Homeport

came in, with Elise in the forefront. Ryan saw a small, finely built woman with a pixie crop of hair and big, brilliant eyes. One step behind was a balding, pale-faced man he tagged as Richard Hawthorne, then a lushly built Sophia Loren look-alike with her arm through that of a robust man with olive skin and glossy white hair. The Morellis, he decided. Hovering over them, beaming loving avuncular smiles, was John Carter.
    “Excuse me.” Elise linked her pretty hands together. “I didn’t know you were busy.”

    More grateful for the interruption than she would allow to show, Elizabeth made introductions.
    “It’s so nice to meet you,” Elise told him. “I was in your gallery in New York only last year. It’s a treasure. And this.” Her eyes shone as she turned a circle. “This is glorious. Richard, get your nose away from that map and look at the paintings.”
    He turned, a sheepish smile on his face. “I can never resist a map. It’s an excellent exhibit.”
    “You must have worked like dogs.” Vincente gave Carter a hearty slap on the back.
    “I expected to be called on to scrub floors at any moment. Miranda had us jumping through hoops.” Carter smiled sheepishly again. “The restoration on the Bronzino was only finished yesterday. I heard everyone in the department shuddered when they saw her coming. Every department head’s been chugging Maalox for the past two weeks. Doesn’t seem to bother Miranda. Woman’s got nerves of steel.”
    “She’s done a brilliant job.” Elise glanced around again. “Where is she?”
    “She had an appointment,” Elizabeth said.
    “I’ll catch up with her later. I hope she’ll put us to work.”
    “She knows you’re available.”
    “Good. I, um, I thought I’d see if Andrew’s free for a few moments.” She sent Elizabeth an apologetic and wistful smile. “I’d like to see how he’s doing. If you don’t need me just now.”
    “No, go ahead.” She glanced over with mild amusement as Gina Morelli exclaimed and cooed over the display of jewelry. “Richard, I know you’ve been chafing to visit the library.”
    “I’m predictable.”
    “Enjoy yourself.”
    “We’ll know where to find him,” Vincente said. “He’ll be buried in books. Me, I’ll wait for Gina to study and covet every bauble—then she’ll drag me shopping.” He shook his head. “She too is predictable.”

    “Two hours,” Elizabeth announced, in the tone of the director. “Then we’ll meet back here and do what needs to be done.”
     
    Elise hesitated outside the door of Andrew’s office. His assistant was away from her desk, and she was grateful. Ms. Purdue was devoted to Andrew and wouldn’t approve of an ex-wife’s unscheduled visit. She heard his voice through the open door. It was a strong voice and brought her an odd nostalgia.
    She’d always liked his voice. The clear tone of it, the upper-crust accent, faintly Kennedyesque, she thought. She supposed, in her way, she’d seen him as a kind of scion of that type of high-powered, successful New England family.
    There had been such potential in their marriage, she thought. She’d had such hopes. But in the end, there’d been nothing to do but divorce and move on. From what she knew, she had moved on with considerably more success than Andrew.
    Though she was aware of the regret in her eyes, she fixed on a bright smile and rapped lightly on the jamb.
    “We’re expecting five hundred guests,” he said into the phone, then glanced up and froze.
    It all flooded back in individual drops of memory. The first time he’d seen her when she took over the job as assistant lab manager at his father’s recommendation. In a lab coat and goggles. The way she’d pushed the goggles up to rest on her head when Miranda introduced them.
    The way she’d laughed and told him it was about time, when he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out.
    The first time they’d made love. And the last.
    The way she’d looked on their wedding day, radiant, delicate. The way she’d looked when she told him it was over, so cold and distant. And all the moods in between that had slipped from hope and happiness to dissatisfaction, disappointment, then lack of interest.
    The voice on the phone was a buzzing in his ears. His hand fisted under the desk. He wished to God there was a drink in it.

    “I’ll need to get back to you on the rest, but all the details are in the press release. I’m sure we can arrange for a short interview