He loaded the brush and then retouched a small abrasion on the left cheek of the Magdalene.
“Not bad, Gabriel.” Donatella reclaimed her brush. “What brings you to the Vatican?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Who is it this time? A terrorist or a Russian assassin?”
“One of your apprentices, actually. A young Englishwoman named Penelope Radcliff.”
“Penny,” said Donatella. “She hates to be called Penelope.”
Gabriel took note of Donatella’s use of the present tense. “Is she around?”
“She completed her apprenticeship about a month ago. Last I heard, she was looking for work.”
“Where?”
“Why all the questions, Gabriel?”
“I might be interested in hiring her,” he lied, though not without considerable regret. He had always been fond of Donatella Ricci.
“You could do worse,” she answered.
“The director of the Courtauld tells me she’s a superstar.”
“She’s very talented. But she has a lot to learn.”
“Was there a problem?”
“Define the wordproblem.”
“A question raised for inquiry, consideration, or solution. A source of perplexity, distress, or vexation.”
“You should probably talk to Antonio,” said Donatella, and loaded her brush.
***
Antonio Calvesi, the Vatican’s chief conservator, was relaxing in his office, having just returned to the lab from Da Fortunato, where he lunched at least three times a week, nearly always at the expense of others.
“What are you doing here?” he asked when Gabriel strode unannounced through the door.
“I’m well, Antonio. How are you?”
“That depends on why you’re back at the Vatican.”
Gabriel thought it was best to continue with the fiction he had spun for Donatella—that the Tiepolo Restoration Company ofVenice was looking to expand its stable of staff conservators. Penelope Radcliff, he said, had come highly recommended.
“How did you hear about her?”
“Geoffrey Holland was raving about her the last time I was in London.”
“She needs another year or two of training. But, yes, she’s quite gifted.”
“No problems?”
“A bit of intrigue,” said Calvesi. “But no problems.”
“What kind of intrigue?”