Renaissance of the Heart - Part 1

It was a surprisingly warm day for October. I had gone out at lunch for a sandwich and marvelled at the kaleidoscope of colours among the trees along the river. The linden were so pretty this year, the lemon yellow and olive a lovely contrast to the warm tones of the sycamore, which overhung the water?s edge. Had I more strictly artistic leanings, I might have set up my easel and splashed a watercolour of the lovely scene. But art takes many forms and my art was art itself.**Being so clement, I had gone to work in an unseasonal, thin cotton blouse and a short lemon skirt, which attracted the attention of the lunchtime crowd. I?m not naïve, I know what effect my 34 DDs and pert behind have. As for my boss, well it?s well known that the antiques industry is awash with red-blooded males in mid-life crisis, so it?s almost anything goes, as far as he was concerned.*I graduated in Art and did my Masters in Italian High Renaissance painting before spending a year or two learning the trade. I did some crummy jobs learning the ropes in a few auctioneers, before landing my job of valuer at a busy auction house. It?s a bit like panning for gold, you have to sieve a lot of grit to find the odd nugget. If I had a pound for every unsigned painting I?ve had to assess, I would be a rich woman. There is the occasional little excitement of course, when a shiny pebble ripples my pond. A Lowry is my best discovery, though one always prays for a Constable or maybe a Picasso, but you never really believe it will happen. However, on that warm autumn afternoon, my pool was about to be disturbed, not by a pebble, but a huge boulder.*My desk is at the top of the main part of the front portion of the building. I have made my little area my own. Craig, my boss says it looks camp, but I like it. I have a few rubber plants, strategically arranged and a bronze statue of a leopard, which belongs to the business and is worth a small fortune. Craig has the only actual office; everyone else utilises what they call ?artistic spaces.? From my position, I see anyone entering through the glass doors - I tend to categorize the clients, as they come in. Since lunch I had had ?the old retired colonel? with his Moorcroft, followed by ?hopeful young couple? clearing out their semi-valuable heirlooms ? a Victorian fob watch and a couple of pieces of Arts and Crafts.*Elizabeth was hard to classify. She didn?t so much walk through the door, but stumbled, clutching her box and almost falling over in the process. Jack, our porter was on hand to assist, so nothing was broken, but she made quite an entrance. She was about 25 at a guess, with long dark hair and an inscrutable expression with just a hint of rueful. I suppose you would say she was a cute Keira Knightley. She hadn?t bothered with a bra, and her nipples were very obviously poking through the fabric of her red top. She hadn?t gone out of her way to get made up, and I guess you would say she was naturally pretty. She was one of those people that you would know again if you passed her in the street.*?Hi, I?m Cindy? I said. ?I?m your valuer today.?*She sat down and looked at me, with a faint air of embarrassment.*?Hello. I didn?t think I would get it in, in one piece for a minute there.?*?Ah, you should have asked for assistance. Anyway, what have you got??*I took out a large Edwardian barometer and some sets of silver cutlery before a long, velvet-covered case was thrust towards me by the girl.*?I was hoping these would be worth something.?*I opened the case to reveal some rather nice military medals complete with their coloured ribbons. Even to my untrained eye I could see that one was a Victoria bursa escort Cross, which have been known to fetch thousands.*?Yes, these look promising. Not my area though ? Militaria. Where did they come from?? I asked.*?They were my great grandfather?s.? She spoke with a slight quiver in her voice.*?You?re selling his medals??*She looked at me imploringly and then just broke down, putting her face in her hands and sobbing.*?Hey, hey! What?s up?? I pulled a tissue from the box on my desk and handed it to her.*?I?m sorry. It must seem like I?m harsh or something,? she said.*?I?m not judging you, it?s just that I have to be honest,? I said, trying to be as sympathetic as possible.*?I?m desperate," she said, pitifully.*?Oh what?s up?? I put a hand on her shoulder, and did my best to comfort her. ?Take your time. What?s happened??*?Since the boating accident, my Dad can?t work. Nearly all his compo went on the house. It?s the repairs! First the roof, then we had subsidence.*?Frick!?*?Yeah. Then we were flooded and the insurance only covered part of it, so we had to spend thousands doing that. ?I?m up to my ears in debt. Basically, I?m broke! So yeah ? I?m selling my great granddad?s war medals!?*?I?m so so sorry! Of course, we?ll do our best.?*My latest customer was clearly in a proper predicament. It?s in the interest of the auctioneer to get the best price, naturally, but I was moved by her story and wanted to help. While we?re a business and like any business - out to make a profit, I?m pleased to say that we value our clients and maintain a high standard of ethics. That means we don?t just wring them for every cent. When we don?t think it?s in the interest of the client to sell, then we advise them of that. Looking back to her box, there was one more thing, which I hadn?t examined.*?What?s this?? I said, pointing to the remaining item, which was standing up in the box, covered in brown paper.*?Oh, it?s a dusty old painting, it was my uncle?s. Well great uncle.?*I unwrapped the painting. It was rather grubby, and clearly had some age. It took me a few seconds to process what I was looking at and then it hit me like a sledge hammer to the back of the head. My mouth went dry and I began to tremble. It was of a religious looking scene, maybe a bishop or something with who appeared to be the Madonna and baby. I hadn?t seen anything like it in three years working in the business. I took a deep breath and dismissed my fantasy, aware of the fantastic odds against it.*?Did your uncle ever go to Italy??*?Yes, he worked out there. I gather he was often paid with gifts. There?s this letter. It?s in Italian. It was on the back.?*?Right, that might be important. I?d like to look into this, if it?s okay.?*?Sure. You look excited. Do you think it might be worth something??*?I don?t want to get your hopes up. It could be a copy or an imitation, but it?s got to be worth quite a lot, even then.?*?Oh, well. Some good news.?*?Okay. I?ll need you to sign it in. Can I be very bold?? I said.*?Sure.?*?Don?t sell the medals.?*?No??*?I have a hunch. Just a feeling that you won?t need to.?*After taking her details and completing the formalities, I said au revoir to Elizabeth, seeing her to her car. Afterwards I looked at the painting with as dispassionate eye as possible. All the ?hallmarks? were there. The lineaments of the figures, the bold colours, even tarnished by years of neglect were shouting the name of one of the greatest artists that ever lived. The painting had that certain je ne sais quoi, which from my years of obsessive research, spoke the name Michelangelo.*As far as my dream to find a great bursa escort bayan painting went, I had skipped the middle ground of great artists of the like of Constable and Turner and had a potential Old Master on my hands. Not just any Old Master but The Old Master. After valuation that day, I took the painting through to Craig, my boss and asked for a second opinion. His office was stuffy and the smell of his cigar hung in the air, causing me to cough as I entered. I stood the painting on his desk, proudly.*?Ummm? can I have your opinion on this??*Craig raised his spectacles and looked at the painting closely.*?Yes, not bad. Probably a contemporary of one the High Renaissance Artists. Nice one, Cindy. Get some photos and we?ll put it in at three thousand and see how it goes.?*?Really, you think it?s just a studio job??*?It?s a good one, don?t get me wrong, but it?s unsigned, so??*?Okay, forgive me, Craig. You know what I specialized in at uni??*?Yes, and I value your opinion, Cindy, but experience says it?s an un-attributable painting. So like I say, put it in as an Italian 16th century. It?ll probably make five thou'.?*?Right??*?You don?t sound happy.?*I wasn?t.*?I just have this gut feeling, that this is the real deal.?*Craig rubbed his beard in that condescending way of his, but I was unflinching.*?So, who do you think the artist is, in your opinion??*I hesitated. Even the name was enough to make me giddy.*?Michelangelo.?*?What!?*Craig laughed out loud, which I was half expecting, but it still hurt. I felt silly.*?It?s been a long day, Cindy. Catalogue it in the morning, like I said.?*?Okay, well if that?s what you think.?*?Cindy, even if I thought it might be a Michelangelo, you must know what we?d have to go through to prove it. We?d get a ton of media attention but end up a laughing stock.?*?I know what?s involved, but I just think this is the genuine article.?*Craig shook his head, clearly unconvinced.*?There?s been two claims of that artist in the last five years, both discredited. I?m not having my business dragged under the spotlight. It will be counter productive.?*?You just don?t have the balls,? I thought.*?Okay, fair enough,? I said, with a lump in my throat. ?I?ll catalogue it tomorrow, like you say.?*I went home with all my dreams in tatters. I knew that painting was right, but without my boss?s approval I didn?t have a leg to stand on. In some ways, I saw his point of view. Firstly, there would have to be microscopic analysis and carbon dating. Then there would be intense scrutiny of brush strokes and canvass samples. Finally, assuming it got over those hurdles, there would be the accreditation or otherwise by the Florence School of Art. They were notoriously implacable and their decision was final.*Somehow I had to break the news to Elizabeth. I had promised her so much ? stupidly. Now I had to be the bearer of bad news. I decided to sleep on it and then phone her in the morning.*As I lay in bed that night, I thought of her excited face when I said it was a real find. I hadn?t said as much, but the implication was there. All her money worries over. Five grand was a lot of money, but from what she said, it wasn?t going to get her out of the hole she was in. She had taken out a huge loan to cover the damage to her house from the subsidence. The council were meant to foot the bill, but wriggled out on some technicality. The painting would barely cover a third of her debts. I found myself in a strange dichotomy ? my professional responsibilities and a genuine warmth and empathy, which I had for Elizabeth. I had wanted to give her a great big hug, but Craig doesn?t escort bursa encourage that sort of thing.*I went to sleep with a vague plan, but I wouldn?t make any commitments until I had spoken to the owner.*------------------------------------------*I faced the next day with a little trepidation. My first call went straight to Elizabeth?s voice mail, so I tried later, around noon, figuring she would then be at lunch. This time I got through.*?Elizabeth! It?s Cindy from the auction.?*?Hey! Good news??*I tried to dress it up the best I could.*?Well, we want to put it on sale. I wanted to discuss your options.?*?Why, what options are there??*There was no easy way to say what I needed to say.*?My boss doesn?t share my enthusiasm about your painting.?*?Oh no!?*?I know. I?m a bit gutted myself.?*?What then? How much do you think it?ll make??*?Well, rather than answer that now, can we meet up to discuss things??*?Yes, but you said it would sort out all my problems!?*?I?m sorry Elizabeth. There?s more to it than that. It still could. It just might take a while.?*?But I haven?t got a while. I?ll sell the medals!?*Elizabeth sounded emotional and was reacting just as I had feared.*?No! No, Elizabeth. Don?t sell the medals.?*?Cindy, I?m facing bankruptcy here. My folks are expecting me to come up with something to get us out of this mess. What choice do I have??*?You have a choice. You always have a choice. Please just meet me later. I?ll explain everything then.?*?Okay, okay. But the medals are still on the table.?*?Fine. It?s your decision.?*I rang off, with a churning sensation in the pit of my stomach. Damn red tape! I felt like that painting was slipping through my fingers. I decided to make some preliminary enquiries after work, prior to meeting Elizabeth. It didn?t help. If I was right, then it was a life changer. If I got it wrong, it was financial ruin for me and Elizabeth. It was a stark choice.*I met Elizabeth around seven, in a mutually convenient pub on the edge of town. She looked different from the first time we met. She had put on a short black skirt with a slit down one side along with a shiny, burgundy blouse. Her hair shone like polished jet. She stood up as I entered the little bar.*?Hey Cindy!?*?You look nice,? I complimented.*?Thank you, so do you. What with everything, looking good is the last thing I have some say in.?*?Awww? you look lovely. Are you dating anyone?? It seemed in hindsight like a forward sort of question, but it just came out.*?You must be joking. Like I have time for a relationship!?*?Well, I thought I?d ask.?*?I suppose you have a guy at home?? she asked.*?No, I?m too independent. I?m not sure what I want. I?m too engrossed in my career. No guys or girls, at the moment.?*Elizabeth reacted to the word 'girls' with a just perceptible twitch of her mouth.*?Do you want a drink?? she asked.*?I?ll get them,? I said.*Elizabeth looked at me reproachfully.*?I?m not that broke that I can?t buy you a drink!?*?Yes, sorry. A white wine then please.?*After ordering the drinks she turned to me and she gave me one of those looks that put tactfully, meant she wanted to rip my clothes off. I won?t lie ? she looked hot and I wouldn?t have fought her off. Equally, I knew that she was not in the best place and might have been vulnerable. Adding an extra complication to what was rapidly becoming a complicated situation was probably not wise. But I?m human and I hadn?t had sex in weeks.*We sat down with our drinks and I got straight down to business.*Elizabeth made no attempt to hide her frequent glances at my breasts as I spoke and I had the distinct inkling that she was a boob girl. It?s not unusual for girls to check out other girls, but she was making a point of it. I had reversed my colours from last time, now in a yellow top and a short white skirt. I was aware that my lacy bra was visible through my top and Elizabeth was quietly undressing me.