Read Online Restoration: A Novel (Contemporary / Women's Fiction) by Elaine D Walsh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elaine D Walsh
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vaguely.” She sighed
as she sat back down next to Francesca, feeling she needed to explain the few
exasperated sentences she knew her mentor had overheard.
“Trouble?” Francesca squinted at the infrared monitor in
front of her.
“This guy I’m seeing is the art critic for the Times. He
happened to see some of the paintings I did when I was in college. Now he
wants to arrange an exhibition of my work. Give a person the title of art
critic and he thinks he knows everything about art. He thinks I should be
painting instead of restoring. For goodness sakes, I’m an art conservator, not
a painter.”
“There is no reason you cannot be both.”
“No, this is who I am.”
Francesca’s eyes flickered to Tess, but she said nothing
before returning them to her work.
“What?” Tess prodded.
“And who is that?”
“Who I am?”
“That is the question.”
“This.” Tess opened her arms to encompass her
surroundings. “It’s my calling.”
Francesca sat up and away from the monitor she’d been
gazing into to study Tess.
“There weren’t any burning bushes speaking to me or any
other sudden revelations. I’ve always had an interest in antiquities and
classical works.” The scrutiny of Francesca’s quiet gaze prodded Tess to hand
out more facts about herself than she’d planned. “So, besides painting, I
studied art conservation in college.”
“I see,” Francesca said, politely accepting that benign
morsel. “I am glad I do not have more than one talent such as you and have to
struggle with which path I should choose to walk down.”
“Some interests should remain hobbies; others are more
suited for careers. I’m not that talented of a painter.”
Francesca shrugged. “I would not know. I have not seen
your work.”
“Trust me, my work’s not that good. Certainly not worth
showing.”
“You show so little of yourself, Tess, who would know?”
The comment caught Tess off guard and she leaned back.
“You’re hardly a font of information yourself.”
“It is true my life is not an open book to you. But there
is a difference between one who does not share with another because they know
there is no sense in sharing what is not returned and one who does not share
because they are afraid.”
“You don’t even know me. How can you even insinuate
that?”
“It is just my observation. I will not argue the point
with you if you say it is not so.”
“But you still believe it about me.”
Francesca slipped her bifocals off her face. “I keep it
to myself. That should not bother you.”
“Well it does,” Tess said, surprised by her own
revelation.
Francesca shrugged and returned her bifocals. “Only you
can prove it is not so.”
Tess swiped her notepad off the worktable and stabbed the
page with her pen. “Where were we?”
Francesca returned to looking at the monitor and
explaining to Tess how to interpret what was on the screen.
***
By seven o’clock, too much information filled Tess’s brain.
Francesca was a meticulous mentor, explaining infrared technology in
considerable detail and scouting out every painting in the studio with an
underdrawing so they could scan and review it together. Francesca’s trained
eye saw things hers didn’t, and when Tess grew visibly frustrated, Francesca
soothed her with encouraging words.
“That is enough for today.” Francesca slipped off her
bifocals.
Tess slumped forward in her chair. “I thought I’d never
hear those words.”
“Go home and relax. You have worked hard today. Eat a
good meal, take a hot bath, clear your mind and get a good night’s sleep.
Tomorrow we do some chemistry. I have set aside two paintings I must run
analysis on.”
“I haven’t mastered this yet.” Tess gestured to the
infrared camera.
“I think your mind needs a break from this. We will come
back to it. And when we do, you will be surprised with how much
as she sat back down next to Francesca, feeling she needed to explain the few
exasperated sentences she knew her mentor had overheard.
“Trouble?” Francesca squinted at the infrared monitor in
front of her.
“This guy I’m seeing is the art critic for the Times. He
happened to see some of the paintings I did when I was in college. Now he
wants to arrange an exhibition of my work. Give a person the title of art
critic and he thinks he knows everything about art. He thinks I should be
painting instead of restoring. For goodness sakes, I’m an art conservator, not
a painter.”
“There is no reason you cannot be both.”
“No, this is who I am.”
Francesca’s eyes flickered to Tess, but she said nothing
before returning them to her work.
“What?” Tess prodded.
“And who is that?”
“Who I am?”
“That is the question.”
“This.” Tess opened her arms to encompass her
surroundings. “It’s my calling.”
Francesca sat up and away from the monitor she’d been
gazing into to study Tess.
“There weren’t any burning bushes speaking to me or any
other sudden revelations. I’ve always had an interest in antiquities and
classical works.” The scrutiny of Francesca’s quiet gaze prodded Tess to hand
out more facts about herself than she’d planned. “So, besides painting, I
studied art conservation in college.”
“I see,” Francesca said, politely accepting that benign
morsel. “I am glad I do not have more than one talent such as you and have to
struggle with which path I should choose to walk down.”
“Some interests should remain hobbies; others are more
suited for careers. I’m not that talented of a painter.”
Francesca shrugged. “I would not know. I have not seen
your work.”
“Trust me, my work’s not that good. Certainly not worth
showing.”
“You show so little of yourself, Tess, who would know?”
The comment caught Tess off guard and she leaned back.
“You’re hardly a font of information yourself.”
“It is true my life is not an open book to you. But there
is a difference between one who does not share with another because they know
there is no sense in sharing what is not returned and one who does not share
because they are afraid.”
“You don’t even know me. How can you even insinuate
that?”
“It is just my observation. I will not argue the point
with you if you say it is not so.”
“But you still believe it about me.”
Francesca slipped her bifocals off her face. “I keep it
to myself. That should not bother you.”
“Well it does,” Tess said, surprised by her own
revelation.
Francesca shrugged and returned her bifocals. “Only you
can prove it is not so.”
Tess swiped her notepad off the worktable and stabbed the
page with her pen. “Where were we?”
Francesca returned to looking at the monitor and
explaining to Tess how to interpret what was on the screen.
***
By seven o’clock, too much information filled Tess’s brain.
Francesca was a meticulous mentor, explaining infrared technology in
considerable detail and scouting out every painting in the studio with an
underdrawing so they could scan and review it together. Francesca’s trained
eye saw things hers didn’t, and when Tess grew visibly frustrated, Francesca
soothed her with encouraging words.
“That is enough for today.” Francesca slipped off her
bifocals.
Tess slumped forward in her chair. “I thought I’d never
hear those words.”
“Go home and relax. You have worked hard today. Eat a
good meal, take a hot bath, clear your mind and get a good night’s sleep.
Tomorrow we do some chemistry. I have set aside two paintings I must run
analysis on.”
“I haven’t mastered this yet.” Tess gestured to the
infrared camera.
“I think your mind needs a break from this. We will come
back to it. And when we do, you will be surprised with how much
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