The Padova Pearls

‘The catalogue described it as a Portrait of a Venetian Lady at Carnival Time.’

‘I’m afraid that particular miniature forms part of our current exhibition and is merely on loan.’ As though to make it quite plain, he added, ‘It doesn’t belong to the gallery.’

‘Perhaps you can tell me who it does belong to?’

In response to David’s glance, Sophia said quietly, ‘It belongs to me.’

‘It belongs to you?’ the Marquise repeated after a moment as though doubting her ears.

‘Yes.’

‘Then why did you refuse to tell me who the sitter was and when it was painted?’ she demanded angrily.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know. My father painted the portrait many years ago, before I was born.’

‘Your father…Then you must be…’

‘Sophia Jordan,’ Sophia agreed.

The Marquise turned to Stephen and, in Italian, began, ‘Why didn’t you—?’ Seeing the unmistakable glint in his eye, she broke off abruptly.

For a moment or two there was silence, then, rallying, the Marquise addressed Sophia and, speaking English now, said earnestly, ‘Signorina Jordan, I would very much like to add the miniature to my collection. I am willing to pay well.’

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you but, as I said earlier, it isn’t for sale.’

The Marquise bit her lip. ‘I know we have got off on the wrong feet, but—’

‘Believe me, it has nothing to do with that. My father’s paintings are precious to me and I have no intention of parting with any of them.’

Seeing how downcast she looked, Sophia felt almost sorry for this fiery-natured woman.

‘Perhaps you would care to see the miniatures that are for sale?’ David suggested. ‘There are some extremely fine ones, and two that are very like the portrait of a Venetian lady.’

‘Thank you, but no.’

‘Then is there anything else I can do for you?’

As she started to shake her head, Stephen Haviland said, ‘We’re flying back to Venice today…’

We’re flying back to Venice today…Did that mean he was living in Venice? Sophia wondered.

‘Which means we have to start for the airport shortly, but I would be grateful if you could spare just a few more minutes.’

‘Of course,’ David agreed politely. ‘In what way can I help?’

‘There’s a somewhat urgent matter I would like to discuss with you…’

Sophia rose. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I should get back to the desk.’

‘Please don’t go, Miss Jordan,’ Stephen Haviland said. His grey eyes on her face, he added, ‘As what I’m about to ask particularly concerns you, your presence is essential.’

She resumed her seat, satisfied that this was merely a further attempt—on his part—to persuade her to sell the miniature.

Judging by the hopeful glance the Marquise gave him, she thought so too.

He put down his sherry glass and, his eyes on Sophia’s face and his long, well-shaped hands resting lightly on his knees, began, ‘I’ll endeavour to be as brief as possible while I put you in the picture.

‘When my aunt died earlier this year, she left me the Fortuna family home in Venice…’

He paused, almost as if he were expecting some reaction from her.

When she just waited quietly, he went on, ‘The Palazzo del Fortuna is a beautiful place but, with the decline of the family fortunes over the last couple of hundred years, unfortunately it has been somewhat neglected.

‘When my aunt discovered that one wing of the Palazzo was sinking and in urgent need of substantial structural repairs, she asked me for financial help, which I was more than willing to provide.

‘As soon as the money was made available she brought in the builders, but as the work progressed it became clear that it was going to cost a great deal more than originally estimated…’

‘Isn’t that always the way?’ David murmured.

‘Too true,’ Stephen Haviland agreed. He added, ‘Luckily it wasn’t a problem, and the restoration was finished on time.

‘But, in order to have some spare money in hand for the ordinary day-to-day maintenance, and unwilling to accept any more help from me, my aunt made up her mind to sell some of the paintings which have been in the family for many generations.

‘Museums and art galleries worldwide and a number of rich private collectors expressed their interest, and she engaged an expert from Milan to examine the paintings in order to assess their value and condition, and also to do any cleaning and restoring that might prove to be necessary.

‘That done, she went on to plan a series of private viewings for the interested parties, but no sooner were all the arrangements in place than she became ill and died within quite a short space of time.

‘It was her stated wish that when I took over I should carry through the plans she had made. The first viewing is scheduled to take place in just over six weeks’ time…’

It was all very interesting, Sophia thought, but what had it to do with her?

With his next words, Stephen Haviland answered that unspoken question.

‘The expert my aunt engaged was due at the Palazzo on Monday to start getting the first batch of paintings ready. But just this morning I heard that he had been injured in a road accident and would be unable to fulfil his commitments. So I’m in urgent need of someone to step into his shoes.’

Turning to Sophia, he went on levelly, ‘When we were talking last night you mentioned that, as well as assessing their value, part of your job was cleaning and restoring old paintings…’

Though David never so much as batted an eyelid, Sophia could tell he was surprised to learn that they had met before.

‘If Mr Renton can spare you for a few weeks and you’re willing to come to Venice,’ Stephen Haviland went on, ‘you’re just the woman I need.’

The thought of keeping contact, of actually going to Venice to work for him, made excitement run through her veins like molten lava.

Catching sight of the dismay on the older woman’s face was like a douche of cold water.

‘What are you thinking of, Stefano?’ the Marquise said sharply. ‘Surely you could find someone closer to home?’

‘No doubt. But it would take time, and time is something I don’t have.’