On the counter behind her there was a stack of books, mostly religious, intermingled with Italian love stories. There were photographs. Dozens of pictures, mostly of Alessio, chronicling his age. There was one picture of the entire family, shot at a photo studio, though it was obvious that it had been shot a while back. Alessio looked scarcely two years old in the picture. There was another of an older American woman with silver hair leaning against a fence post in front of a horse. It was pinned to the wall next to a picture of a man. The man was dressed in corduroy jeans and his hairstyle dated the picture. Ross guessed it was Eliana’s father. There were several other pictures of horses, and also an actual horseshoe with writing on it that looked like a signature next to Happy trails.

She cocked her head to one side. “Okay, we’re almost there.”

She switched on a desk lamp directed toward her canvas; then she turned off the room lights. She studied him again then sat down on a leather-capped stool.

“So what’s the routine?” Ross asked.

“I start with a pencil sketch. Then, sometime after you’re gone, I’ll paint in the background, for balance. Then I start painting.”

“Are you using acrylics?”

“No, I only use those to practice because they dry fast. This is special so I’m using oils.”

Ross scratched his forehead, careful not to move. “That reminds me of something. Francesca, she’s the woman I work for at the Uffizi, told me this story about one of the paintings. A newly wealthy merchant asked Leonardo for a portrait. They agreed on a price; then the merchant asked what medium Leonardo would be painting in. ‘Oils,’ Leonardo said. His patron was incensed. ‘Where do you think you are, Naples? In Florence we do everything in butter.’ ”

Eliana smiled slightly. “I would believe that’s true.”

“Oils. Linen canvas. So what makes this portrait special?”

“You. You’re my first real model in Italy. Not counting Alessio.”

“So after you paint the background, then what?”

“Over the next several sittings I’ll paint a black-and-white picture of you. Then I’ll start applying the paints. I’ll start with your hair, just because it’s higher on the picture and I can still rest my hand against the canvas, then on to your nose and work out from there.”

“How long will it take?”

“That depends on how many questions the subject asks.”

“At this rate?”

She grinned. “About ten years.” She sat down at the easel. “All right, I’m ready.”

She lifted her pencil and began to sketch, sometimes hidden behind the canvas, sometimes peering around it at Ross. Her pencil made a smooth, comforting sound against the linen. After about twenty minutes she said, “All right, let’s take a break.”

Ross took a deep breath and exhaled. Eliana rolled her stool out from behind the easel.