Follow My Lead by Kate Noble Page B

in this version, the snake wound its way around Adam’s ankle, securing his fall.
    “Yes, and the Society will be eternally grateful that he entrusted us with such an important piece in his will.” Lord Forrester replied, his eyebrows rising.
    Winnifred smiled kindly, hopefully putting Lord Forrester a bit more at ease—she wasn’t planning to take back the painting, and didn’t want the head of the Historical Society or any of the other gentlemen listening to think such a thing. The preeminent artisan of the German Renaissance, Albrecht Dürer was, of course, one of the most popular historical painters right now—one could almost say his renown was reaching a fever pitch—and an original work of his would command a hefty sum. She was already doing enough damage to the Adam and Eve’s value simply by questioning its provenance.
    “Yes, I’m sure,” she demurred. “In assisting my father with his project, I have been corresponding with a number of Dürer enthusiasts throughout Europe.” At that, she shot a hard look to George, who could do nothing more than look dumbfounded. Not even he could dispute that she had been working in such a capacity, as her father’s aide. “And I have come to believe that this particular painting, while a very fine representation of the German Renaissance, is not a Dürer work.”
    “This is preposterous!” she heard George swear under his breath. In fact, she was not the only one with keen hearing, because Lord Forrester quelled any further outburst from George’s quarter with a spare glance.
    “How”—Lord Forrester cleared his throat—“did you come to this conclusion, my dear?”
    Well, she had been bold enough to bring it up, no reason to be coy now. Although, with George listening so intently, she did need to be careful.
    “There is a gentleman who has been archiving all the Dürer papers he can lay his hands on, and when I mentioned this painting to him, he mentioned a number of letters that he had found associated with it, written by the hand of someone who seemed to be taking credit for the work.” She took another deep breath, falling into the flow of the lecture. “And you must admit, there is something marginally . . . different about this painting than other Dürer works. Indeed, even his other depictions of Adam and Eve. The unfinished feeling of the tips of Eve’s hands—as if she herself is an unfinished work by God. Dürer was detailed in his oils; the unfinished effect was not of his style. The way Adam turns from the canvas—we see barely a third of his face . . . and here is Dürer, the most influential portraitist of his generation, not showing us a face? And there is the movement depicted in the . . . er . . . foliage.”
    Winn could not help but blush. One thing about this painting that had always captivated the pubescent Winn, when boys were more a mystery than ever, was how it created the impression that if a breeze blew the wrong way, the painted fig leaves might blow away with it.
    Several of the gentlemen present, including Lord Forrester, were peering at the small canvas now, examining it. Wondering.
    “To be completely honest, my father debated including this work in his compendium for weeks. Months,” Winn added hopefully, and then cursed herself for doing so. Because George took her pause for breath to jump into the fray, arguing.
    “Even if your father had questioned the painting’s authorship, he obviously came to a conclusion about it, as he never spoke of it to me as anything other than a Dürer.”
    Winn could only set her mouth in a harsh line, as the men spilling into the room murmured agreements with George. Even one or two giving a “right-o, my good man” and other such inane male encouragements.
    Even dead and gone, her father—in the eyes of the Society’s members—remained the final word on all things artistically historical. And here she was, admittedly disagreeing with that final word! “All the same,” she