"Sorry," Callie murmured, coming forward.
"Do you want to—"
"We should go, shouldn't we?" Her voice was strained and Grace nodded.
Callie was silent as they went past exhibits on archaeological digs that the Foundation had sponsored and through a gallery featuring Early American portraiture.
When they got to a large freight elevator, Grace slid her pass card through a reader. As the doors opened and they stepped inside, Callie said, "Thank you for doing this."
"I'm glad to," she replied, meaning it.
Grace punched the fourth-floor button and the elevator lurched upward. She realized that, had they been alone, she would have asked Callie what she was thinking, because she wanted to help. She had a feeling the emotions she herself was struggling with were similar to the ones that had drawn Callie's lips tightly together and caused her brows to ride low over her eyes. Grace just wasn't sure what she could do.
Maybe they could help each other, she thought.
When the doors reopened, they stepped out into a long hallway. "Miles's office is down here to the right."
Grace took Callie to him and then decided to stay and chat with some of the museum's administrators while she waited for Jack to arrive. To her relief, everyone was excited about the Copley and, in spite of Lamont's dire predictions, the consensus was that the bidding at the auction was going to get lively.
A while later, Jack emerged from the elevators and a couple of the staff members who were waiting to get on stepped out of his way with deference. He was dressed in a black suit, walking in his forceful gait, and Grace thought he cut a powerful figure. Like John did, only in a different way.
"I'm all ready to see my ancestor again," he drawled as he kissed her on the cheek. He and John nodded curtly at each other.
At that moment, Callie's voice drifted into the hall.
"Again, thank you for the advice." She was backing out of Miles's office, a smile on her face as she waved.
Jack's head snapped in her direction just as she turned around. When she met his stare, her eyes widened as she looked up into his face.
Grace smiled, thinking Jack tended to have that affect on women. And then she hesitated, unsure of how to introduce Callie.
Her friend took care of it by putting his hand out. "I’m Jack Walker."
Callie paused before sliding her palm against his. As soon as contact was made, she retreated and looked at Grace. "Er—thank you for getting me in to meet Miles. It's always good to talk to a fellow conservationist."
"What's your name?" Jack asked, his eyes scanning her face.
Her eyes went to his. "Callie Burke."
"And you are?"
Grace flushed, aware of her own rudeness. "She's a friend of mine. She came here to meet with Miles."
"You're in the art world?"
Callie nodded, looking as if she wished the man would stop focusing on her. Grace had to wonder if Jack had offended her, but then saw the way Callie's eyes went back to him.
As if she were intrigued as well as wary.
"If you like art, then you must come meet Nathaniel," he said laconically.
"Nathaniel?"
Grace explained. "It's John Singleton Copley's portrait of Nathaniel Walker. Why don't you stay and have a look? It won't take long and I'd be curious to hear what you think of it."
Callie's eyes flipped to Jack. And then, with a nod, she followed the small group into the conservation workshop.
Grace loved visiting the lab and seeing the works in progress. The room smelled like varnish and paint and there was always some kind of classical music playing in the background. At stations all around the room, paintings in various stages of conservation were held upright in wood blocks. Next to each was a rolling cart of supplies that carried dark jars full of solutions as well as paintbrushes and cotton swabs.
The staff had left for the evening but she knew where the Copley was.
"He's over here, in lockdown," she said, going over to a bank of cabinets that were segmented into five-foot-wide, shallow drawers. With a key ring she'd brought with her, she unlocked one, slid it out, and rolled back a cloth. She heard Jack's sigh of satisfaction as he looked at his ancestor.
"Let's take him out," Grace said. She reached in and tried to lift the painting, but because of the massive, gilded frame she could barely budge the thing. Smith picked it up carefully and walked it over to one of the worktables, laying it down fiat.
"He's beautiful," Callie murmured, standing to the side.
"But the brooding sort, or so I understand." Jack leaned over, looking closely at the face staring up out of the canvas. "This is a particularly good likeness of him, I think."
"His eyes are extraordinary," Callie murmured. "So expressive. Too bad they have the look of a tormented man."
Jack stared across the portrait at her for a long moment. "Yes. They do."
Grace stepped forward, pointing to the lower right-hand corner. "Here's the signature and date. This was right about the same time Copley did the portrait of Paul Revere that hangs in the MFA in Boston."
"Do you mind if I take a closer look?" Callie asked.
"Not at all."
Callie turned on one of the crane-necked lamps on the table and angled it toward the surface of the painting. Getting in close, she hovered about three inches above the canvas, moving slowly around the edges toward the center. When her body got close to Jack's, he didn't step away.
A soft smile was playing across her lips when she stood up.
"What do you see?" Jack asked.
"He needs some work. There's about seventy-five years of smoke and dirt stuck to a varnish coat that has yellowed with age. He's going to have to be handled very carefully, with a lot of love, but the canvas is sound."
"Maybe you'd like to do the work."
Callie glanced at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"
Grace tried to cover up the awkward silence that followed by laughing softly. "You have to buy him first, you know, before you hire someone to work on him.''
"No matter what he costs, he will come back to the family." He turned to Callie. "Are you interested in the project?"
It was a long time before she answered. "This painting carries a huge historical significance because of both the subject matter and the artist."
Jack shrugged. “So are you saying you're not interested? "
"It's more than I've ever handled before."
"Then if you do it right, it'll make your career."
"I do it wrong and both the painting and my reputation are ruined."
Grace glanced back and forth between the two of them. Callie was staring at Nathaniel Walker. Jack was looking-at her.
She wondered what he was thinking and decided that perhaps he just saw in Callie the opportunity to give someone a chance in the big leagues.
* * *
Smith had just lit a cheroot and was leaning back against the headboard in his room when his cell phone rang. "Yeah?"
"Hey," Tiny said. There was a lot of static cutting through the connection.
"Tell me you're somewhere over New Jersey."
"Not even close. We were delayed because of a bomb scare, then rerouted away from bad weather. I won't be in New York until midmorning tomorrow. Where do you want me?"
Smith cursed and then gave him the Hall Building's address. "We'll be in her office. Top floor."
"Righto. Now what's up with this Gala thing? "
"Standard issue glamour party. About five hundred people coming. I've talked with Marks. If you decide it's safe, his boys are willing to crawl all around the place. You'll have plenty of backup if you need it."