“Based on what?”
“The preponderance of available evidence.”
“There would have been considerably more evidence,” said Gabriel, “if you had removed the painting on the surface and exposed the portrait to the light of day.”
“Penny suggested the same thing.”
“And?”
“I denied her request.”
“Did you at least get a second opinion?”
“From God himself.”
“Montefiore?”
“But of course.”
Giorgio Montefiore was universally regarded as the world’s foremost expert on the life and work of Leonardo da Vinci. He had a fancy title and a grand office at the Uffizi Gallery but spent most of his time writing and lecturing and rubbing elbows with art world glitterati. He was considered the last word when it came to Leonardo and the other Florentine masters. His favorable opinion of theSalvator Mundihad contributed greatly to its widespread if controversial acceptance as an autograph Leonardo.
“And what did God have to say about your picture?”
“He wasn’t impressed.”
“He might have been if it hadn’t been covered by another painting.”
“Giorgio was vehemently opposed to the needless destruction of the Madonna and Child.”
“I didn’t realize the two of you were on a first-name basis.” Receiving no reply, Gabriel asked, “What happened next?”
“Penny completed the restoration of the painting, and I wrote her a glowing letter of recommendation and sent her on her way. And that,” said Calvesi, “is the end of the story.”
“Where is the painting now?”
“Back in the storeroom.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m afraid there’s more to the story, Antonio. Much more.”
13
Pinacoteca
“You misled me.”
“Not true.”
“How would you describe it?”
“I lied to your face.”
Calvesi swiped his card through a reader, and a door opened before them. “Why?”
“The unusual nature of my inquiry required a modicum of deception.”
