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He’d hoped to restore this chapel to its former glory—but he’d never expected to find something that would surpass all his expectations.
‘Signor? Signor? What will we do?’ Vito, one of the builders, appeared at his elbow. His eyes were wide, his face smeared with dirt.
‘Take the rest of the day off,’ Logan said quickly. ‘All of you.’ He turned to face the rest of the staff. ‘Let me decide how to proceed. Come back tomorrow.’
There were a few nods. Most eyes were still transfixed on the wall.
There was a flurry at the entranceway and Louisa, the new owner of the palazzo, appeared. ‘Logan? What’s going on? I heard shouts. Is something...?’ Her voice tailed off and her legs automatically propelled her forward.
Louisa Harrison was the American who’d inherited Palazzo di Comparino and hired him to renovate both it and the chapel back to their former beauty. She was hard to gauge. Tall and slim, her long blond hair was tied up in a ponytail and she was wearing yoga pants and a loose-fitting top. Her brow was furrowed as she looked at the fresco and shook her head. ‘This was here?’ She looked around at the debris on the floor. ‘Behind the panelling?’
He nodded while his brain tried to process his thoughts. Louisa would have no idea what the implications of this could be.
She turned back to face him, her face beaming. ‘This is wonderful. It’s amazing. The colours are so fresh it’s as if the painter just put down his paintbrush today. I’ve never seen anything like this. Have you?’
He took a deep breath and chose his words carefully. ‘I’ve seen a few.’ He gave a nod to the wall. ‘But none as spectacular as this.’
She was still smiling. It was the most animated he’d seen her since he’d got here. Louisa rarely talked to the tradesmen or contractors and when she did it was all business. No personal stuff. He’d learned quickly that she was a woman with secrets and he still had no idea how she’d managed to inherit such a wonderful part of Italian history.
But her intentions seemed honourable. She’d hired him after going along with the request for a wedding venue from Prince Antonio. And with his growing reputation, thriving architecture business and natural curiosity there had been no way he’d turn down the opportunity to do these renovations.
‘It will be the perfect backdrop for the wedding,’ Louisa said quietly, her eyes still fixed on the fresco. ‘Won’t it?’
He swallowed. Exactly how could he put this?
‘It could be. I’ll need to make some calls.’
‘To whom?’
‘Any new piece of art has to be reported and examined.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘And a fresco falls under that category?’
He nodded. ‘A fresco, any uncovered relics, a mosaic, a tiled floor...’ He waved his hand and gave a little smile. ‘We Italians like to keep our heritage safe. So much of it has already been lost.’
‘And you know who to call? You can sort this all out?’ He could almost hear her brain ticking over.
He gave a quick nod.
‘Then I’ll leave it to you. Let me know if there are any problems.’ She spun away and walked to the door.
Logan turned back to the wall and stood very still as he heard the quiet, retreating footsteps. The enormity of the discovery was beginning to unfurl within his brain.
He could almost see the millions of euros’ worth of plans for the prince to marry here floating off down the nearby Chiana River.
In his wildest dreams the prince might get to marry his bride with this in the background. But Italian bureaucracy could be difficult. And when it came to listed buildings and historic discoveries, things were usually painstakingly slow.
He sucked in a deep breath. The air in the chapel was still but every little hair stood up on his arms as if a cool breeze had just fluttered over his skin. He knew exactly what this fresco would mean.
He knew exactly who he would have to contact. Who would have the expertise and credentials to say what should happen next. Italy’s Arts Heritage Board had a fresco expert who would be able to deal with this.
Lucia Moretti. His ex.
CHAPTER ONE
LUCIA STARED OUT of the window, sipped her coffee and licked the chocolate from her fingers.
If her desk hadn’t been on some priceless antiques list somewhere she would lift her aching legs and put them on it. She’d just completed a major piece of work for Italy’s Art Heritage Board. Months of negotiations with frazzled artefact owners, restorers and suppliers. Her patience had been stretched to breaking point, but the final agreement over who was going to fund the project had taken longest. Finally, with grants secured and papers signed, she could take a deep breath and relax.
