Murder at the National Gallery by Margaret Truman Page A

director’s raised voice had garnered attention. Confident it hadn’t, he said in almost a whisper, “Carlo has arranged it.”
    “Giliberti?”
    “Yes. I contacted him immediately. Fortunately, he was still in Rome and was able to make an instant overture to his friend, the minister of culture. It will take some money, and there are conditions. The Italian government, in a gesture of goodwill, will allow
Grottesca
to be sent to the National Gallery as soon as conservation has been completed. We will have the work to examine until the exhibition. Plenty of time to further authenticateits provenance and authorship. Then, we will be permitted to include it in the show for the first month, but only for that one month. At the end of that time, it must be returned.
    “But think about it, Court. Think of how much interest will be generated in the entire exhibition by this one rare—rare, hell, virtually unseen—masterpiece.
Grottesca
’s glow will light up all of Washington, all of America. Its only appearance in the United States will be at the National Gallery. It won’t travel to New York or to London along with the rest of the exhibition. For one month, Caravaggio’s greatest painting will rest solely within our walls.”
    Whitney abruptly stood up, not because he wanted to end the conversation but because he didn’t know what else to say. If Mason was right, the National Gallery—under his leadership—would be responsible for perhaps the greatest find in the history of lost art. It could potentially generate huge donations to the museum. He wanted to get back to his office to think things out. An immediate meeting with the trustees would have to be called. With others, too.
    “I want to mull this over, Luther. Decide what direction to take. A lot of decisions will have to be made, by many people.”
    “Of course,” Mason said, walking with the director from the club and into the terminal.
    “Where is the painting now?” Whitney asked. “In the church with the priest?”
    “No. Carlo arranged for it to be taken into custody by a leading European conservator. He wants to arrange for private conservation and restoration while details are worked out with the government to allow it to come here.”
    “You mean I won’t have a chance to see it?”
    “Not immediately,” was Mason’s answer. “But I’m confident that conservation can be completed in time for it to be unveiled briefly at the dinner. At least the preliminary work. Carlo is certain he will receive permission for us to do more conservation once it’s at the Gallery.”
    “We’ll need private funds,” Whitney said. According to policy and congressional intent, federal funds could not beused to conserve and restore works not owned by the National Gallery.
    “That certainly shouldn’t be a problem,” Mason said. “We’ll have donors fighting over each other to fund the work.”
    Whitney knew his senior curator was right. “Did you take a picture of it?” he asked.
    Mason shook his head. “I was too excited to think about finding a camera. I don’t travel with them, as you know. I prefer to record my travels in my mind, not on film.”
    “Yes, I’ve heard you say that before, Luther. All right. When will we be able to examine
Grottesca
?”
    “As soon as Carlo tells us it’s ready to be transported. We’ll have it in time for the dinner. I’m sure of that. You know that Carlo and I have worked closely together over the years. He is very much in our corner on this. He’ll do what’s in our best interest.”
    “Then I suppose it will have to be that way,” Whitney said. “Come on, my car’s outside.”
    “No, Court, I need some sleep. I’ll call you at the end of the day.”
    “Fine. This Father Gicuzzi.”
    “Giocondi.”
    “Whatever. It might be wise to have him at the dinner. To tell his tale of the painting. Authenticate what you’ve told me.”
    “I anticipated that, Court. He’ll come. It’s an excellent