With Derek doing most of the actual lifting and me huffing and puffing while trying to angle the piece away from the wall, we managed to move it almost two feet.
When we stood to survey the result, it took a second or two for me to comprehend what we’d uncovered: a narrow, arched entry into a deeper cave.
“Another cave?” I whispered.
“Would you prefer to go first, or shall I?” Derek asked, switching the flashlight on.
I stared at the hole in the wall and imagined all the slimy, slinky creatures that might be crawling around back there. With a slight shiver, I stepped aside. “After you.”
He slipped around the dresser and disappeared into the space beyond.
“Derek?”
“Are you coming?” His voice echoed out from the enclosed space.
“You bet I am.” Creepy crawlies notwithstanding, I wasn’t going to let him go in there without me. Love did weird things to people.
I could see the occasional flashlight beam bouncing off the inner walls and felt a little better about stepping into the unknown.
Derek glided the beam around the room, and I followed the light, trying to get my bearings. This space was slightly larger than the outer chamber and the ceiling just high enough for Derek, who was more than six feet tall, to stand without stooping.
“Look at this,” he said, focusing the beam of light on the far wall to our left.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“Indeed,” he said.
If I’d thought the outer chamber was filled with lovely treasures, this space put that one to shame.
Leaning against the walls were paintings of various sizes, still in their beautifully gilded, rococo-style frames. Next to these, I counted sixteen canvas rolls that I thought also might be paintings.
A massive oak table held at least twenty finely bound books, as well as more silver candlesticks, goblets, and urns. There were a number of small bronze or marble statues of various objects: an angel cupping the cheek of a woman; two lovers; a horse; a naked discus thrower; a woman curled up and weeping; a matching set of cherubs mounted on marble bases and each holding a gold candelabra. I counted three large marble busts of important-looking men. Off to the side were stacks of wooden crates that held a number of cases of wine. Two large wooden wine barrels stood on the other side of the table. Derek tried to move one of them and was able to do so easily. “This one is empty.”
“Where in the world did all of this come from?” I wondered aloud. “It must be worth a fortune.”
“A very large fortune,” Derek mused, still scanning the flashlight across the treasures we’d found.
I walked over to where the canvas rolls stood and unrolled one of them at random. It was a painting of a dancing woman in the style of Renoir, with bright, bold colors in an outdoor setting. A fun-loving group of partygoers surrounded the woman, and a buxom barmaid carried a tray of drinks in the background. The canvas was almost four feet high by at least five feet wide. It couldn’t be a Renoir, could it? If not, it was an excellent forgery.
“Derek, look at this.”
“I’m looking at this.” He turned and showed me a small framed painting of the Madonna and Child. It was stunning, only about eighteen inches tall by thirteen or fourteen inches wide. The Virgin’s face was pale and lovely with soft brown eyes and a tiny cleft in her chin. Her reddish hair curled softly as it streamed over her shoulders. The child was adorably plump, with a headful of curly brown hair, wise eyes, and a knowing smile. Their delicate golden halos seemed illuminated from within. The frame was ornately carved and gilded.
“It’s as beautiful as any Botticelli I’ve ever seen.”
Derek frowned. “Yes, isn’t it?”
“You don’t honestly think it was painted by—”
“I do, actually,” he murmured. “Or someone equally gifted.”
I was in no position to argue with Derek, who had been responsible for the security of some of the most expensive artwork on earth. I gazed from the serene Madonna to the vibrant painting in my hands. “We’d better call Guru Bob. He’ll know what to do.”
*
“I confess I have no idea what to do.”
It might’ve been the first time I’d ever heard Guru Bob admit to being clueless. I couldn’t blame him. All of these priceless objects hidden away in caves for decades? On Dharma winery land? It defied explanation.
He walked around the cavernous space, taking his time and studying each piece. He was casually dressed in soft khaki trousers and a white dress shirt with comfortable-looking loafers. For him, that was casual since I rarely saw him in anything other than a suit and tie.
I walked with him, shining the flashlight on each piece. Guru Bob took my arm and wound it through his companionably. We stopped to watch as Derek unrolled each canvas.
I couldn’t say if any of the paintings were originals, but I could honestly claim that we were in the midst of great works painted in the style of Renoir, Monet, Chagall, and, perhaps, Botticelli.