Page 38 of The Winter Princess
“Mm.”
Turning the camera, she begins, “Hello, I’m visiting the restoration studio at The Nat with the Head of Restoration, Oskar Velasquez. Sayhi, Oskar.” She tips the camera at me.
“Mm.”
She laughs. “What are you doing today?” she asks, training the camera on me.
This is my job. I have to keep it. My hands are busy as I answer. “I’m removing the frame.”
“Is that the first step?” Her voice lulls me into thinking it’s just her here. Not half a million unblinking eyes.
“No, I’ve already examined it under a UV light. That shows me areas of discoloration and retouching. It has to come out of the frame before I know what else it needs.” I glance up into her face and glance down again before I lose my train of thought. “This painting was backed in paper by a previous restorer which—”
Freja must see my face because she finishes, “You don’t recommend doing.”
“We know better now.” I reach for a wooden-handled tool. The metal is flat and gently pronged, and I cut the paper away.
“Stultes es,” I mutter.
She looks up from her cell phone. “What?”
“Copper staples,” I point an accusing finger at the canvas, “driven in with a pneumatic staple gun.”
“Should I be upset?”
“The whole country should be upset. Look. Look,” I say, levering the canvas out of the frame. “Forty staples on this side when a third as many tacks would do.”
“But it’s secure,” she offers, as though that’s any excuse for this lazy and destructive job. I tip the frame higher. Can’t she see?
She mounts the camera on a stand, coming around the table to get a closer inspection.
“Just watch what happens when I try to remove one.” I wiggle the tool under the corner of the staple and, feeling the purchase, I ease the whole thing up. As expected, the staple bar rips through the material, leaving a precise rectangle of destruction.
I make a sound of disgust and toss the knife on the table.
“What’s that?” she asks, hovering a gentle finger over the rip. Our heads bend over it together and when we look up, I’m reminded of Uncle Timo’s words.You liked it.
I frown my thoughts away.
“That brilliant green there,” she prods.
“It’s copper,” I answer, pushing through the roughness in my voice. There’s a refuge in pedantry and science, and I take it. “It oxidizes as it ages. If the previous restorer had used an acid solvent, he could hardly have made a worse choice.”
“It means more work.”
I shake my head. The work isn’t the thing.
“It means that the restorer had something rare and priceless in front of him, and he was too stupid to know it.”
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Attachment Sent
FREJA
“Go ahead and work,” I tell him. “I’ll ask you questions occasionally and then have Erik piece the footage together.”
His glance shifts to my mouth, and I rub the corner, expecting to encounter a crust of sugar. Nothing.
