for tea.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘And check on what I’ve been doing?’
‘Exatamente,’ he agreed.
‘It’s not a lot. I go very carefully at this stage.’
Roberto leaned to inspect the small area she indicated. ‘You photographed only this small section?’ he said, astonished, and sat down next to her to look over her shoulder. ‘I can see that the paint is lighter there. That is important?’
‘Crucial. James agrees that it looks like genuine eighteenth century pigment.’ Katherine filled both cups as she began. ‘So do you wish to ship the painting to James’s restorer right away, or shall I carry on until I have a clearer idea of what’s under the overpaint before you send it away for repair?’
‘Repair?’ he said sharply.
She nodded. ‘There may be damage of some kind, rips in the canvas, even holes.’
Roberto blenched. ‘Deus! If so, is repair possible?’
‘Oh, yes. The restorer James uses is a miracle worker.’
‘But if you remove this overpaint, Katherine, could you then give your opinion on the artist?’
‘I could probably do that much, yes. But it would just be an opinion,’ she warned. ‘So do you wish me to carry on?’
‘Yes. It would please me very much if you continue until our young man is revealed in his true colours. Further decisions can be left until then.’ Roberto got up. ‘I shall leave you to your detective work.’ He turned at the top of the steps. ‘When your Mr Massey rings again, tell him the only Senhora de Sousa in my life is my mother. I once had a wife for a short time many years ago it is true, but alas no longer.’
Katherine winced. ‘I’m so sorry—’
‘No, you mistake me,’ he said coolly. ‘Mariana is not dead. She divorced me.’ His eyes locked on hers. ‘Also tell Mr Massey that you are safe here. No harm will come to you in my house.’
Face still hot after he left, she found it hard for a while to resume her usual concentration. Next time James rang she would make sure no one was in earshot. But, to her intense annoyance, it was Andrew who rang a few minutes later.
‘Why the hell haven’t you called me, Katherine?’ he demanded. ‘Surely you knew I would be worried?’
‘I texted to say I’d arrived—’
‘Then obviously forgot all about me!’
‘You could have rung me if you were that concerned.’
‘It was your place to ring me, Katherine, in the circumstances. You took off with barely a word of apology about spoiling the trip to Glyndebourne!’
She gritted her teeth. ‘For heaven’s sake, Andrew, James was ill and needed me to take his place. It was an emergency! We can go to Glyndebourne any time.’
‘I see,’ he said stiffly. ‘James is obviously far more important to you than I am.’
Enough, thought Katherine. ‘I haven’t got time for this—’
‘No! Please. Don’t ring off,’ he broke in, his tone suddenly conciliatory. ‘I’m sorry, darling—’
‘Can’t talk any more now; I must get on. Bye.’ Before he could interrupt again, she switched off her phone.
Katherine felt so annoyed it took a while to get back into her groove again, but at last she began working at her usual speed, until a combination of fading light and a message from Roberto via Jorge brought her to a halt.
‘Senhor Roberto says perhaps finish now, Doutora,’ said the man tactfully.
Katherine looked at her watch and sat back with a sigh as she removed her goggles and mask. ‘I’ll just clear up and cover the painting. Can you ask where it should be stored overnight, please?’
‘Sim, senhora. Then I come back for your equipment.’
‘You can leave the work box and tripod here overnight. I’ll just take my camera and laptop.’ She grimaced as she indicated the overflowing bag of swabs. ‘Sorry about the mess.’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘Nao importa.’
Katherine put her solvents and tools back in the box, then put her glasses on and turned back to the painting with mounting optimism. Tomorrow, she promised the young man silently, I’ll know for certain who painted you. Maybe—though this is a long shot—I’ll even know who you are.
‘Dr Lister,’ said Roberto, coming up the summer-house steps, ‘you have worked too long—’ He stopped dead as he saw the painting.
‘Don’t worry. I know it looks a mess like that, but by the time I’ve finished your boy will look a lot better, I promise,’ she assured him and began to wrap the canvas very carefully. ‘Where will you put him overnight?’
‘In the sala. Come, I shall show you.’ Roberto took the canvas from her so reverently Katherine had to hide a smile.
‘When you first saw the painting, what appealed to you about it?’ she asked as they crossed the hall. ‘It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.’
‘Something about the subject’s face called to me very strongly, even through the medium of the Internet. I always visited art galleries whenever I could because painted portraits fascinate me. These days, I visit them through my computer.’ He paused before double doors at the end. ‘If you will open them, por favor, Katherine.’
She went before him into a large, formally furnished drawing room, where the painting to one side of the fireplace caught Katherine’s eye. The subject, a young girl in a gauzy white dress, smiled dreamily from the canvas. ‘Who is she?’
‘I do not know her provenance,’ said Roberto with regret. He crossed the room to lay his canvas down on an escritoire. ‘The label was “Portrait of a Young Girl”, artist unknown, and therefore cost little. She is charming, but to me she looks lonely.’
‘So you bought the young man as company for her?’
He nodded. ‘He would look good facing her, no?’
‘He will do when he’s been restored. Have you never researched your pretty lady?’
‘No. When I bought her I was ocupado—busy—and had no time.’
‘Whereas you’ve gone to great expense as well as time to find out more about your young man!’
Roberto nodded. ‘Because I hope I know the artist.’
‘Who?’ Katherine demanded.
His eyes danced, lighting up his face to an extent which made her blink. ‘Ah, no! I await your opinion before I risk mine, Doutora.’
‘Fair
