15. Project

At her work station the next morning, Bonnie found a paper cylinder secured by a red satin ribbon bow. Intrigued, she undid the tie, and unrolled the sheet to reveal a pencil drawing of a simple human figure, a boy to judge by the clothes and ball cap, dwarfed by an enormous yellow brontosaurus with a goofy grin on its narrow head. She smiled to see the child's hand resting companionably on one of the creature's thick forelegs as they stood together in a park-like setting under a cloudless sky. A cartoon bubble with the neatly-printed words "Thank You!" floated by the boy's head, and lower on the page, against a background of brilliant green, the artist had written in fairly steady block letters, "Danny."

"That's a sweet little picture," said Gabby Franklin from over Bonnie's shoulder. "That young friend of yours has talent."

"Yes, he does." Bonnie quickly released one edge of the sheet, allowing the drawing to roll back up on itself, and so hide the artist's signature. She felt sure Dr. Baer would not want it generally known that she had spent most of Saturday with his son. Happily, she had just the change of subject to distract the ever-inquisitive Gabby. "I have something for you." She reached into her shoulder bag and, removing a stack of white card stock rectangles, handed the upmost to Gabby. "It's an invitation to my fine art seminar's painting exhibition this coming Saturday from five to eight. I hope you can make it. There'll be wine and assorted amuse-bouches. And feel free to a bring a friend or two. The more, the merrier!"

"Booze and nibbles?" Gabby flashed her gap-toothed grin. "Count me in!"

Over the course of the morning, Bonnie repeated this invitation so often that, by the time she was called to Dr. Baer's office to report on the status of her current project, there was only the card she had reserved for him left in her lab coat pocket. She wondered, as she made her way out of the workroom in answer to his summons, if she would notice any difference in his manner toward her, if, now that she had seen a more personal side of him, he would be less distant and severe. His greeting, however, was his usual cool, brisk, "There you are, Miss Booth-Hodgins," with barely a glance up from a photographic enlargement which appeared to rivet his attention. He reached for a magnifying glass, and examined a lower corner of the image. "Have a seat. Where are you with the Gunnerson landscape?"

He left her no choice but to address the rather unruly crown of his head. "I applied the layer of isolating varnish this morning. It's drying at the moment."

He gave no sign of having heard her, but leaned back thoughtfully in his chair, his eyes never leaving the photo on his desk. She was irritated enough to imagine saying, "And I'll be poking holes in the canvas with my scalpel immediately after lunch," but before she could succumb to the temptation, Dr. Baer sat forward abruptly, and, taking up the photo, held it out to her. "Are you familiar with this painting?"

Thanks to her year in Paris, Bonnie not only recognized the work, but knew it to be one of the most highly-prized and oft-visited paintings in the Louvre. It pictured a beautiful young couple rushing side by side through a dark wood toward a fountain where a host of putti held at the ready a cupful of the elixir of love with which the fountain overflowed. A sentimental subject executed with rococo flourishes and artistic panache, the painting was universally acclaimed as a masterpiece, and one of France's cultural treasures. Print reproductions continued to be in demand, and sold well nearly three hundred years after its first showing. "It's Antoine Lebrun's La coupe d'amour. It dates from 1785 or so, I believe."

She made to pass the photo back to him, but he raised a hand to stop her. "Are you sure? Look again."

Bonnie did not think she could possibly have been mistaken — the painting was too famous for that — but she did as instructed. Examining the image more carefully, she saw that the male and female profiles were not as clearly defined as she remembered; the brushstrokes forming the woman's draperies were more free and fluid, and the putti's features were more suggested than delineated. Most tellingly, there was no signature in the picture's lower right hand corner. "It's not the painting on display at the Louvre," she acknowledged. "Is it a copy?"

"Very likely. This particular copy was a recent gift to the Jeffersonian by Adrienne Duchesnay. Insurance records show continuous possession by the Duchesnay family for at least a hundred years, but family lore pushes the date back to the late 1880s when the first Duchesnay emigrated to the States from France. There's no bill of sale in support of that, however, and no art dealer label or any useful information on the canvas back."

"So, it might be nothing more than one of those reproductions done by enterprising young artists to be sold as pricey souvenirs for the traveling rich."

"Exactly. In the days before photography and mass-produced art prints, it was common for the wealthy to purchase replicas of the paintings they admired. There was no fraud involved; the paintings were not considered masterworks, only decorative items that attested to their owners' being well-traveled and cultured. This painting could very easily have been acquired in that manner. Again, however, family tradition holds that it's a genuine Lebrun, possibly a preliminary study for the later, more polished version."

The odds of a long-lost Lebrun surfacing in someone's private collection struck Bonnie as so remote as to be negligible. "Was it Ms. Duchesnay's belief that she was giving the museum a real Lebrun?"

"No, she only mentioned the possibility as an interesting background detail. And it's clear from the way the painting was handled that the owners attached little real value to it. They left it hanging over the family fireplace for close on a century, for heaven's sake! The surface is almost entirely covered with a fine layer of soot." Dr. Baer shook his head in disgust at this damnable carelessness. "An old story's not much to go on, but, on the very slim chance there's something to it, the museum has decided to allocate some limited resources into investigating the matter. The feeling is this would be a suitable project for an intern, at least initially. Tell me, Miss Booth-Hodgins, if you were put in charge, how would you proceed?"

Bonnie was so surprised by the question she only managed to squeak out, "Me?"

Dr. Baer fixed her with his unwavering gray gaze. "Are you indicating you feel unequal to the task?"

"No! Oh, no! It's just…" At his pointed look, she composed herself, and replied evenly, "The first step would be to send the painting for infrared reflectography and x-radiography to ascertain what the different layers of paint can reveal about its composition. While that's being done, research can begin into the painter's biography for any direct references or clues regarding the time and place of the painting's production."

He nodded. "The painting is being x-rayed as we speak, and the infrared reflectogram should be done by Thursday at the latest. The time estimate for this project is eight months, which is, I believe, almost the exact length of time remaining on your internship. I propose you take responsibility for seeing the investigation through, from outset to completion. I sincerely doubt you will make any earth-shattering discovery, but it will give you experience with every stage of a painting's conservation, which is extremely valuable in itself. What do you say?"

At first, stunned speechless by so unexpected an offer, Bonnie could do nothing but stare. She had been wanting a challenge, and here one was being presented to her on a platter. She could hardly breathe for excitement. "Yes, please! I mean, I'd like that very much, yes."

Dr. Baer did not quite manage to suppress a smile at her enthusiasm. "I should make clear that the museum wants the whole process — every procedure, every analysis, every picayune detail — meticulously documented. You will need to make extensive notes, take lots of photos, keep track of all read-outs and test results. It's sound practice in any case, but, in the unlikely event the painting proves to be genuine, it will be absolutely crucial to have a complete record of every aspect of treatment. Any questions?"

Bonnie nipped her bottom lip to keep from grinning like a mad woman. "No. Thank you so much for this opportunity, Dr. Baer. I'll make the most of it."

"Well," he said gruffly, looking anywhere now but at her. "See that you do. I believe that is all, Miss Booth-Hodgins. Good luck."

She took her dismissal gracefully, her mind already speeding ahead to the museum archives and the publications she could consult for information regarding Antoine Lebrun. She was on her feet and turning to leave when she was brought up short by Dr. Baer's calling her back. "Yes?"

"One last thing: I want to make sure you understand that my choosing you for this project has nothing whatsoever to do with your kindness to Danny over the weekend. This is not some sort of quid pro quo."

The idea that Dr. Baer was, in a sense, repaying a debt had not once occurred to Bonnie. "No," she said, automatically, "of course not. But, speaking of Danny…" She reached into her lab coat pocket, and, retrieving the last of her invitations, held it out to him. "I was hoping you'd bring him by the art exhibit my fine arts seminar is sponsoring this weekend. He's been so generous with his art work. I'd like to show him something of mine."

Dr. Baer accepted the card, studied it briefly, and then, with a sigh, set it down on his desk top. "Please sit down again, Miss Booth-Hodgins."