by Dayna Rubin
His stride ceased abruptly, his breathing had become uneven, jagged, as he viewed the damaged Vermeer in its incubated state. A triplex glass encasement now held the painting. It was kept at a continuous 68 degrees Fahrenheit with humidity of 55 percent, a built-in air conditioner and nine pounds of silica gel ensured no change in the air condition. It would now be properly protected against further damage; unfortunately, he could not say the same for him, as news of the mutilated painting had more than likely been released to the world. His reputation was now tarnished, along with the Vermeer.
“Excuse me Mr. Panetiere’,” an insistent voice finally broke through to him.
“I apologize, how long have you been standing there?”
“Not long sir. Both the acquisitions expert and the last restorer to work on the painting are here. Shall I have them brought in?”
“Yes Tsun Jae, immediately.”
Chapter Nine
Symphony of Color
Gina Gleason reached a gloved hand toward the painting encased within the glass, hesitated, then looked toward Warren, who stood opposite her, glaring down into the case. “May I?” she asked.
“Yes,” Warren exhaled slowly. “By all means, remove the painting.” A touch of trepidation tinted his words as he anxiously awaited their inspection of the damaged painting.
“The actual restorer of the painting was unable to attend due to the impromptu request, but we have another restorer who is quite capable of evaluating the stain for treatment. Grace, I would like you to examine the depth the stain has travelled.” Gina addressed her colleague as she placed the painting on the table. They silently examined the painting, pulling various instruments from their open cases on the floor. Stopping on occasion to ask Warren what he knew about the stain.
Warren saw that they had discontinued their intense scrutiny of the painting and they had even taken a step back from the painting. Much to his dismay, he saw that Grace had begun the process of placing the instruments back into their cases on the floor while shaking her head in the direction of Gina.
Warren missed nothing, the tentative retreat, the nervous glances exchanged. He knew what they were going to say before they began. Pre-empting their response, Warren stated, “You believe the painting has been damaged beyond repair.”
“Ah…well, that about sums it up.” Gina appeared to start to say something else, and then swerved off onto a different course. “It is my belief this painting is unsalvageable.” She stated resolutely. “Any chemical process we use, which would be necessary to remove the oil and high acidic levels found in the stain, would only serve to damage the painting further.”
“Suggestions?” Warren asked curtly.
“I don’t believe there is any way that anyone could possibly…” Gina began before Warren cut her off.
“My apologies, of course ladies, but if there isn’t anything you can do, I must ask you to excuse me so that I can pursue another course of action.” Warren eloquently offered.
“But we just told you…” Gina faltered as she watched Warren carefully grasped the painting to return it to its case. “The stain cannot be removed. As an authentication expert, I am informing you that…”
“You are informing me?” Warren arched an eyebrow in Gina’s direction; an edgy quality had crept into his tone. An icy stare bored directly into Gina’s defiant eyes as he momentarily halted his action of replacing the painting into the glass enclosure.
“Yes, what I am saying to you is that it just cannot be done.” Gina stated.
I understand what you are in fact saying to me is that you are unable to fix the damage, and as you are unable to speak for everyone,” Warren paused, “I need to look elsewhere.”
“Okay, but your efforts will be a complete and total waste of time.” The only elements missing from her sarcastic reply were her finger wagging and her tongue clicking.
Warren took a deep breath to refrain from giving her the full brunt of his anger. “Thank you for coming in, I am aware of the cumbersome arrangements you had to make in order to comply with my request. I believe you had just arrived in New York from D.C. before having to catch another flight back to D.C. I extend my apologies for having inconvenienced you, as you have so aptly pointed out; your efforts were in vain.”
“Humph.” Gina tugged at her suit jacket to pull it down over her extended waist. “Well, yes, that’s what I was saying to you.” Gina threw out one last insult to add to his previously sustained multiple injuries. “Of course, this will reflect very badly on the museum…but if you would like any suggestions for another a piece to replace the Vermeer I could…”
Warren interjected, “That won’t be necessary.” A sad smile filled with consternation consumed his expression; his voice had dropped to merely a whisper as he attempted to regain his composure.
“Again, thank you for disrupting your schedules and making the journey to inspect the painting.” Warren gave a discreet nod in the direction of the security officers positioned at either side of the door, which came forward to escort the two representatives from Signature Art Conservatory out of the room. Stepping forward, Warren extended his hand to the authentication expert and then to the restorer and redirected his focus toward the painting.
Warren’s splayed hands rested on top of the glass case, as if he could somehow channel the solution through his fingertips, when the insistent beep from his cell phone broke into his thoughts.
Nearly tearing the phone from his breast pocket in his haste to retrieve it, Warren read the incoming message stating the technician from the toxicology lab had processed the final report. Warren scrolled through the information until he reached the end of the report, which gave him a referral to NASA.
Glancing back at the picture encased within the glass before him, Warren set the phone down and walked away. Then, after a moment, he retraced his steps, flexed his hands, and picked his cell back up to read the contact information and dialed.
“Yes, this is Warren Panetiere’, Director of the National Gallery in Washington. I have been advised that you have a method available to treat a damaged oil painting. Is that correct?” The voice he was listening to sounded faint, making it difficult to hear.
“To reiterate, NASA uses a process which optimizes atomic oxygen, a process that will not react with inorganic oxides and can be used to remove stains, not the paint pigment.” Warren moved about within the room to try to increase his reception as he listened to the reply.
“This process has been tested and will definitely give me the results I’m looking for. No guarantees…right. I am willing to try it. Give me your location and I will arrange to have the painting brought to you…”
“Better yet, you have a portable version of NASA’s Atomic Oxygen System and you can transport it directly to me. Yes, I absolutely approve. You are presently at the Electro-Physics branch in Cleveland Heights, Ohio?”
Warren tried not to betray his highly agitated state to the technician at NASA, but found it difficult, as he knew this might be his only chance to salvage the painting, and now possibly his position.
“Yes, please make the arrangements. How soon can you be here? Tomorrow? Wonderful, I’ll have a team member stay in constant contact with you until you arrive at the entrance.”
Warren raised the phone before him in a type of salute, and then pushed the button to terminate the call. He then looked around him in a bewildered fashion as the whirlwind of the evening’s events hit him with staggering propensity.
Continuing on to the sanctuary of his office, he carefully closed the door, turning the lock behind him as he made his way to his plush leather desk chair, onto which he gratefully collapsed, whereupon he closed his eyes and tilted the chair back, visualizing the painting as it once was. He reached for the remote control to his stereo next to his keyboard, and once activated, released the strains to Handel, which floated around him like a gentle embrace as he prepared himself for impact.
Chapter Ten
Est
hetically Aligned
“Dauphine Delacroix,” she said breathlessly as she pulled out her corded badge hanging from her neck from beneath her suit jacket. She flashed her identification toward the security personnel positioned at the front desk of the museum. Her name checked out against the high priority clearance list posted on their checklist.
“Hi…I’m just confirming that we have clearance to bring in our equipment.” Dauphine’s shoulder length dark blonde hair billowed out around her as the warm wind from the entrance swept through with the opening of the doors. “Our van is parked rather illegally out front…if you could send someone out to help us bring the equipment in.” Dauphine said, raising her sunglasses to hold her hair back while coolly assessing the security guard.
“Sure, we’re ready for you Miss. You’ll need to leave us some form of identification.”
Dauphine thought about running back to the van to get her drivers license from her purse, but then realized she had her passport tucked into the inside pocket of her suit. Pulling it out, she handed it to the security guard.
The security guard accepted the passport, handed it to the employee positioned at the desk and radioed for assistance. “You can either wait here or in your vehicle, as we will have your van brought around to the freight entrance.”
“Good. Yes, of course, we’ll enter through the delivery entrance. I’ll need to stay with the equipment.” Dauphine retrieved her sunglasses from the top of her head and re-positioned them before turning away from the security personnel, to walk purposefully back out towards the waiting van, her heels clicking on the marble floors and skirt fluttering in the wind.
“These instruments are fragile…please be careful…don’t tip it!” Dauphine walked along side the rolling carts carrying the equipment and cautioned the Museum staff as their procession reached the freight elevator. “I must emphasize the need to take every precaution with these instruments as they are the only portable units in existence.” Dauphine placed a hand on each of the carts within the confines of the elevator.
The freight elevator suddenly lurched, throwing all within forward then back again. The oversized doors screeched open like nails on a chalkboard. The lip between the marble floor and the elevator was deftly executed between the two museum staff members, Dauphine and her assistant Gage had to lift the carts gingerly in order to avoid jolting the instruments and risking a calibration error.
“May I be of assistance?” Warren inquired as he located the group working their way slowly toward him. Warren had received the message that the technicians from NASA had arrived and had swiftly gathered his reports on the stain, the painting and the assessment from Signature Art Conservatory, and contained them in a leather portfolio.
“Yes…could you please let Miss NASA know that we are able to move, and have moved objects far more valuable than this overpriced X-ray machine!” A snide retort escaped from Ray, a museum staff member.
A slow deliberate blink of Dauphine’s golden-flecked green eyes, accompanied a sharp intake of breath as Dauphine frowned at Ray, then attempted to defend her overly cautious efforts; the instruments proceeded, rattling along the marble floors. “I really don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think anyone here realizes the value of these instruments, nor do they fully understand how difficult it is to obtain special clearance to bring sensitively calibrated equipment at a moment’s notice, I might add, through airports, onto cargo planes, and then brave rush hour traffic. By the way, the cargo plane, which I had to ride in, is not equipped to accommodate passengers. Regular passengers, I mean, like Gage and myself.” Breathless once again, “Could we please stop for a moment?”
Dauphine held on to both carts positioned on either side of her for a moment longer, as if trying to be sure that no one was going to start pushing the cart against orders. Straightening up, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and walked toward Warren who was waiting a couple of feet before them at the entrance to the lab.
“I am so pleased to meet you, and as a representative of NASA, I want to assure you that we will do everything possible to help you in your endeavor to salvage the painting.”
Warren had been standing with his hands folded in front of him, watching them as they slowly progressed toward him, their unprofessional banter drifting toward him as each corrected the other for their inability to stay on course. He smiled, in spite of the high priority attached to their arrival, and extended his hand to Dauphine, then to Gage.
“I think we have it from here,” Gage told the staff members.
“That, I understand. Thanks. Let us know when you need us to come back to remove the carts.” As they walked away, Ray said to his colleague Chris, “Do you have any idea what any of them said?”
“Not at all.”
“Good, I thought it was just me.” Ray and Chris continued walking down the hallway toward the freight elevators in their blue museum overalls.
“Well, we’re here with the instruments.” Dauphine stated as she stood just inside the entrance to the lab with both carts behind her carrying the NASA instruments.
Warren stood before them, continuing to bar their entrance, as if deciding whether he should reveal the true nature of their visit; what was actually at stake. He envisioned the final blow to the painting and his job coming from this wisp of a woman, who seemed to conjure up images of freedom afforded by a sailboat on the open sea every time he looked at her, and he didn’t know if he wanted it to come from her.
“Are you going to let us in?” Dauphine looked up into piercing blue pools of liquid crystal as they stood together in the doorway, his dark brown hair cut neatly with careful precision, his suit of the highest caliber, falling in graceful lines, outlining his tall athletic build.
“Yes…and, ah look, I want you to level with me. If there isn’t anything that can be done, tell me, don’t lead me to believe there is. Do we have a deal?” Warren’s words were spoken softly so that only she could hear them as they stood within inches from each other in the doorway.
Dauphine’s furrowed brow cleared as she looked into Warren’s eyes, seeing past the Directorship and into the soul of a man who worked hard to achieve his current position and was holding onto it with everything he had.
“Yes. You have my word.” Dauphine held eye contact for a few seconds longer, as they had just made a pact between them.
“Do you want me to help up there? Is it stuck again?” Gage inquired from his place in the hallway behind the carts.
“No, we’re fine up here.” Warren waved Gage forward, as he moved out of the way for the carts to proceed.
Chapter Eleven
Sensual and Deeply Expressive
“It’s time for us to go Natanya.” Philippe had been reclining on the black suede chair, listening to music in the family room while Natanya consumed endless cups of coffee, having tossed and turned the night before, leaving her exhausted instead of rested.
“So it is.” Natanya replied.
Neither of them had moved. The music still played softly, the cup of coffee still sat motionless in front of her. Not that she actually expected it to move, but with everything that had happened, she couldn’t be sure. Natanya wondered for a moment if he had actually said anything at all.
“Did you say we were leaving?” Natanya looked at him this time so that she could actually see him speak.
“Yes.”
Natanya cut her eyes from left to right, and then back at Philippe, who continued to view her from under his beret, which was partially tilted covering his face. She thought it gave him a bit of a European look, one that seemed to give him that extra bit of panache that beguiled most of the women around him.
Natanya pushed her chair back from the table, padded over to Philippe’s chair and climbed in on top of him. Curving her body within the contours of his, and tucking her chin into the curve of his neck, she drew comfort from him.
Philippe entwined a long strand of her dark hair around his fingers as he tilted her head back
to look into her hazel eyes, lined ever so lightly and delicately fringed with mascara.
Dipping his head down, he paused for a moment, then kissed her. It began lightly then increased in tempo, unleashing his pent up anxiety over the impending transaction.
“We should be in imminent danger all the time if this is the reaction I get.” Natanya pulled back from Philippe to look at him quizzically, then snuggled back into his embrace.
“Are we going to try this again?” Philippe nuzzled her ear.
“What are we trying exactly?” Natanya succumbed to the dizzy intensity created by his kiss, finding his mouth and beginning a long, slow, lazy kiss.
Philippe pushed her away this time chuckling. “Now that could put us both in danger… A bit reckless of you, knowing we need to be at our drop off point in precisely one hour.”
“Me!” Natanya proclaimed. “I didn’t do anything!”
“I wouldn’t call that nothing.” Philippe’s brown eyes deepened as he gazed at Natanya. He playfully pushed her out of the chair, then fell to the floor beside her, nimbly jumping up to gallantly reach down for her, pulling her up to stand beside him.
He wrapped one arm around her, then lifted her hand with the other and twirled her around the room. “Our chariot awaits.”
“Speaking of chariots…where did you acquire that SUV anyway?”
Philippe twirled Natanya away from him, then brought her back to him in a quick retraction. “Questions my dear, will only complicate matters.”
Spinning Natanya away from him, he led her to the front door, where she slipped on her shoes and retrieved her purse and the bag containing the Vermeer. Then he took one last look around the apartment before reaching for the light switch on the wall to extinguish the glistening chandelier hanging in the vestibule. Pulling the locked door shut behind them, he continued to hold Natanya’s hand as they strolled down the hall.
