Secrets After Dark by Sadie Matthews Read Free Book Online

and looks on.  We are all staring, tense with anticipation, but Dubrovski is the most on edge. I think he is actually holding his breath. This really matters to him. How amazing to have such passion and to be able to indulge it, I think. I realise that I’m looking at him instead of at the sight about to be revealed.
    He really is magnetic.
    Then he glances up and locks me in that powerful blue beam. A strong surge like an electric current passes through me: is it fear? Should I not look at him? For a moment I think he’s going to shout at me, but then, to my astonishment, his gaze softens and a smile curves his broad mouth. The relief that drenches me is almost sweet and, without thinking, I smile back. For a second, it’s as though we are in a tiny conspiracy of excitement about the painting. As though he’s saying to me, Let’s pretend we don’t care as much as we do. Then he looks back at the altar and our connection is broken.
    The monk takes hold of the cloth and says, ‘Sir, I’m proud to reveal to you a lost masterpiece by the sainted brother of our order who was endowed by God with supreme talent.’ He swipes the covering like a magician revealing his best conjuring trick.
    The cloth ripples away. I gasp. A painted wooden panel is revealed, a gentle arched shape on which is a stunning depiction of the Madonna and Child, with a gathering of saints and Dominican monks around them. The Madonna, a pale, golden-haired beauty, her perfect face serene and lovely, sits on an ornate golden throne while the plump baby on her lap kicks and gazes skyward, lifting one hand in the air as if reaching up to his Heavenly Father. The throne is placed in a grove and surrounded by trees and flowers, with an Italian city rising gently in the landscape behind. The colours are vibrant and gorgeous, but wonderfully subtle too, and the details are exquisite, from the folds of the Madonna’s cloak to the roses and lilies that flower around her.
    We all stare, speechless. Even if it is not by Fra Angelico, it is a beautiful thing, but something in the mastery of it indicates that it is genuine.
    Dubrovski glances at Mark and says roughly, ‘Well?’
    ‘A sacred conversation,’ I murmur without really realising I’ve spoken out loud.
    ‘What?’ Dubrovski’s stare is focused on me again, but without any hint of a smile this time. ‘What did you say?’
    ‘A sacred conversation,’ I say more firmly. Mark is looking at me, a smile in his eyes though his expression is serious. ‘That’s what’s going on between the monks and the saints. Do you see? They seem to be talking among themselves about what they’re witnessing. Fra Angelico painted some of the earliest examples – rather than flat representations of people who simply pray to the deity, he painted life and animation into his figures. And look at the way they’re standing – the artist has used masterful linear perspective, just as Fra Angelico did.’
    ‘Does that mean this is genuine?’ demands Dubrovski, frowning at me.
    ‘It certainly points to it being of the right period and by someone of the school of Fra Angelico, if not Fra Angelico himself.’ I suddenly feel as though I’m being too sure of myself. I have a degree in History of Art and I’ve just done my research on the period, but that doesn’t make me an expert. ‘Isn’t that right, Mark?’
    Mark nods. ‘Exactly right. I’ll need a little time to examine the painting, but first impressions are very favourable.’ He turns to the monk. ‘Can that be arranged?’
    ‘Of course, take as long as you require,’ replies the monk.
    Dubrovski turns to me. ‘You. Come with me. We’ll leave Mark in peace.’ He turns on his heel and stalks out of the chapel, evidently expecting me to follow. I glance at Mark, who nods. Then I hurry down the aisle after the vanishing Russian. He’s already almost out of the chapel.
    In the corridor outside, he stops and turns to me. ‘So. You are Mark’s