Flirting With Forever Gwyn Cready (best book series to read txt) 📖

easilee bere the pause in Income. To pass the Tyme, I have given my Apprentices leave to practice under my Watchful Eye. One, Albertus, a most skylled man of Mantua, has taken the opportunity to attempt a Portrait of his dear wyfe, Sarah.

Albertus’s lady will be pleased. Albertus’s ability to compose a Van Dyck countenance is most pronounced, and the ladye is more comely than even I could render, tho Albertus adds a Lamb and shepherd’s hook in a fit of Metaphore that is a distraction to my eye. The ladye beres a Strong resemblance to the new bride of Baron Milton, which pleased Albertus when I tolde him, tho why I could not say. Albertus shall have the painting when—

The entry ended. Cam flipped the page over, but the other side was blank.

Bal tapped his finger. “‘Albertus shal have the painting when …’”

“‘I die’?” Cam said, seeing exactly where goddamn Van Dyck was heading.

“‘… he finishes’?” Bal suggested. “It almost doesn’t matter, because instead of Albertus giving it to his lady—”

“He keeps it until Van Dyck can no longer disclaim it and then sel s it to Van Dyck’s agent as a real Van Dyck.”

“Who then turns around and sel s it to Baron Milton.”

“Crap.” Cam felt an iron weight drop in her gut and sunk into a chair. “I guess Albertus wasn’t quite the romantic Van Dyck would have liked us to think.”

Packard gave her a weak smile. “Perhaps he used the money for a pair of diamond bobs.”

Cam tried to summon the painting in her head. Much of her examination technique relied on intuition, intuition based on years of study and admiration. She thought of the ringlets framing the woman’s forehead, the sharp, clear expression in her chestnut eyes and the stippled fur tippet that hung over her shoulder. It was a Van Dyck. She had absolutely no doubt—not then, not now. Not that her certainty would carry much weight here, not when her career was the one that would benefit from the decision, which is why she’d taken such care to have others establish its authenticity.

Packard took off his glasses and massaged his temple.

“We’re in trouble, Cam. Bal ’s down there waiting to be honored for his generous gift. The museum’s already issued the press release. Hel , the gift’s going to be the cover story in the paper tomorrow. No matter what we do at this point, it’s going to be a huge embarrassment to everyone involved.”

Ever the gentleman, Packard made a point not to bring his eyes to rest on her, but Cam realized she was going to be sucked into the quicksand of this debacle as wel . In fact, her shoulders were going to be where everyone else would try to find a toehold. She knew what she owed Packard. She knew what she owed the museum.

“I’l tel Bal .” She held up a hand to stop Packard’s protest. “He’s a good guy. He’l be disappointed, but he’l understand. And,” she said sadly, “I’l resign.”

Packard sighed, and she knew it was over.

“Hate to see it, Cam.”

You and me, both, pal. “Best thing, I think.” She fought back the wave of disappointment that seemed intent on drowning her tonight. “I’l work the gala—er, unless you’d prefer I didn’t.”

He clapped her on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He stood to rebutton his jacket and gave her a sly grin. “Too bad, real y. I was sort of looking forward to seating an executive director most of the world would have seen nude. Would have knocked the board biddies on their asses.”

“Ack! You saw the paintings?” She felt her face turn six shades of crimson.

“Of course. Bal cal ed me for advice. Who do you think helped quash the story til Monday?”

“Gosh, thanks.” Not that the delay made much difference now.

“Of course, the price was an exclusive. Sam Arnofsky from Pop City wil be here Monday at nine for an in-depth interview. I left the contact info and a sheaf of photos he dropped off on your desk—Oh, and I also left a note Bal wrote on how he thinks they’re going to frame the story. He thought it might help.”

“Super. Appreciate it, boss.”

“Boss no more. Just an admirer. Tel you what, though.

This Peter guy’s a hel of a painter. Starkly postmodern, yet this undeniable reference to classical proportion and light.

And the scale