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Milan, Naples, Venice, and of course, the papacy. The birth too of a new school of thought in art—humanism. Rational inquiry was the key.”

    “Art’s never rational.”
    “Of course it is.”
    He only shook his head. “You’re too busy looking into the work to look at it. Beauty,” he said, gesturing to the serene face of the Madonna, “is a most irrational thing. You’re nervous,” he added when he took her hands and felt the chill on her skin.
    “Anxious,” she corrected. “Have you seen the other areas?”
    “I thought you’d walk me through.”
    “All right, but I don’t have much time. I’m expecting my mother within the hour. I want everything in place when she gets here.”
    She walked with him through the room. “I’ve left wide traffic patterns, putting the sculptures—with the Donatello bronze as the centerpiece—out into the room for a full circling view. People should be free to wander, then to move through this egress into the next gallery, the largest, which represents the High Renaissance.”
    She stepped through. “We’ll continue the theme here of showing not only the art itself, but what surrounded it, underlay it, inspired it. I’ve used more gold in here, and red. For power, for the church, royalty.”
    Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she circled, studying details, looking for any slight adjustment that needed to be made. “This era was richer and had more drama. So much energy. It couldn’t last, but during its brief crest, it produced the most important works of any era before or since.”
    “Saints and sinners?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “The most popular models of art, saints and sinners. The raw yet elegant sexuality and selfishness of the gods and goddesses, juxtaposed with the brutality of war and cheek by jowl with the grand suffering of the martyr.”
    He studied the beatific if somewhat baffled face of Saint Sebastian, who was about lanced through with arrows. “I never got martyrs. I mean, what was the point?”
    “Their faith would be the obvious answer.”

    “No one can steal your faith, but they can sure as hell take your life—and in nasty, inventive ways.” He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “Arrows for the ever popular Sebastian, roasting alive for good old Saint Lorenzo. Crucifixions, body parts lopped off with glee and abandon. Lions, tigers, and bears. Oh my.”
    She chuckled in spite of herself. “That is why they’re martyrs.”
    “Exactly.” He turned away from Sebastian and beamed at her. “So you’re faced with the pagan horde and their primitive yet hideously efficient implements of torture. Why not just say, ‘Sure, no problem, boys and girls. What god would you prefer I worship today?’ What you say doesn’t change what you think or what you believe, but they can certainly change your status of living.”
    He jerked a thumb toward the canvas. “Just ask poor beleaguered Sebastian.”
    “I can see you’d have prospered during persecutions.”
    “Damn right.”
    “What about words like courage, conviction, integrity?”
    “Why die for a cause? Better to live for it.”
    While she pondered his philosophy and searched for the flaws in it, he strolled over to study a table artfully crowded with religious artifacts. Silver crucifixes, chalices, relics.
    “You’ve done an amazing job here, Dr. Jones.”
    “I think it works very well. The Titians will be the major focal point of this room, along with your Raphael. It’s a magnificent piece, Ryan.”
    “Yes, I like it quite a lot. Want to buy it?” He turned to grin at her. “The beauty of my business, Dr. Jones, is that everything has a price. Meet it, and it’s yours.”
    “If you’re serious about selling the Raphael, I’ll work up a proposal. A great many of our pieces, however, are donated or on permanent loan.”
    “Not even for you, darling.”
    She only moved her shoulders. She hadn’t expected anything else. “I’d put The Dark Lady there,” she said suddenly. “Every time I imagined this room, worked on the angles, the flow, the theme, I’d see it standing on a white column with grapevines twining down. Right here.” She stepped forward. “Under the light here. Where everyone could see it. Where I could see it.”
    “We’ll get it back, Miranda.”
    She said nothing, annoyed with herself for daydreaming. “Do you want to see the next room? We have your Vasaris up.”
    “Later.” He stepped to her. It had to be done. He’d