"You find the fake," Schön assures her, "and I'll find the flaw."
And then they're turning out of the hallway and into a room where two virtually identical paintings stand on easels. An aging, friendly-looking woman stands between them, and smiles when she sees Schön; her graying hair is tied back in a bun, and her cream-colored blouse is loose and light. To one side stands a plump, red-faced man whose neck is a little too large for the collar of his very expensive suit, and whose hair can't decide whether it's blond or ginger, but is determined to stand up in one impertinent, curly tuft at the top of his forehead, a determined island against the encroaching bald spot.
"Schön," the woman greets, opening her arms. "Margaret," he replies, returning her embrace lightly and kissing her cheek. "Allow me to introduce Ms. Verity Willis, my expert on forgeries." That last prompts a bitter harrumph from Mr. Suit.
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And then they're turning out of the hallway and into a room where two virtually identical paintings stand on easels. An aging, friendly-looking woman stands between them, and smiles when she sees Schön; her graying hair is tied back in a bun, and her cream-colored blouse is loose and light. To one side stands a plump, red-faced man whose neck is a little too large for the collar of his very expensive suit, and whose hair can't decide whether it's blond or ginger, but is determined to stand up in one impertinent, curly tuft at the top of his forehead, a determined island against the encroaching bald spot.
"Schön," the woman greets, opening her arms. "Margaret," he replies, returning her embrace lightly and kissing her cheek. "Allow me to introduce Ms. Verity Willis, my expert on forgeries." That last prompts a bitter harrumph from Mr. Suit.