‘I’ll make a start straight away,’ she said briskly. ‘But, as you well know, initial cleaning can be a painfully slow process.’
‘Take as much time as you want. One thing, though. Your father’s accustomed to frequent visits on my part to check on the work in progress.’ He looked down at her quizzically, obviously expecting her to object. ‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Come whenever you like,’ she said indifferently. ‘By the way, if this picture turns out to be as valuable as you think, will you be taking it away every night? Or will you trust it to Dad’s new vault in the cellar?’
‘That’s what I’ve always done in the past. Harry takes out hefty insurance, so I’d rather you kept it here to save time.’ Adam’s eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘Unless that’s a problem for you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Good.’ He held out his hand. ‘Thank you for taking the work on.’
‘No need for thanks.’ Gabriel shook his hand briefly. ‘I’m just following orders.’
His jaw clenched. ‘You make that blatantly obvious, Miss Brett.’ He called a goodbye to the boys, nodded formally at Gabriel and strode from the barn.
She stared after him for a moment, then turned her attention to his painting. She began by removing the nails rusted into the frame, using pincers and painstakingly gradual leverage to avoid harm to the stretchers. Then she got to work on the brass securing tacks, which were green with age and so deeply embedded it took patience and time before the canvas was free. To Gabriel’s relief there was no sign of the mould which could lift paint film from its support. But neither was there any sign of a signature or framer’s label.
‘No clues at all,’ she told her hovering aides, ‘other than its obvious age—’
‘How old?’ said Wayne eagerly.
‘Too early to say. But probably early nineteenth century, as Adam hopes. And the original work is definitely by a skilled, professional artist. Unlike the paint slapped on the rest of the canvas.’ Gabriel smiled at them. ‘Right, then, let’s take it out into the sun. You hold it while I peer through my trusty magnifying glass.’
Satisfied that there were no gashes, or signs of old restorations, Gabriel took a photograph of the painting, then retired with it to her corner of the barn under the north skylight and set to work. She supported the canvas with blocks of plywood secured with carpet tape, pulled on a builder’s mask and the binocular headband, then moistened a cotton swab in white spirit and made a start on the preliminary cleaning.
By the time the boys were finished for the day Gabriel was surrounded by a sea of used swabs, her eyes and back ached, and both Wayne and Eddie were disappointed that she had so little to show for her labours.
‘I’m just taking off the dirt, remember. A couple of centuries of it at a guess,’ said Gabriel, yawning. ‘You’ll only see a difference when I get to the overpaint.’
Wayne and Eddie had accompanied her to the cellar vault with the portrait, along with everything else valuable enough to need security, before Gabriel remembered Adam Dysart’s request to inspect her progress. Too late now everything was locked up for the night and she was alone. She’d surrendered about giving Adam priority, but otherwise he’d have to play to her own rules. Her working day at Brett Restorations ended at five-thirty sharp, to give her time for a bath and some glamourising before she paid her nightly visit to Pennington General. If Adam wanted to check on his property he’d just have to make time during his own working day.
Armed with the cookies, and dressed in a yellow shirt and a short denim skirt which displayed the tan her legs had acquired over the weekend, Gabriel breezed into the four-bed ward later that evening to find that her father already had a visitor. Adam Dysart rose to his feet, with a smile that dared her to object to his presence.
‘Hello, there,’ said Gabriel brightly, and bent to kiss her father. ‘And how are you today, Dad?’
‘All the better for seeing you, pet.’ Harry patted her cheek. ‘You’re late. Not that it matters. Wayne and Eddie dropped in, then Adam came to entertain me with tales of his latest find.’
‘I’ve had a busy day working on it, which is why I’m late.’ Gabriel smiled sweetly, then turned away for a word with Mr Austin as usual, before taking the chair Adam pulled up for her.
‘Am I allowed to ask how you’re getting on?’ he asked.
‘Very slowly.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t been round to check, Adam,’ said Harry. ‘You’re always breathing down my neck.’
Adam gave Gabriel a wry look. ‘I think your daughter would object if I tried breathing down hers.’ He stood up. ‘Time I was off. I’ll look in again, Harry.’
‘Before you go—Adam,’ said Gabriel, determinedly pleasant, ‘when you do come round to check on the portrait could you make it before five-thirty? We pack up for the day then.’
Her father looked at her in surprise. ‘As early as that? I usually put in another couple of hours after the boys go. The light’s good at this time of year.’
But she’d have to go down to the cellar on her own afterwards. ‘If I did I wouldn’t make it here to see you,’ she said lightly.
‘True,’ he said, sobering. ‘Anyway, pet, how is the work coming on?’
‘I’m just removing the first layer of dust and grime.’ She looked at Adam. ‘Not much to show yet.’
‘I’ll come round tomorrow,’ he said promptly. ‘If that’s convenient—Gabriel.’
‘Of course.’ She gave him a smile so honeyed it won a cynical look from him before he left her alone with her father.
Harry Brett shook his head in disapproval. ‘What is your problem with Adam?’
‘What problem?’ she said innocently.
‘Come on, this is your old dad you’re talking to! For some reason you don’t like Adam. Why?’
‘I don’t have to like your clients to work for them.’ She patted his hand. ‘It’s nothing personal, Dad. I suppose we rather got off on the wrong foot because he expected me to drop everything to work on his precious sleeper. If that’s what it turns out to be,’ she added.
‘Do you think he’s right?’ said Harry.
‘Quite possibly. The canvas is certainly old enough. I’ll report my progress tomorrow night.’ Gabriel looked at him in appeal. ‘Dad, I’m sorry I can’t make it in the afternoons as well—’
‘My dear child, you’re doing far too much as it is. Don’t worry. Mrs Austin’s daughter brings her in every afternoon.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘The ladies see I’m not neglected.’
‘Did they bring you that enormous basket of fruit over there?’
‘No. Adam brought that—plus a new thriller. And now you’ve got that look on your face again,’ he said,
