Page 57 of The Prize

“Yes, how did you hear about his work?”

“I read the article on him inTimemagazine,” said Tobias. “I’m surprised more people haven’t heard of him.”

“We don’t use social media.” Lawrence turned his attention to the garden. “When Brother Bay sells a painting it helps keep the lights on here. Bringing more attention to his work would be beneficial for all of us.”

Tobias smiled his approval. “With your blessing, I’d very much like to showcase a few of his paintings at The Plaza later this week. I’m arranging a charity ball there, and I’d be delighted to present his art. If a collector shows an interest in purchasing a piece, I’ll refer the buyer to you. Though you might consider Christie’s in the future when his popularity picks up.”

“This is extraordinarily kind of you.”

“I’m all for supporting young talent. I take a certain pride in discovering modern masters. Though Brother Bay’s work is already receiving attention.”

Brother Lawrence looked impressed. “Thank you, Mr. Wilder.”

Tobias set his mug down on the coffee table and pushed himself to his feet. “May we meet with him?”

“Of course.” Brother Lawrence led the way out.

We headed across the courtyard and along the cloister. I tugged on the back of Tobias’s jacket to warn him I was watching his every move. He turned and flashed a megawatt smile back at me and raised his brows playfully. We stopped before an old wooden door with a metal ring for a handle.

Lawrence knocked once. “Here we are.”

We stepped inside the chilled room and I sucked in a breath of awe—

The walls were adorned with modern portraits that were remarkably real, and what stunned me most was the artist had captured his subjects using a technique adapted from the old masters. I moved closer to one of them in a golden frame and realized if this man ever wanted to become a forger the art world would be in trouble.

Each painting reflected the soul of the individual who had posed. My gaze followed the rows of frames that led to a larger room where daylight flooded in. In the center a monk was standing before an easel and painting with the same style of the others.

We were in the company of a genius.

The monk turned and looked back at us with kindness in his expression, a young man of no older than thirty.

Tobias nudged my arm and I followed his gaze toward the stack of canvases resting in a wooden tray.

I pointed to them. “He even makes his own canvases?”

Brother Lawrence nodded. “Bay uses paints from ingredients he either grows or creates from scratch. He’s obsessed with the sixteenth century.” He reached for one of the canvases and handed it to me. “He’ll tell you all about it. Don’t let him talk your ear off.” He winked. “If you’ll excuse me.” Brother Lawrence threw us a wave as he headed out.

I turned over the canvas and marveled at the smoothness of it, assuming Tobias knew theMona Lisahad been painted upon a handmade linen cloth of tight warp and loose weft, just like this one. If studied under a microscope the weave would appear irregular. It was the kind of hemp the specialists would look for.

Tobias held his hand out for it. “May I?”

I gave it to him. “Can we talk?”

“Will you excuse us?” He smiled over at Brother Bay and led me toward a corner. “I’m not doing anything wrong, Zara.”

“Are you really going to showcase his paintings?” I whispered.

“Yes, they’re incredible. I’ll be proud to show them off.”

“What are you up to?”

“I’m here to learn.” He narrowed his gaze on me. “What are you up to?”

I ignored his cheekiness. “Learn what exactly?”

“Why don’t you take a walk in the garden?”

I pointed to him. “And leave you alone in here. No way.”