Page 37 of Burning Caine
“I have an art history degree from MSU. My focus was on Roman through Renaissance art. Seeing the frescoes in Pompeii is at the top of my bucket list!”
I tore a hand out of my pocket and placed it on top of hers. “They are magnificent, and only a day trip from Roma.” Her hand was gone faster than it had shot out to touch me, but the contact had sent a current through my body. “You didn’t go the summer you were in Amelia?”
“No. Sadly, I never made it that far south.”
She had said no flirting, but I couldn’t contain myself. “You are a surprise, Samantha Caine. ARCA, art history, Pompeii…People don’t usually surprise me. This has been a good date.”
“Date?”
“Mi scusi, but you gave up on dating, did you not?”
She didn’t respond, which was for the best.
Sofia glared at me as we stepped back into the office. “Good thing you didn’t wait here, Samantha.”
“Angelo sends his regards.” I ignored the harassment, grinning at Sofia, and guided Samantha past the desk. “My station is at the back on the left.”
Gianfranco and Alice sat at their worktables, sunshine streaming over them from the skylights. At one of the easels at the very rear of the studio, a cool spotlight shone on Zander’s easel, evening out the light to better match where the painting would hang once he was finished.
A typical consult would involve a cursory review of the artwork, perhaps some time in my office to discuss her requirements, then one-on-one time with the painting before providing an estimate. Brief. Too brief for Samantha.
But perhaps I could give her a tour first. What would impress her most? The twelve-foot-high mechanized roller frame was a surprising favorite of most visitors, but she knew more than most visitors. The imaging room, most likely. However, from her sweeping gaze as we walked through the main workspace, she was already impressed.
“Why Brenton?” Her words snapped me back to the moment.
“Un momento.” Vivaldi again. I returned to the reception area, leaned over Sofia, and switched to my favorite rock music stream. It was still quiet, but the energy had shifted when I returned. “Sofia is always putting on classical. No one can work with that on.”
“I can!” announced Alice, and Gianfranco chuckled. I smirked at my cousin and his girlfriend, who loved to tease me.
I returned my attention to the lovely Samantha. “My Nonno and Nonna immigrated after the War—once the office in Roma was established—as many Italians did. They had friends and family who had already settled here, some with families as far back as the building of the railroad. His friends from the Monuments Officers encouraged him and became his first clients.”
“But why not New York? If he was opening a branch of an art restoration company, why not a center of the art world?”
I gestured to the paintings stacked against the walls and then crossed to the storage room. She didn’t follow me, so I beckoned with a finger, “Vieni qua.” I opened the door and stepped out of the way to show her dozens of empty frames hanging from the walls, and over two hundred paintings in wooden slots on shelves.
“When you’re the best, the people come to you. They chose where to settle, and the work started to arrive. It’s that simple.” I closed the door and walked her back to my station. “So, now that you’re here and know you are with the best, let’s look at what you’ve brought me.”
“Antonio, please,” groaned Alice. “My ears are bleeding.” They laughed at me again. Our workplace was a happy space, full of people doing what they loved and enjoying each other’s company.
Zander took his headphones off, heavy metal pounding out of them. “What did I miss?”
“Just Antonio’s ego sucking all of the air out of the room,” said Gianfranco.
“Nothing new, then.” He put on his headphones and returned to work.
“They wound me.” I shook my head, gripping my heart dramatically. She frowned but was suppressing a laugh. I winked at her, more instinct than anything else, which caused the frown to deepen. “Alright, let’s see your painting.”
She put the case in the middle of my table, unlocked it, and opened it.
“What am I looking at?” I stepped back to take it in. Shifting into professional mode, her near-constant tension, tremble, and nervousness disappeared. It was fascinating.
“The painting was in a house fire. It’s insured for a lot of money, and we have to get its identity confirmed against the photos we have on file, so we can pay out the claim. However, with all the ash and soot coating it, it will be difficult to get the confirmation done.”
“Why is it in a plastic bag?” I smoothed out the bag to get a better look.
“The fire’s being investigated by the police, so they took the painting into custody. I thought it was better to leave it in the evidence bag, since it provided stability. The portions that didn’t burn are so thin, I was afraid they’d tear if I took it out.”
“Sì, smart choice.” I moved the case to the side and withdrew a magnification visor from under my desk, along with two pairs of disposable gloves. One pair for her, one for me, which we donned before continuing. I put my visor on and lifted the painting from the case.