AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Overa hundred years,” she clarifies more boldly.
I nod and rest my elbows on the table, clutching my hands together, a grin slowly pulling at my lips.
“So how did you come across it after it’s been lost forovera hundred years?”
“I’m afraid the story is as anticlimactic as we’ve shared before. It was found hidden in an attic,” Erika replies instead.
“Just like that, The Lady in White, the long-lost Dubois, forgotten in an attic.” I direct my response to Erika, but my eyes never leave the steel-eyed witch.
“It was my attic. Well, my grandfather’s, actually.” Ingrid speaks, that revelation making me straighten my back.
But her partner seems to have followed too. Once again, I think the woman is doing something out of character.
Is this an insight into her life? Why did she willingly share it? Is she trying to make the information more believable? Because, to be honest, the fact that it is a piece of her makes it all that more unbelievable since she’s sharing it with us, of all people.
“My great-grandfather worked at Venator Castle. He was there in 1931 when the fire broke out, and he was so deeply attached to the painting, that he had to rescue it before the flames took it. According to my grandfather, The Lady in White was the spitting image of my great-grandmother. She was already dead. She died in childbirth and was the absolute love of great-grandpa’s life. He refused to take another woman after her, and the only photo he had of her was misplaced. He was left with only The Lady in White. So, the official story was that it was charred in the fire.”
Fuck…
She’s not lying. I have no idea how I can tell, but she’s not. Maybe it’s the slight sparkle in her eyes or her flushed cheeks, but the woman before me has just bared a part of herself.
For what purpose?
I look at the guys and they all match my stare, even the stern Vin and the emotionless Carter—her story is true.
The waiter knocks before entering with our drinks, holding us all in a strangely uncomfortable silence, more questions lingering in the air. I’m not sure what it was about that story, but it held emotions, and this transaction has suddenly become more personal.
Or more dangerous.
“Please,” I say, gesturing to the painting as soon as the waiter closes the door behind him.
Erika rises and gently unwraps it, the tension sizzling in the windowless room, and as soon as the last of the covering comes off, I suck in a breath.
It’s her.
Spitting goddamn image of the woman sitting across from me. Sure, her lips are thinner, her nose just a bit larger, her hair more on the blond side than Ingrid’s, but… the resemblance is there.
Am I imagining it? I turn to my right and catch Vin’s eyes going between Ingrid and the woman in the painting at rapid speed. No, I’m not imagining it.
Carter rises at the same time as Anthony and Jonathan, the appraisers we brought with us, and they circle the piece of art like hawks.
Technically, Jonathan is far from an appraiser, but the man was born, raised, and bred in galleries, auctions, and museums. It’s his love for art that made him dive into the stealing and selling of it too. Even though now he’s moved up and he runs a criminal organization which facilitates smuggling and other endeavors. But art is how he met his partner in both crime and life, Anthony. He’s the appraiser. That was his job when they met. He investigated the authenticity of paintings and sculptures. From what we’ve heard from Carter, who put us in contact with Jonathan–his father’s best friend–Anthony almost called the police on him when he realized he was authenticating a stolen painting. They’ve been together ever since. Quite romantic, really.
In our underworld, not many stories have happy beginnings. Or ends, for that matter.
“Fascinating,” Anthony mutters to himself.
They pull out a series of rare old photographs which were digitized and blown up, to attempt to compare the two. They are the same age as Ingrid’s great-grandfather, so they work more as general guidelines, unfortunately. But even in that poor quality, you can see the tinge of a resemblance with the woman before us.
The final confirmation of authenticity will be in the chemical analysis. And it better check out, because the only way we can order that whole lot of tests, is by buying the piece.
We’re hoping Anthony and Jonathan’s eyes can spot any inconsistencies, if there are any.
“And you mentioned some restoration has happened?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, there was some smoke damage, so it has been cleaned, and some small areas restored,” Ingrid replies to Anthony.
He nods, returning to his inspection while Jonathan steps back, looking intently at the work of art, his gaze flashing to Ingrid every few minutes.
