Page 4 of The Chase
“I’m officially a forensic art specialist at Huntly Pierre.”
I’d landed my dream job at a high-end firm in the middle of The Strand, and I couldn’t wait to start.
“Zara, that’s wonderful.” She leaped forward and hugged me. “I’m so excited.”
Years of studying art and I was finally being let loose.
“They know about your dad’s penchant for collecting priceless art, then?”
“No, I got this on my own merit.” I lowered my brow, hoping my family name of Leighton wouldn’t follow me around forever. “Have a knack for detecting forgeries apparently.”
Within the texture lies the truth.
Everything Dad knew he’d taught me; an education like no other. It wasn’t only studying at the Courtauld that had given me the talent for knowing the difference between an Uccello and a Masaccio, but my education had begun when my father had instilled in me his rare insight into art before I could even walk, hoping I’d follow in his footsteps.
“It’s in my blood.”
She winked. “The commission you’ll make when you confirm a piece is real should be quite something. These things are worth a fortune.”
“You can’t place a value on pieces like this,” I said wistfully, admiring Constant Troyon’s oil on canvasA Clump of Trees, with its soothing layers of greens and yellows. “For the first time I feel like I’m putting my knowledge to good use.”
“You know what else needs to be in your blood? Booze. More specifically, champagne.” We laughed too loudly as we neared the lift.
Standing back a little, I watched Clara hit the down button and the silver doors slid open. Peering inside that gaping chasm of metal, I felt my haunting phobia of lifts returning, the light inside flickered to taunt me, and my feet refused to move forward as that familiar fear swept over me.
Terror spiked my veins. “Let’s take the stairs.”
She raised her left foot to show off her heels. “I’ll break my neck.”
“You sure?”
“Zara.” She sounded baffled.
“Meet you down there.”
“This is why you have great legs,” her voice echoed after me. “You’re always taking the stairs.”
Her laughter followed me down the stairwell.
I peeled off each shoe and in stockinged feet burst through the fire escape door. I descended fast, round and round, counting the floors as I went.
Breathing in the chilled air, I rekindled the feeling that what I’d done tonight was one of my better decisions. Clara was right. The security was great and the responsibility of protecting all of Dad’s other pieces would soon be lifted as they made their way here.
It made me happy to think of other people getting to enjoy them too, and my feet flew down with a bounce in my step.
With a shove on the security rail I pushed open the heavy fire door and went on through into the dimly lit hallway.
Realizing I’d gone too far I turned to go back. The door was locked from this side.
Ouch.
As if right on cue my garter belt snapped off my thigh-high stocking and I hurried onward to find somewhere private to fix it.
My feet carried me away from the lift and along the hallway. At the end was a door stamped with a sign: Staff Only.
I went on in and saw the long mirror right in front of me. I neared it and gave myself a reassuring smile. I looked pretty tonight and was actually a little less geeky than usual, having switched out my cardigan and flat heels for my favorite gold silk blouse and black skirt, and even my hair was miraculously behaving. After putting my shoes down, I eased up my hem and attempted to reattach my stocking top.
Fiddly thing.
