Homeport

“Hello? . . . Hello, Mother.” She pressed a hand to her speeding heart and listened.
    It came as a demand, but that was to be expected. More, it was outlined as a fait accompli. Her leave was to be terminated, immediately, and she was to contact the Boldari Gallery and make arrangements to proceed. Her schedule was to be adjusted, this was to be priority, and the display would be conceived, planned, erected, and completed the second weekend in May.
    “That’s barely a month. How—”
    “I realize it’s a short amount of time for something of this scope, but Mr. Boldari has other commitments and conflicts. He’ll work with Andrew of the publicity for the gala, with Vincente pitching in. Your only concern for the next four weeks is the display. He expects a great deal from you, Miranda, and so do I. Is that understood?”
    “Of course.” Absently she slipped off her glasses, hung them by the earpiece in her pocket. “I’ll start right away. Giovanni—”
    “The service was very lovely. His family appreciated the flowers. I’ll be in close touch with you on this matter, Miranda, and expect to arrange my schedule to come in the first week of May, if possible, to supervise the final touches. Be sure to send me the proper reports.”
    “You’ll get everything. Goodbye. . . . It’s done,” Miranda murmured as she replaced the receiver. “Just like that.”
    “I didn’t mention Giovanni,” Ryan told her. “That can’t come from me. You’ll have the idea for this tomorrow, and after running it by me and securing my agreement, you’ll send her a memo.”
    He set his plate on the counter, chose a cracker for her and topped it with cheese. “Out of that will come the notion that all key staff members from all Jones organizations will attend the event in a show of unity, support, and respect.”
    “They’ll come,” she murmured. “My mother will see to it. But I don’t see what good this does.”
    “Logistics. Everyone connected in one place, at one time.” He smiled and ate another cube of cheese. “I’m looking forward to it.”
    “I have to get to work.” She pushed both hands through her hair. “I have an exhibit to design.”
    “I’ll be flying in from New York tomorrow.”
    She paused at the doorway and glanced back. “Oh, will you?”
    “Yes. Morning flight. It’s going to be a pleasure to see you again, Dr. Jones.”

twenty-three
    “I t’s good to have you back.” Lori set a steaming cup of coffee on Miranda’s desk.
    “I hope you feel that way by the end of the week. I’m about to run you ragged.”
    “I can handle it.” Lori touched a hand to Miranda’s arm. “I’m so sorry about Giovanni. I know you were friends. We all liked him so much.”
    “I know.” His blood’s on your hands. “He’ll be missed. I need to work, Lori, to dive in.”
    “All right.” She walked to a chair, poised her pencil over her notebook. “Where do we start?”
    Deal with what needs to be done, Miranda told herself. One step at a time. “Set up meetings with carpentry—get Drubeck. He did good work on the Flemish display a couple of years ago. I need to talk to legal, to contracts, and we’ll need to pull someone out of research. I want someone who can check data quickly. I’ll need ninety minutes with Andrew, and I want to be notified the moment Mr. Boldari arrives. Arrange for lunch to be set up in the VIP lounge—make it for one o’clock and see if Andrew can join us. Check with restoration. I want to know when works in progress of our era will be completed. And invite Mrs. Collingsforth to be my guest any day this week for tea—again we’ll use the VIP lounge.”
    “Going after her collection?”
    The avaricious look sharpened Miranda’s eyes. “I think I can convince her she’d enjoy seeing her paintings in this showing, with a nice, tasteful brass plaque saying ‘on loan from the collection of.’ ”
    And if she couldn’t convince Mrs. Collingsforth, Miranda thought, she’d sic Ryan on her.
    “I’ll need measurements of the South Gallery. If they aren’t on record here, get me a tape measure. I want them today. Oh, and I want to see a decorator.”
    Lori’s busy pencil paused. “A decorator?”
    “I have an idea for . . . atmosphere. I need someone inventive, efficient, and who knows how to take orders instead of giving them.” Miranda drummed her fingers. Oh yes, she knew what she wanted, right down to the last inch of fringe. “I’ll