuable as you think, will you be taking it away every night? Or will you trust it to Dad’s new vault in the cellar?’
‘That’s what I’ve always done in the past. Harry takes out hefty insurance, so I’d rather you kept it here to save time.’ Adam’s eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘Unless that’s a problem for you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Good.’ He held out his hand. ‘Thank you for taking the work on.’
‘No need for thanks.’ Gabriel shook his hand briefly. ‘I’m just following orders.’
His jaw clenched. ‘You make that blatantly obvious, Miss Brett.’ He called a goodbye to the boys, nodded formally at Gabriel and strode from the barn.
She stared after him for a moment, then turned her attention to his painting. She began by removing the nails rusted into the frame, using pincers and painstakingly gradual leverage to avoid harm to the stretchers. Then she got to work on the brass securing tacks, which were green with age and so deeply embedded it took patience and time before the canvas was free. To Gabriel’s relief there was no sign of the mould which could lift paint film from its support. But neither was there any sign of a signature or framer’s label.
‘No clues at all,’ she told her hovering aides, ‘other than its obvious age—’
‘How old?’ said Wayne eagerly.
‘Too early to say. But probably early nineteenth century, as Adam hopes. And the original work is definitely by a skilled, professional artist. Unlike the paint slapped on the rest of the canvas.’ Gabriel smiled at them. ‘Right, then, let’s take it out into the sun. You hold it while I peer through my trusty magnifying glass.’
Satisfied that there were no gashes, or signs of old restorations, Gabriel took a photograph of the painting, then retired with it to her corner of the barn under the north skylight and set to work. She supported the canvas with blocks of plywood secured with carpet tape, pulled on a builder’s mask and the binocular headband, then moistened a cotton swab in white spirit and made a start on the preliminary cleaning.
By the time the boys were finished for the day Gabriel was surrounded by a sea of used swabs, her eyes and back ached, and both Wayne and Eddie were disappointed that she had so little to show for her labours.
‘I’m just taking off the dirt, remember. A couple of centuries of it at a guess,’ said Gabriel, yawning. ‘You’ll only see a difference when I get to the overpaint.’
Wayne and Eddie had accompanied her to the cellar vault with the portrait, along with everything else valuable enough to need security, before Gabriel remembered Adam Dysart’s request to inspect her progress. Too late now everything was locked up for the night and she was alone. She’d surrendered about giving Adam priority, but otherwise he’d have to play to her own rules. Her working day at Brett Restorations ended at five-thirty sharp, to give her time for a bath and some glamourising before she paid her nightly visit to Pennington General. If Adam wanted to check on his property he’d just have to make time during his own working day.
Armed with the cookies, and dressed in a yellow shirt and a short denim skirt which displayed the tan her legs had acquired over the weekend, Gabriel breezed into the four-bed ward later that evening to find that her father already had a visitor. Adam Dysart rose to his feet, with a smile that dared her to object to his presence.
‘Hello, there,’ said Gabriel brightly, and bent to kiss her father. ‘And how are you today, Dad?’
‘All the better for seeing you, pet.’ Harry patted her cheek. ‘You’re late. Not that it matters. Wayne and Eddie dropped in, then Adam came to entertain me with tales of his latest find.’
‘I’ve had a busy day working on it, which is why I’m late.’ Gabriel smiled sweetly, then turned away for a word with Mr Austin as usual, before taking the chair Adam pulled up for her.
‘Am I allowed to ask how you’re getting on?’ he asked.
‘Very slowly.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t