Forty

Dr Kessler viewed himself as a highly skilled domestic assistant. Years of study, a small fortune in fees and a growing reputation for delicate attention to detail ensured he was a highly paid one.

The course of his duties took him around the world, desirable places he had previously only read about in folded copies of National Geographical or The Times travel supplements. Fresh from assignment to the curious and much revered clay figures of Bhutan, he now found his work taking him hot off a plane to the world heritage city of Luang Prabang. Nestled between the lapping waters of the rivers Mekong and Namkhani, the city drew its popularity from the steep pagodas crowning the temples and palaces below.

Temporarily closed from the prying eyes of the public, he made his way up a pleasant walkway bordered by sweet scented orchids, shaded by tall palms, to the Haw Pha Bang, the rebuilt temple housing the precious Pha Bang. The flight of steps through the entrance took him past a hissing serpent, its long tail pointing the way into the lofty sanctum.

Once inside, the summer heat was met by a welcome draft generated by the domed ceiling. He placed a tray on the cooling stone floor and prepared a mixture of fine grade extra virgin olive oil and baking soda. There were many pungent chemical formulas but he preferred a more traditional approach, the resulting paste soothing rather than clashing against the ancient surface.

It was a struggle now to allow his feet to run up the marble steps leading to the Pha Bang, his hands opened as a sign of welcoming and peace. Naturally the files emailed with the assignment provided detailed insight into much of the history, plus a great deal of technical data on composition, dry weight and other essentials. Delving further into the notes he learnt that the Buddha dated from the early middle ages, though some speculated that the statue was sculpted a thousand years before this.

Moving up to the Pha Bang he carefully lit the four large candles surrounding it. These helped cast a delicate light, slipping across the contours he was about to gently clean. He selected a soft artist’s brush and set about his work. Using long sweeping strokes, he started from the head. Working the paste in first he applied a thin coat before polishing off with a cotton cloth. It was a process he would repeat many times, careful always to leave the paste soaking the precious gold for a little over two minutes.

Whilst working on the head he took a closer look at one of the many diamonds glistening under the candlelight. The weight would surely carry many carrots. He took out a small magnified loupe. Close up the diamond looked smaller than he might have imagined, set in such a way as to enhance the overall mass if the gem. He could clearly view the lines shaping the cut diamond. Taking a while longer he traced the ridge of one edge. Catching his breath he looked again, his eye borrowing more intently through the lens of the loupe. It looked a very clean incision; too perfect. A cut so straight had to be crafted by a laser. He shook his head in confusion. Industrial lasers were not available until the latter part of the twentieth century. A shout broke his attention. Chester, his technical assistant was calling out. There was something about a call from New York, a curator needing advice on an Aztec figurine. He wiped the remaining paste away and made his way back down the steps. He must try and remember to note down his finding.