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Authors: Matilde Asensi
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game from way up in the stands. Through binoculars.
I scaled the outer wall, with an affectionate parting glance at the sleeping Rottweilers, abseiled down the other side until my boots hit the ground, and then retrieved the grapnel. The difficult part was over. Once I crossed the bridge and got back up to Läufer’s car, yet another Chess Group sortie would have come to a successful conclusion.
The crescent moon was still a beautiful sight, reflecting off the waters of the
Bodensee
- Lake Constance - as I crossed the bumpy tarmac of the Friedrichshafen highway. Heinz breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw me, like a boy whose parents had forgotten to pick him up at the school gates but had eventually come to their senses. I was sorry to say goodbye to him at Zürich airport a few hours later, once he had given me the small package I had promised to bring back for Amália and Cavalo. He was a genuinely nice guy, that Läufer kid.
CHAPTER SIX
I didn’t give the strange glue-paste lining another thought until the next Sunday afternoon, when I went to the Santa María de Miranda monastery to deposit the Krylov canvas in my dungeon. I was just about to leave the cell, with my aunt waiting for me impatiently by the doorway, when what I had found during the robbery suddenly came back to me.
After a second or two of complete indecision, during which I seriously considered the possibility of just leaving things be and not touching a thing, I made up my mind to stay put and look into it. I went back to where I had stacked the carry tube and pulled out the rolled canvas. The addition of the lining made it unusually thick and, feeling along it carefully with my fingers, I noticed that the two fabrics were not stuck together throughout, but in fact moved against each other freely, like a handbag with its lining. A closer examination made it clear that they were only joined at the edges, and not very consistently at that. It seemed to me that if I just tugged lightly on one of the lining’s corners, the whole thing would come off in my hands with no effort at all. But I couldn’t decide whether to do it or not. I was worried about damaging Krylov’s original and provoking some kind of conflict with our Russian client. So I rolled it up again, put it into its carry tube, and drove back home going over all the pros and cons.
It just didn’t make any sense. The more I thought about it over dinner, the less I understood why anyone would bother to mend a canvas which was in perfect condition. I kept turning it over in my head, couldn’t get to sleep and, in the end, I got back out of bed halfway through the night, walked into my study and sent Roi a message. I needed him to know what I had found and to give me a nice and simple explanation which would finally stop me fretting about it.
First thing in the morning, Roi’s reply dropped into my in-tray. He had talked it over with Donna and she, being the expert on these matters, had recommended removing the lining, for two basic reasons. One, because the mere existence of this reinforcement was intrinsically absurd, just as I’d thought, and two, because its sheer absurdity might well make our Russian client suspicious. If it was an amateurish mistake, its removal wouldn’t lower the value of the painting. If anything, it would raise it.
So I got back in my car and returned to the monastery. My aunt was more than surprised to see me again so soon.
‘What are
you
doing here at this time in the morning?’ she asked me disapprovingly. Despite everything, she
was
my aunt and I loved her dearly, so I sweetly explained myself.
‘I just need to take another look at the stuff I brought over yesterday.’
‘Well, don’t expect me to come with you this time, Ana María. In five minutes’ time I have to lead morning prayers.’
‘That’s fine - you don’t always have to stay with me when I come here, Tía,’ I replied, delighted. ‘I know the way there like the back of my
I scaled the outer wall, with an affectionate parting glance at the sleeping Rottweilers, abseiled down the other side until my boots hit the ground, and then retrieved the grapnel. The difficult part was over. Once I crossed the bridge and got back up to Läufer’s car, yet another Chess Group sortie would have come to a successful conclusion.
The crescent moon was still a beautiful sight, reflecting off the waters of the
Bodensee
- Lake Constance - as I crossed the bumpy tarmac of the Friedrichshafen highway. Heinz breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw me, like a boy whose parents had forgotten to pick him up at the school gates but had eventually come to their senses. I was sorry to say goodbye to him at Zürich airport a few hours later, once he had given me the small package I had promised to bring back for Amália and Cavalo. He was a genuinely nice guy, that Läufer kid.
CHAPTER SIX
I didn’t give the strange glue-paste lining another thought until the next Sunday afternoon, when I went to the Santa María de Miranda monastery to deposit the Krylov canvas in my dungeon. I was just about to leave the cell, with my aunt waiting for me impatiently by the doorway, when what I had found during the robbery suddenly came back to me.
After a second or two of complete indecision, during which I seriously considered the possibility of just leaving things be and not touching a thing, I made up my mind to stay put and look into it. I went back to where I had stacked the carry tube and pulled out the rolled canvas. The addition of the lining made it unusually thick and, feeling along it carefully with my fingers, I noticed that the two fabrics were not stuck together throughout, but in fact moved against each other freely, like a handbag with its lining. A closer examination made it clear that they were only joined at the edges, and not very consistently at that. It seemed to me that if I just tugged lightly on one of the lining’s corners, the whole thing would come off in my hands with no effort at all. But I couldn’t decide whether to do it or not. I was worried about damaging Krylov’s original and provoking some kind of conflict with our Russian client. So I rolled it up again, put it into its carry tube, and drove back home going over all the pros and cons.
It just didn’t make any sense. The more I thought about it over dinner, the less I understood why anyone would bother to mend a canvas which was in perfect condition. I kept turning it over in my head, couldn’t get to sleep and, in the end, I got back out of bed halfway through the night, walked into my study and sent Roi a message. I needed him to know what I had found and to give me a nice and simple explanation which would finally stop me fretting about it.
First thing in the morning, Roi’s reply dropped into my in-tray. He had talked it over with Donna and she, being the expert on these matters, had recommended removing the lining, for two basic reasons. One, because the mere existence of this reinforcement was intrinsically absurd, just as I’d thought, and two, because its sheer absurdity might well make our Russian client suspicious. If it was an amateurish mistake, its removal wouldn’t lower the value of the painting. If anything, it would raise it.
So I got back in my car and returned to the monastery. My aunt was more than surprised to see me again so soon.
‘What are
you
doing here at this time in the morning?’ she asked me disapprovingly. Despite everything, she
was
my aunt and I loved her dearly, so I sweetly explained myself.
‘I just need to take another look at the stuff I brought over yesterday.’
‘Well, don’t expect me to come with you this time, Ana María. In five minutes’ time I have to lead morning prayers.’
‘That’s fine - you don’t always have to stay with me when I come here, Tía,’ I replied, delighted. ‘I know the way there like the back of my
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