would make more sense to ask the experts al Pompeii—" His frown cleared. He chuckled. "Which is why you are in Italy, isn't it? Of course, I see."
"Do you think they will be able to give me a secure answer there?"
"As secure as is possible. As you may already know, opinions can vary. I will write to the superintendent, however, to smooth the road for you. He has been involved in the excavations for twenty years, and can speak to your item's provenance as well as its visible signs of antiquity."
"I appreciate your willingness to help me. I wonder if I can impose on your kindness a bit more. I fear that it means asking for speculations that you may not want to make."
"I am not too good to gossip, Miss Blair. Up to a point."
She suspected she would broach that point, and perhaps step over it. "If in fact this cameo, real or fake, was given or sold to my mother by a man during the last years of her life, can you think of any man in her circle who would have had access to such things?"
His hawk eyes turned hooded and his sharp gaze looked inward. He pondered her question al length. She thought she saw him picking through memories of salons and dinner parties long ago, examining faces and recalling conversations.
"I do not have a name for you," he finally said.
Disappointment stabbed, but not very deeply. It would have been nice to have the whole mystery explained today, but she had not really expected that to happen.
"However, perhaps..." The hawk gaze flashed inward for another moment. "You see, I am remembering a gem said to come from a cache in Pompeii, only it was not owned by your mother. I recall its availability being discussed during one of those salons that she liked to hold. It could be the same one you now own, or a different one."
"Do you remember what was said?"
"Not much. I had no interest in it. I cannot even place this conversation in time very well."
She looked over her shoulder to the glass cases. "I would have thought you would be very interested."
"Not in this. I realized at once that its provenance was shaky. Anything removed from Pompeii is stolen property. There can be no documentation of its discovery there because that would reveal it as stolen." He shrugged. "There are those who do not care about such niceties, and others very quick to believe whatever tales are spun, of course. Thus do bad dealers make their fortunes."
"Do you remember how this cameo was available'' Was someone selling it?"
He tapped his fingers on the desk and thought hard. "It was so long ago ... I do not want to impugn..."
"You will impugn no one. Nor will I. I will make no accusations unless I am certain of all the facts. There will be no gossip, no slander or libel. I merely want to know in which direction I should perhaps go."
"I do not remember the particulars at all. However, there were several dealers who fluttered around Artemis Blair. Two were often present those last years. One, Horace Needly, has a solid reputation but, of course, one never knows when it comes to trade. The other I had less faith in, mostly because he avoided conversations with scholars like myself. That made one wonder if his own expertise could stand scrutiny." "What was his name?"
"Thornton. Nigel Thornton. Personable fellow. Successful too, as I recall, but his rarities were of a middling sort."
"I thank you for both names. I will see what I can learn when I return to England. You have been a great help and I am grateful." She rose to go. He smiled warmly, clearly pleased to have been of service.
"Mr. Greenwood, forgive me, but—wasn't there at least one oilier dealer in her circle then? Mr. Whitmarsh. You said the other day that he flogs antiquities in Rome and—"
"That was good-humored jabbing among friends. Miss Blair. Since he came to Italy he has been known to pass along an item or two that fell into his lap and that he no longer wanted for himself. Nothing more. I have done it too. It is hardly dealing." He spoke indulgently
"Do you think they will be able to give me a secure answer there?"
"As secure as is possible. As you may already know, opinions can vary. I will write to the superintendent, however, to smooth the road for you. He has been involved in the excavations for twenty years, and can speak to your item's provenance as well as its visible signs of antiquity."
"I appreciate your willingness to help me. I wonder if I can impose on your kindness a bit more. I fear that it means asking for speculations that you may not want to make."
"I am not too good to gossip, Miss Blair. Up to a point."
She suspected she would broach that point, and perhaps step over it. "If in fact this cameo, real or fake, was given or sold to my mother by a man during the last years of her life, can you think of any man in her circle who would have had access to such things?"
His hawk eyes turned hooded and his sharp gaze looked inward. He pondered her question al length. She thought she saw him picking through memories of salons and dinner parties long ago, examining faces and recalling conversations.
"I do not have a name for you," he finally said.
Disappointment stabbed, but not very deeply. It would have been nice to have the whole mystery explained today, but she had not really expected that to happen.
"However, perhaps..." The hawk gaze flashed inward for another moment. "You see, I am remembering a gem said to come from a cache in Pompeii, only it was not owned by your mother. I recall its availability being discussed during one of those salons that she liked to hold. It could be the same one you now own, or a different one."
"Do you remember what was said?"
"Not much. I had no interest in it. I cannot even place this conversation in time very well."
She looked over her shoulder to the glass cases. "I would have thought you would be very interested."
"Not in this. I realized at once that its provenance was shaky. Anything removed from Pompeii is stolen property. There can be no documentation of its discovery there because that would reveal it as stolen." He shrugged. "There are those who do not care about such niceties, and others very quick to believe whatever tales are spun, of course. Thus do bad dealers make their fortunes."
"Do you remember how this cameo was available'' Was someone selling it?"
He tapped his fingers on the desk and thought hard. "It was so long ago ... I do not want to impugn..."
"You will impugn no one. Nor will I. I will make no accusations unless I am certain of all the facts. There will be no gossip, no slander or libel. I merely want to know in which direction I should perhaps go."
"I do not remember the particulars at all. However, there were several dealers who fluttered around Artemis Blair. Two were often present those last years. One, Horace Needly, has a solid reputation but, of course, one never knows when it comes to trade. The other I had less faith in, mostly because he avoided conversations with scholars like myself. That made one wonder if his own expertise could stand scrutiny." "What was his name?"
"Thornton. Nigel Thornton. Personable fellow. Successful too, as I recall, but his rarities were of a middling sort."
"I thank you for both names. I will see what I can learn when I return to England. You have been a great help and I am grateful." She rose to go. He smiled warmly, clearly pleased to have been of service.
"Mr. Greenwood, forgive me, but—wasn't there at least one oilier dealer in her circle then? Mr. Whitmarsh. You said the other day that he flogs antiquities in Rome and—"
"That was good-humored jabbing among friends. Miss Blair. Since he came to Italy he has been known to pass along an item or two that fell into his lap and that he no longer wanted for himself. Nothing more. I have done it too. It is hardly dealing." He spoke indulgently
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