Chương 10
"What kind of privacy restrictions?"
"I only see the note."
"What does it say?"
Another pause.
"Do not release images electronically."
Kevin looked out at the passing buildings.
Claire had been particular about privacy, but not usually about art.
"When can I pick it up?"
"We open at ten."
His board meeting began in twelve minutes.
Kevin looked at his laptop.
Then at the letter.
Then at the city ahead.
"Thank you."
He ended the call.
The driver glanced at him in the mirror.
"Office, sir?"
Kevin stared at the gallery address on his phone.
For months he had treated every deviation from work as evidence that grief was winning.
He had measured himself by attendance, calls returned, signatures completed, numbers that behaved even when people did not.
Claire had left one unexplained object in a gallery six days before she died.
It could be meaningless.
It probably was.
Kevin opened Martin's messages.
Running late, he typed.
Martin responded immediately.
How late?
Kevin looked through the windshield.
"Change of destination," he told the driver.
Then he sent Martin one more message.
Start without me.
The driver glanced at him once in the mirror but did not ask why.
Kevin appreciated that.
He also resented how accustomed everyone around him had become to not asking questions.
The car crossed downtown while his phone vibrated three times against his palm.
He ignored the first two notifications.
The third was Martin calling.
Kevin answered.
"You're missing your own meeting."
"I know."
"Should I tell them why?"
"No."
"Excellent."
Martin paused.
"Do you know why?"
Kevin looked at the cream envelope on his knee.
"I'm handling something personal."
There was a small silence.
Martin's voice changed.
"Is one of the boys sick?"
"No."
"Your mother?"
"No."
"Then I will perform the radical act of respecting your privacy."
"Thank you."
"For six minutes."
Kevin smiled despite himself.
"Tell them the projections stand."
"They're going to ask about the acquisition."
"Say we're reviewing."
"We have been reviewing for nine weeks."
"Then say it with confidence."
Martin sighed.
"You do understand that's what people pay you for."
"Apparently you're discovering independence."
"Terrifying."
Kevin ended the call before Martin could ask anything else.
The gallery occupied the second floor of a limestone building on a quiet street Kevin had driven past dozens of times without noticing.
Inside, everything was pale walls, polished concrete, and the careful silence of expensive objects.
A young man behind the reception desk looked up.
"Can I help you?"
"Kevin Hart."
The man's professional smile shifted.
Kevin had seen that reaction often enough since Claire's death.
Recognition followed by recalculation.
"I'm here about an item stored under Claire Hart."
The young man straightened.
"One moment."
He disappeared through a doorway and returned with a woman in her late fifties wearing a charcoal suit and thin silver glasses.
"Mr. Hart."
She extended her hand.
"I'm Elena Morris."
Kevin shook it.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you."
Her expression suggested she knew the phrase was inadequate and also knew there was nothing better.
"Would you come with me?"
She led him through a narrow corridor into a private viewing room.
There was a rectangular table, two chairs, and no art on the walls.
Kevin sat.
Elena remained standing.
He handed her his driver's license.
She compared it to a file on a tablet.
"Mrs. Hart listed you as authorized pickup."
"You said that on the phone."
"I did."
"Why did she restrict images?"
Elena looked at the tablet again.
"I don't know."
"You knew her?"
"A little."
Kevin watched her.
Elena set the tablet down.
"She came in several times over the years."
"For what?"
"Mostly framing."
"Mostly?"
"She also purchased occasionally."
Kevin thought of the traffic-sign painting.
"That explains some things."
Elena smiled faintly.
"She had specific taste."
"That's diplomatic."
"Years in galleries."
Kevin leaned back.
"What was she restoring?"
Elena hesitated.
"Perhaps you should see it first."
He disliked that answer.
"Is there something unusual about it?"
"Not visually."
"Then why are we being careful?"
Elena folded her hands.
"Because your wife was."
That ended the argument.
She left the room.
Kevin's phone vibrated again.
Martin had sent a single message.
Still alive?
Kevin typed, Unfortunately.
He put the phone away.
Elena returned carrying a shallow archival box.
She placed it on the table and sat opposite him.
The box was secured by two fabric ties.
Kevin watched her undo them.
Inside lay a miniature portrait no larger than his hand.
The frame was newly restored gold, oval, delicate, almost fragile-looking despite the workmanship.
The painted subject was a young blonde woman.
Kevin stopped breathing normally.
For an instant he thought it was Claire.
Then the differences registered.
The face was narrower.
The eyes were gray rather than blue.
The mouth was thinner.
The hairstyle belonged to another century.
Still, the resemblance was strong enough to make his skin tighten.
"Who is she?"
"We don't know."
Kevin looked closer.
The woman wore a dark green dress with a high collar.
A small pendant rested at her throat.
"Where did Claire get this?"
"She didn't say."
"Was it hers?"
"She brought it in."
"That's not what I asked."
Elena considered him.
"I don't know."
Kevin lifted the portrait carefully.
The restored frame was smooth beneath his fingertips.
There was something scratched into the back plate.
He turned it over.
A date.
1894.
Below it, two initials.
A.H.
Kevin stared.
"Did Claire ask about the initials?"
"Yes."
He looked up sharply.
Elena opened the file on her tablet.
"She asked whether the back plate was original."
"And?"
"We believed it was."
"Did she say why?"
"No."
Kevin put the portrait down.
"What else did she ask?"
Elena scrolled.
"Whether the miniature had ever been reframed."
"Had it?"
"At least once, probably in the nineteen twenties or thirties."
"Anything hidden behind it?"
Elena looked at him.
Kevin's pulse changed.
"That was a strange question."
"It was also hers."
"Yes."
"And?"
May you like
Elena took a breath.
"When the conservator removed the damaged later backing, there was a folded scrap of paper inside."
