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Alex squinted looking around the room. Then his posture went straight as though a realization had shot through him like a lightning bolt. “Here,” he said.
She turned to look at him. He’d stopped in front of a painting with a farmhouse, and a young girl in front of it. His fingertip was pressed into the corner of the frame.
“What is it?” she asked.
“There’s a small…a notch here in the corner. Look.”
She moved over to where he was and her mouth fell open, her fingers trembling as she held the charm on the necklace out in front of her. “I think… I think this is it,” she said.
He moved aside and she stepped forward, pressing the back of the necklace into the notch and pushing it in. The frame popped away from the wall about two inches and Gabriella stood back, bringing her necklace with her.
She stared at the picture for a moment, then looked over at Alex. “Well, now I’m nervous,” she said. Her stomach was flipping over, her hands sweating. She was…excited. But terrified. If the painting was there…who knew what would happen. If it got out and it created more waves for her family it would be disastrous. She would never be able to salvage their reputations. Not even with a more complete and fair history compiled.
But if it wasn’t there…
She had wondered about the painting for so long. If it was real. And now they knew it was real and the possibility of seeing it…
Alex swung the painting open and revealed a large rectangle behind it, set deep into the wall, covered in burlap.
“Oh,” she breathed, “that could be… I mean, it probably is…”
Alex reached out and grabbed hold of the burlap, drawing it down to reveal the painting underneath.
“Well,” she said, “you kind of took the drama out of it.”
“You don’t think this is dramatic enough?” he asked.
It was. Even without fanfare. Because lowering the burlap had rev
ealed what could only be The Lost Love. It was a woman, sitting in front of a vanity, hands in her dark curls as she gazed into the mirror. She was naked, her bare back on display, the suggestion of her breasts in the reflection of the mirror. She was seated on a cushion, the curve of her bottom visible.
It was…provocative, certainly. But beautiful. And hardly the salacious, distasteful scandal the press had insinuated it might be so long ago.
“And this is why…” she breathed. “This is why we search for the truth. There’s nothing… There is nothing filthy about this. Nothing wrong with it.”
“I’m inclined to agree. But then, I am a fan of the female form.”
She turned to look at Alex. “I only mean that the media made it sound as though revealing this photo would be detrimental to my grandmother’s reputation. Certainly…” She looked back at the painting. “Certainly, it suggests that she was intimate with the painter. It is not a standard sort of portrait that one might sit for. And someone in her position was hardly ever going to pose nude. Plus… There’s something… There’s something more here than you see in a portrait that simply contains a model. The painter was not detached from the subject. I can feel it in every brushstroke. There’s so much passion.”
Her fingers reached out to the corner of the painting, where the artist’s initials, B.A., were faintly painted.
“Or,” Alex said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “he was a very good painter.”
“It was more than that, Alex.”
“It makes no difference to me. My job is simply to bring the painting to my grandfather.”
Gabriella frowned. “Why does your grandfather have more of a claim to this than my grandmother? It’s her in the painting.”
“Yes, it is. But my grandfather owned this painting at one time. He will be willing to pay whatever price is fair. It was not your grandmother’s dying request, but it is his.”
“We will bring it back to Aceena. She wants to see it. At least give her that.”
“I can’t be away from work indefinitely, Princess,” he said.
She looked at him, unable to make out the finer points of his expression behind the mask. “Please. Let’s bring it back to her.”
He regarded her closely for a moment. Then he nodded slowly, moving over to where the painting was, extending his hand and brushing his thumb along the edge of the canvas. “It is very beautiful. In fact,” he said, looking away from the painting and back at Gabriella. “It reminds me a bit of you.”
