The Chrysalis Read Online Free Page B

work in squalor, my patrons here expect to see us surrounded by exquisite objects…even if they’re just on loan.”
    Michael launched into the day’s schedule, and Mara noted, with both relief and a hint of disappointment, that his tone was friendly but businesslike. He informed her that her day would culminate with a meeting with the Provenance Department chief, Lillian Joyce, a woman he characterized as prickly. She served as Beazley’s ultimate gatekeeper: It was her job to guarantee the untainted pedigree of all the artwork that passed through the institution, and she would assure Mara of the purity of
The Chrysalis
’s title.
    Michael’s words faded into the background as Mara’s eyes cast about for any clues that would help her read this man. The snoop in her longed to study the bookshelves, examine the photographs, and paw through drawers. Was there a story behind the jade Fu dogs that served as bookends or the richly carved teakwood elephant collection on an end table? Where and when had he acquired such beautiful exotic objects? Had he done a lot of traveling? Did he travel alone? Or did all the items come from Beazley’s coffers? She realized that, in fact, she had learned very little about the adult Michael over dinner, then told herself that two professionals having dinner
should
learn very little about each others’ personal lives. If anything, she had perhaps learned way too much.
    â€œIf you’re not too tired after all that,” she heard him saying, “I’m hoping you’ll join me at the cocktail party and the auction?”
    Mara nodded. In spite of herself, she was happy that he hadn’t forgotten his original invitation.
    After brief, futile meetings with the operations and auction departments, Mara rejoined Michael for their appointment with Lillian. They entered a conference room, unlike any meeting space Mara had ever encountered. Three walls covered with priceless carved antique cherry paneling enclosed a phalanx of French doors that opened onto a flagstone terrace looking over the park. A John Singer Sargent portrait of a well-dressed man who had to be Beazley’s founder presided at the head of an impossibly long boardroom table, while Impressionist paintings, a Cassatt, a Seurat, and a tiny Renoir adorned the remaining walls.
    Mara held out her hand to greet Lillian, who wore an immaculately tailored navy skirt suit that was somehow au courant and classic at once. If she overlooked the severity of the tight chignon of thick, silvery hair and the harsh slash of deep red lipstick, Mara found Lillian attractive, particularly her piercing, nearly turquoise eyes. She certainly looked younger than what Mara had assumed, given her years at Beazley’s. But she very quickly understood Michael’s “prickly” label. Lillian’s terse welcome and brusque handshake conveyed the fact that she both begrudged the time spent away from her research and resented the implicit challenge to her work.
    In contrast, however, Lillian bestowed a grandmotherly kiss upon Michael’s cheek and even allowed him to snake his arm around the back of her chair in a protective nonembrace once they settled at the table. Mara understood now why he had deemed it necessary to attend this meeting as opposed to the others: His presence was a peace offering to Lillian.
    Lillian began with a primer on the provenance search. “A provenance is the history of ownership of a prized object.” Lillian spoke as if reading from a textbook, her accent clipped in the mixed British and New England manner of the stars of Hollywood’s golden era. “A completed provenance search results in a document, which enumerates the known owners of the object. Sometimes this document is combined with a list of the scholarly literature where the object is mentioned and the exhibitions where it has been displayed.”
    â€œHow do you create a provenance?” Mara