Page 86 of The Chase
I studied his face for a moment, seeing nothing but trust in his expression. The quietness lent itself to the reverence this moment deserved.
“I’ve never shown anyone this,” I whispered.
“I already feel privileged, Zara.”
“And this one.” Sucking my bottom lip, still dazed from last night, I peeled back the protective wrapper, revealing the final painting below.
Tobias’s gaze swept over it in awe, his words just above a whisper. “Ho-ly shit.”
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A flawless rendition of Adam’s elegant hand reaching out to the mighty hand of God, dramatically painted on a single panel in a breathtaking demonstration of how the artist practiced his vision of theCreation of Adam.
The final masterpiece was now set in the ceiling of the world’s most prestigious palace, the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel.
Sipping from our freshly brewed mugs of tea, Tobias and I sat on the floor of the spare bedroom sitting side by side, silently admiring its profoundness.
I’d propped up the Vermeer and da Vinci’s sketch on either side of this tour de force, leaning their frames against the wall.
“You have a Michelangelo?” Tobias shook his head in disbelief.
It was impossible to comprehend the reality of us staring at a 1508 origin of one of the world’s greatest treasures. The blue-white panel was cracked. But that took nothing away from the anatomically correct fingers nearly making contact and the profoundness that God had yet to touch Adam and yet, miraculously, his spiritual force had effortlessly breathed life into God’s creation of man.
Tobias covered his face with his hands as though needing a moment to process what he was looking at.
“It’s just that...” I strained to find the words.
His expression was full of understanding. “Letting these go would be you finally saying goodbye to your dad.”
Tears stung my eyes but I pushed them back. “Yes.”
Tobias understood. He truly got the ridiculousness of a girl living in a West London flat keeping priceless art hidden away.
“Oh, Zara.” He reached out and hugged me into him.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” I said.
“All of them are.” He raised his hand to emphasize. “I’m lost for words.”
“Dad had the Michelangelo privately authenticated in Italy. He would have made a fortune if he’d sold it. See, that’s why I don’t understand any of this. We never needed the money. Whatever his motivation wasn’t about that.”
“Your dad was a remarkable man.”
I looked over at the paintings again and my heart ached for the ones we’d lost. “If someone stoleSt. Joanbefore the fire and replaced it with a fake do you think my dad would have noticed?”
He gave a slight shake of his head as if to say we’d never know.
“I have to phone Christie’s,” I said.
“Move forward cautiously.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“They can’t stay here, Zara.”
“Because of those thefts?”
“No one knows you have these here.” He studied my face. “Right?”
