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.’
Turning back to Sophia, he added, ‘I would be prepared to pay whatever salary you ask, and meet all your travelling expenses. You would, of course, stay at Ca’ Fortuna.
‘Have you ever been to Venice?’
She shook her head. ‘Though my mother was born at Mestre, I’ve never visited the area at all.’
‘In that case, this would be an excellent opportunity to combine business with pleasure.’
Then, addressing David, ‘As far as you’re concerned, Mr Renton, I’m willing to compensate you for losing Miss Jordan’s services by giving you first choice of the paintings at ten per cent less than their agreed market value.’
‘That’s very generous,’ David said slowly, ‘and for my part I have no objection to the plan, but of course it’s up to Sophia.’
‘Perhaps you would like a few minutes of privacy to discuss it?’ Stephen suggested.
‘An excellent idea,’ David said briskly. ‘If you and the Marquise would be kind enough to wait here? May I offer you more sherry?’
Having refilled their glasses, he led Sophia through to his office.
As they left the room she heard the Marquise—who since her previous outburst had been sitting still and silent—break into a flood of Italian.
‘You must be stark staring mad to consider bringing her to the Palazzo. What good can it possibly do? And it will be playing clean into the girl’s hands if she has any…’
The door closing behind them cut off the rest.
CHAPTER THREE
DAVID’S office, with its large imposing desk and state-of-the-art technology, was as businesslike as his sitting-room was sumptuous.
Waving Sophia to a black leather chair, he said, ‘Sit down, my dear.’
She obeyed, the hostile words she had just overheard still echoing in her ears. You must be stark raving mad to consider bringing her to the Palazzo…
The Marquise had said bringing rather than taking, which strongly suggested that the Palazzo del Fortuna was her home too. And what had she meant by, it will be playing clean into the girl’s hands?
Watching Sophia’s abstracted face, David perched on the edge of his desk. After a moment or two, he said, ‘Far be it for me to pry, but how long have you known Mr Haviland?’
She blinked before answering, ‘We met last night.’ Leaving out any of the deeper aspects, she briefly explained the circumstances. ‘He told me he was flying home today, so I really hadn’t expected to see him again.’
David could sense her reaction from the tone of her voice. ‘But you were pleased to?’
‘Yes.’ Sophia nodded shyly.
‘And the Marquise?’
‘Today is the first time we’ve met.’
‘I won’t ask you if you liked her,’ David said dryly. ‘Reading between the lines, I imagine she made herself quite unpleasant.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Sophia agreed.
‘So
