The Foulest Things by Amy Tector

Author:Amy Tector
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Turner Publishing Company

I put the letter down. He actually did it—painted over the Rembrandt. I couldn’t decide if this was a brilliant or foolish move on his part. On the one hand, the French authorities would not stop the painting from leaving the country. Indeed, given the state of art conservation technology at the time and the fact that a war was on, they would have no way to detect what he had done. On the other hand, as I learned in my research, removing an overpainting was a painstaking task requiring enormous skill and attention to detail. It could take as much as three years for a conservator to retouch an old painting, let alone remove another painting entirely. Even if Monsieur Levy’s art restorer was a genius, it could take Jem years to restore the Rembrandt.

Frankly, I didn’t have much faith in Jem’s patience. He seemed quick-tempered and impulsive. I suspected that Victoria was tougher and smarter. Her activities and interests revealed a woman of firm ideas and strong convictions. Indeed, despite the rough living conditions and emotional censure she seemed to endure on the farm, she didn’t crumble. It was Victoria who encouraged him to get advice from Monsieur Levy, suggested the overpainting plan, and who was constantly telling the impetuous Jem to keep his mouth shut about the find. Victoria would have made sure that the restoration of the Rembrandt was done properly.

A thought occurred to me: What if Jem and Victoria never removed the overpainting? I made another leap. Could one of the modernist paintings Thibodeau bought at the auction be a Crawford, which hid the old master? Before I could work out what that insight might mean, the ringing phone interrupted my thoughts. I looked at the call display and saw a Toronto number. My mother. I let it ring. Then, curious as to why she would call me at work—I had never even given her my number—I checked her message.

“Salali, I haven’t heard from you in a while, so I thought I would catch you at work. I was wondering if you had anything to tell me,” she whispered into the machine, “about the investigation.” Her voice resumed its normally commanding tone. “Come to Toronto next Wednesday. Terry Reid says he can still get you an interview at the paper as a special favor to me.”

My stomach clenched.

Her voice continued, “It’s not too late to have a career, Salali. I know you and your sister think I’m a horrible mother, but I want you to have a life that matters. Don’t you want to leave your mark on the world? Don’t you want to be remembered? Don’t you want to accomplish some good in this—”

Thankfully the voice mail cut her off.

I called Adela at work. Sometimes venting to a friend was the only cure for maternal angst.

Adela laughed when I told her about my mother’s message. “Man, Cassie is a piece of work. My mum only gives me guilt trips about not calling my abuela enough, not about failing to save the world.

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