18The Hiding Place
Business at Hawke and Evans was by all signs improving, with a half dozen or so people milling about and inspecting the works of art on the first floor of the gallery. I attributed this increase to the fact that stories of the art vandal were no longer on the front page of London’s newspapers, having been replaced by sad news from the Great War on the continent. Simon Hawke seemed pleased with the turnout of potential customers and readily consented to Joanna’s request that we be allowed to review the folder containing all the artwork restored by the gallery over the past year. However, he was none too happy when Joanna insisted that Giuseppe Delvecchio be permitted to assist her in a search for other clues or markings that might indicate where the vandal would strike next. At the moment Delvecchio was restoring a fine painting by Monet that would bring in an extraordinary fee, and Hawke was reluctant to waste hours of the restorer’s time on a nonprofitable review. But Joanna persisted and Delvecchio was eager to join in, so Hawke finally gave his permission, with the proviso that the restorer spend no more than one hour at the task.
It soon became clear that Delvecchio’s presence was not only necessary but invaluable, for most of the restoration projects listed in the folder were done on paintings from the Italian Renaissance period. Delvecchio had a remarkable familiarity with those works of art, as well as with their artists whose names rolled off his lips like they were members of his family.
“Ah, Fabriano,” he was saying with affection. “Gentile da Fabriano was from the Early Renaissance and unfortunately most of his works did not last through the ages. But this one, Madonna dell’Umiltà survived and represents one of his very best works. Note the description of the Madonna’s lovely brown eyes and her perfect lips with her enigmatic smile, all of which required restoration.”
“It bears some resemblance to the Mona Lisa,” Joanna remarked.
“Others have made a similar comment,” Delvecchio said. “But da Vinci’s portrait was a gift from the gods and this is not. It is possible of course that da Vinci saw Fabriano’s earlier work and used it as a model. But only the smile of course.”
“Of course,” Joanna agreed and studied the restoration note at length.
It was not so much the colorful description of the painting that drew her interest, but the fact it was restored by James Blackstone. She was searching for some detail written down by the restorer that might indicate a marking he could use in the future.
“John,” she said, looking up, “please see if you can find a picture of the portrait by Fabriano.”
I opened the quite large reference book we had purchased at the suggestion of Edwin Alan Rowe, and began turning pages. The volume contained pictures of the more important works done by artists during the Italian Renaissance period, including extensive biographies on each of the painters. We had carefully studied the photographs of the vandalized portraits the night before, searching for similarities other than female depictions, but found none.
“Here it is,” I said and passed the reference book over to Joanna and Delvecchio.
“It is quite beautiful,” Joanna admired, as her gaze swept over the portrait. “I can see why its owners wished to have it restored.”
“But only by the best of restorers which Blackstone was, and Edmunds was not,” Delvecchio stated without malice.
“Did you determine that by simply reading the descriptions they signed?” asked Joanna.
“No, madam,” Delvecchio replied. “I have had the privilege of examining some of their unfinished restorations, which I will eventually complete. It is clear that it is Blackstone who is the master.”
Joanna’s eyes widened, as did mine, at the casual mention of unfinished restorations by both men. But it was James Blackstone’s name that drew our immediate attention, for what better place to hide a masterpiece than in a work in progress that had been put aside and perhaps intermingled with others?
“Is it common for restorers to work on more than one painting during the same time period?” I inquired.
Joanna smiled briefly at my question, for I believe it was one she was about to ask.
“That depends on the restorer and the painting itself,” Delvecchio answered carefully. “Many restorers, for example, prefer to let their work stand for a while and allow the oil paints to set, for then it may take on a different quality. During this time, they may go to another work.”
“Does set have the same meaning as dried?” asked Joanna.
“To a large extent,” Delvecchio replied. “A wet red will reflect the light differently than a red that is settled and completely dried.”
“Most interesting,” Joanna said. “I would very much like to see Blackstone’s unfinished restorations, if it presents no bother.”
“No problem at all,” Delvecchio told her. “There are only two partial restorations and they are safely tucked away in a far corner.”
“They have been there for a while, then?”
“From the dust beginning to collect on their surfaces, I would say the answer is yes.”
“Let us move on to the next restoration, for Simon Hawke has limited the time you can spend with us,” Joanna urged.
“He is always in a hurry,” Delvecchio said, unconcerned, and reached for the next item in the folder. “Ah, this is a very special work by Guido Reni from the late Italian Renaissance period. Of all his paintings, this, the portrayal of The Archangel Michael Defeating Satan, is his very best.”
I quickly turned to the section on Guido Reni in the reference book and found myself struck by the beauty of the painting Delvecchio had just mentioned. It showed a fierce, but majestic warrior about to slay a vanquished, humanized Satan. Yet the most stunning feature was the brilliant blues and reds of the Archangel’s robe, which glowed in different shades. It was beyond me how an artist could paint such dazzling colors, but then I remembered this work came from the age
