by Sara Rosett
Gloria skimmed the paper. “I’ll examine it in more detail in a moment,” she said and returned her attention to the painting.
The frame, tubular metal and contemporary in style, didn’t quite fit with the lush, detailed painting. Gloria carefully pried out the clips that held the canvas in the frame, then she separated the frame, which came apart in four separate pieces. She shook her head and made disapproving noises. Zoe thought she was probably thinking how could you put such a nice painting in such a cheap frame.
Gloria placed the pieces of the frame on the table to one side then focused on the edge of the canvas. Luis caught Zoe’s eye and tilted his head to the door. She followed him into the gallery.
“She will be a while,” he said. “Feel free to look around, if you’d like.”
“I will, but before I do that, I wanted to ask you if you’ve heard anything about a Canaletto and a Picasso that are missing from a museum.” Zoe brought up the images of the artwork on her phone.
Luis handed the phone back to Zoe. “No, I haven’t seen anything like that offered for sale.”
“If you do hear anything about them, I’d be interested.”
“Of course,” Luis said smoothly, but Zoe thought it was more of a mechanical response than a sincere promise to get in touch with her. She moved through the gallery, figuring it would be good to give Gloria some space to work.
The door at the front of the gallery opened, letting in the sound of the street noise for a moment, then it cut off again. Luis went to the front of the store and engaged a customer who’d just walked in, while Zoe browsed. She found a beautiful painting of a Venetian canal that she loved, but the price made her eyes water, so she moved on. She made a slow circuit through the gallery and was about to return to the back room, when a young woman in a white shirt and black pencil skirt entered the gallery.
Her head was bent as she clacked across the floor in a pair of outrageously high heels that were even higher than Gloria’s. Did women in this city not own flats? Zoe couldn’t imagine walking the cobblestone streets in stilettos, but the idea didn’t faze the professional women Zoe had come across so far. The woman caught sight of Zoe as she came around one of the partitions at the back of the gallery near the counter. “Hola,” she said. Thick lines of mascara outlined her eyes, ending in a curved swoop at the corners, giving the effect of little wings at the sides of her eyes. She put her bag away under the counter. “¿Puedo ayudarte?”
“Hola,” Zoe replied, but further description of what she was doing at the gallery was beyond her. Luis leaned around one of the partitions and spoke to the woman, a few rapid sentences, gesturing to the workroom door.
She came around the counter. “I am Pilar,” she said slowly, obviously searching for the right English words. “Please tell me if you need help.”
“Gracias,” Zoe said and moved to the workroom door, thinking she should check on Gloria. She pressed the metal plate at the base of the door with the tip of her shoe, and it swung open.
Gloria had removed her headgear and was photographing the painting. “I’m almost finished.” She snapped a few photos, then rotated the painting and took more pictures.
“And?”
“I’ve examined it with a UV light and see no evidence of retouching or repainting, but I haven’t x-rayed it or done any pigment analysis, which I know Thacker will not want to wait for. He’s impatient when it comes to acquiring art. He wants it when he wants it.”
“Right,” Zoe said. “He told me to have it authenticated, but said he didn’t want to wait for scientific tests. He wanted an expert opinion.”
Gloria nodded. “Yes, so I’m going on my observations and my gut.” She placed her gloved hand over her stomach.
“Kaz says your gut is rarely wrong.”
Gloria closed her eyes and tilted her head back and forth quickly, acknowledging the compliment. “That is true, yes.”
“And what does your gut say about this painting?”
A smile broke across her face. “Thacker will be pleased. I think it is an original undiscovered painting by Martin Johnson Heade.”
“Lunch?” Gloria asked as they left the gallery and merged into the flow of pedestrians heading toward the Puerta del Sol.
“Good idea.”
“What would you like?”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Zoe said. “I’m so happy that I finally tracked down the painting and that you were able to authenticate it that nothing else matters to me right now.”
After Gloria told Luis the good news, Zoe had contacted Kaz through the Eon Industries employee app. When she left for Madrid, Kaz had created an account for her and told her it was the easiest way to stay in touch when traveling internationally. Within a few minutes, she had a notification from the Eon app that payment was being arranged for the painting. Zoe had passed the word on to Luis, who said he would take it from there. Zoe still had her cash on her—well, technically it was locked in the safe in the hotel—but she could tell from the prices on the other art in the gallery that this transaction was far bigger than the cash she had access to—and it was in dollars, not euros. Thacker would have to wire the money. She had asked if Luis needed a down payment to hold the painting, but he had shaken his head and said there was no need. “Not when working with Mr. Thacker.”
Zoe dodged around a woman with a stroller and picked up her pace to keep up with Gloria, who was striding along, weaving in and out of the crowd. “Then we’ll go to a place close to here, the Museo del Jamon,” Gloria said. “It may be packed with tourists, but the service is fast, and the food is good.”
A few minutes later, Zoe said, “This certainly isn’t like any museum I’ve ever been to.” The place was a combination deli and restaurant. They had ordered while standing at a counter that displayed more varieties of ham than Zoe had known existed. Legs of ham hung suspended from the ceiling over the entire length of the counter and along one wall. Gloria motioned Zoe over to seats at a bar that ran along one wall, and they squeezed in between a German couple and a group of men speaking Spanish.
The waiter brought them plates with ham sandwiches and their drinks. While Gloria had opted for wine, Zoe had ordered water. She knew that jet lag would crush her soon and didn’t want to hurry the process along with alcohol. Madrid had so much she wanted to see.
“You can’t imagine how relieved I am that the painting is authentic,” Gloria said.
Zoe swallowed her bite of delicious ham that was tucked inside a flaky roll. “Oh, I think I can.” She didn’t want to go into the long and winding journey that had brought her to this point. She was just glad everything had turned out okay. It was only when Gloria authenticated the painting that Zoe realized how stressed she’d been. The worry that had been weighing her down had lifted, and she felt light and confident. The whole fiasco of Grand Isle still rankled her, but it didn’t seem nearly so bad now that she’d actually tracked down the painting.
Gloria took a sip of wine. “Thacker is not a man you want to disappoint.”
“He seemed easygoing when I met him.”
“Then you haven’t seen him when he’s in the pursuit of something he wants. He can be intense—and demanding. Unreasonably so.”
She pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and wiped her fingers then pointed at Zoe. “You should tell him about the check, the one with the Dalí sketch. Thacker loves that sort of stuff.”
“I did see a painting that I thought was by Salvador Dalí when I visited him.”
Gloria shook her head. “In this case, it isn’t the sketch that will appeal to him. I mean, he loves the surreal aspect of the Dalí paintings, but he’s also drawn to Dalí’s commercial instincts and his entrepreneurial spirit—that’s what Thacker would like about the check. Not so much the art, but what it represents.”
“Has he collected similar things?”
Gloria threw up a hand. “What hasn’t he collected?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice as if someone might ov
erhear them, even in the noisy restaurant. “He goes through phases. So far, he’s hit Impressionism, Abstract, porcelains, and Surrealism. And those are just off the top of my head. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to collect. He can’t focus on one thing.”
“Now that you mention it,” Zoe said, “I did see the Dalí painting and another work by Martin Johnson Heade at his house. He has an entomological collection, too. They’re all unrelated.”
“Eclectic, is what he’d say.” Gloria signaled to the waiter for another sandwich and asked if Zoe wanted another as well. “Sure, I’m celebrating.”
“But, his eclectic taste—as varied as it is—helps pay my bills,” Gloria said. “So he can accumulate as many different things as he wants.”
Zoe’s phone buzzed with a notification. Transaction arranged. Pick up painting tomorrow and bring it back with you. Flight details to follow.
19
Zoe had barely finished reading the text message when her phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, but she recognized the Colorado area code. “I better get this,” she said, and Gloria nodded her understanding.
A male voice said, “It’s Thacker. Kaz is on vacation, so I’m…minding the store, you could say. Did you get the notification about the payment transaction?”
Even if he hadn’t identified himself, Zoe would have recognized his speaking style with his pauses and emphasis. “Yes, it came through. The painting is beautiful. I think you’ll love it. Gloria took several high-resolution photos. I’m sure she’ll send them to you with her report.” Zoe looked inquiringly at Gloria.
She mouthed the word tonight.
“She says you’ll receive them tonight,” Zoe relayed.
“Great. Excellent work, Zoe. I’m looking forward to seeing the painting. I’ve contacted the person who handles my travel. You’ll receive notification about your airline tickets soon. Contact Kaz as soon as you’re back in the States. You can hand it off to him.”
Gloria waved her hand. “Tell him about the Dalí sketch.”
“Before you go, Gloria says you might be interested in something we saw at the gallery today, a sketch Salvador Dalí did on the back of a personal check.”
Zoe was about to launch into the explanation that Gloria and Luis had given to her in the gallery, but before she could continue Thacker said, “Oh, one of those that he used to get out of paying his bill—interesting. What was the sketch?”
“A man on horseback with Dalí’s name integrated into the image.”
“A Don Quixote sketch, then,” he said, sounding more intrigued. “Contact Luis—have him send me all the details.”
“I’ll do that. Anything else?”
“Is that all Gloria pointed out to you that I might like?”
“Yes, that was the only thing she mentioned.”
“Then, that’ll do. See you in a few days. And now, I must go rustle up a late dinner. Mary is in New York at some fundraising dinner, so…I’m a bachelor tonight. Take good care of that painting on the way back. Don’t put it in your checked luggage.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. It will be with me the whole time. By the way, did you get the message from Kaz about the rare butterfly—”
“Kaz mentioned something about it,” he said, interrupting her. “I’ll get him to brief me on it when he returns. Call me when you arrive with the painting,” he said and hung up.
Clearly, Thacker only cared about the painting right now. Zoe would have to remind Kaz to bring up the rare blue morpho butterfly.
Gloria said, “He wants the Dalí sketch, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know. He asked me to contact Luis and have him send all the information,” Zoe said.
“He wants it. He’ll buy it.”
Zoe dialed the number for the gallery and told Luis that Thacker was interested in the sketch.
“Excelente,” he said, then switched to English. “I’ll send the details right now. The butterfly and hummingbird painting should be ready to go for you tomorrow. Shall I send it to your hotel, or would you like to pick it up?”
“I’ll pick it up. What time should I be there?”
“As long as the payment comes through this afternoon, you can pick it up first thing in the morning. We open at eleven.”
Zoe ended the call. “I won’t be in Madrid much longer.” She glanced out the window at the busy thoroughfare, thinking of all the sites she would like to take in before she left.
“Then you’ll have to make the most of the time you have. I have a few hours. I can show you a few things nearby, if you’d like.”
“Sounds great,” Zoe said, surprised that Gloria was being so helpful after her initial standoffishness, but first impressions—or phone impressions—could be wrong.
Gloria said, “Let’s start with the palace.”
“Yes, every good tourist wants to see the palace. And I’m a very good tourist.”
Gloria laughed. “Then let’s go.”
Zoe slid off the barstool then stopped. “Oh, we haven’t paid for our second sandwiches.”
Gloria waved a hand around the packed restaurant. “They’ll never notice.” She pushed through the crowd waiting to order and made her way to the door. Zoe tossed several euros beside her plate and caught up with Gloria, who was again setting a quick pace. “On the way to the palace, we’ll drop into the Plaza Mayor.”
They navigated through streets lined with shops and café tables under umbrellas until they emerged into an arcaded square. “The buildings are eighteenth century.” Gloria motioned to the three-story buildings with formal lines that enclosed the rectangular cobblestoned plaza. “But the actual plaza itself dates back to the 1600s. It’s been the sight of bullfights, and heretics were put on trial and executed here during the Inquisition.”
Zoe glanced around at the tourists strolling leisurely as they window-shopped and contemplated restaurant menus. She shook her head. “It’s hard to imagine.” Zoe moved toward a sculpture of a man on horseback for a better look.
“Philip the Third,” Gloria informed her.
They rambled through the plaza, gazing in shop windows that displayed dolls dressed as Flamenco dancers, jewelry, and clothing, including a shop dedicated exclusively to sombreros. Zoe had to go inside the store that sold Spanish fans. Its window was a rainbow of colors, displaying everything from fans in modern styles with purple polka dots to antique fans. Zoe bought several modern paper fans in jewel tones as souvenirs. Her friend Helen would love one.
As they went back into the plaza, Zoe said, “Okay, enough shopping. You better get me out of here, or I won’t see any historic sites, only shops. On to the palace.”
The palace was not far away. They approached a towering wrought-iron fence that closed off an open plaza that ended in the white façade of the palace. Gloria tapped away on her phone while Zoe admired the imposing building and took photographs. “It’s not open today,” Gloria said. “That’s a shame. Inside is amazing—opulent, lavish, decadent—all that. An official event is scheduled for today, so no tours. But you can still see the cathedral.” They crossed to study the church that was located directly across from the palace. “The Catedral de Santa María la Real de la Almudena,” Gloria said. “It’s a mishmash of architectural styles, neoclassical, neo-Gothic, neo-Romanesque…whatever you like, it’s got it. Would you like to go inside or do you want to keep going? You can always come back later in the day.”
“I’ll come back later.” Zoe took a close-up photo of one of the sculptures on the roof. “There is so much to see, and I appreciate the city tour.”
They moved through the Plaza de Oriente, which was filled with sculptures of the Spanish kings and queens that Gloria told her were originally designed to be placed on the palace roof. Zoe gave a pair of policemen mounted on horses a wide berth as they walked down a tree-shaded path. “Isn’t there an Egyptian temple in Madrid?”
Gloria stopped and tilted her head. “How did you know that? Most people are surprised to
learn about it. That was going to be my grand finale.”
“I’ve done some freelance copy editing for travel guides, and it was one of the things that I thought was so interesting about Madrid. I know lots of European cities have Egyptian antiquities, but I don’t think anyone else has a temple. Is it far from here?”
“Not at all.” Gloria said. “ The Templo de Debod is just up the road.” They continued through the park then took another busy road for a short distance until they came to another park. They followed the path up an incline through the trees until they came to the top and the temple came into view.
“It was moved from Egypt before the construction of the Aswan Dam, right?” Zoe asked.
“Sounds like you know more about the temple than I do,” Gloria said.
“What I remember is that the temple was a gift from Egypt to Spain after Spain helped Egypt save some historic sites during the construction of the dam.”
“Yes, that’s right. It was dismantled, transported to Spain, and then reassembled,” Gloria said.
A reflecting pool surrounded two stone pylons with rectangular openings that led to the temple, which was a square building with a flat roof and stone columns on either side of the entrance. Anachronistic glass windows behind the columns and a pair of glass doors had been added, and Zoe wondered if it was to protect the interior of the temple from the elements or from tourists who might try to get in after hours.
After seeing the royal palace and the cathedral, the temple looked small in comparison. But as Gloria and Zoe moved closer, Zoe realized it was a substantial structure in its own right. The pylons dwarfed the line of tourists waiting to enter the Temple. It was quite a contrast—the ancient stones paired with the ragged line of tourists, who were either posing with their selfie sticks or focused on the screens of their phones.
Gloria’s phone rang, and Zoe caught sight of the image associated with the incoming call, a girl about ten years old with long brown hair and dark eyes, who was smiling at the camera as she held a watercolor painting. “Excuse me,” Gloria said. “It’s my daughter.”
