Three Fates

woman would pay with sex, there was no end to the variety of meals.
    Now, she was a very wealthy widow—who could buy her own.
    Still, men were useful. Think of all the contacts her dear, departed husband had put at her disposal. The fact was, Paul was handier dead than he’d been alive. Widowhood made her even more respectable and available.
    Considering, she went back to her desk and opened her husband’s burgundy leather address book. Paul had been very old-fashioned in some respects and had kept his address book meticulously up to date. In the last years, when his hand hadn’t been quite so steady, she’d written in the names herself.
    The dutiful wife.
    She paged through until she found the name she was looking for. Stefan Nikos. Sixtyish, she recalled. Vital, wealthy. Olive groves or vineyards, perhaps both. She couldn’t quite recall. Nor could she recall if he currently had a wife. What mattered was he had money, power and an interest in antiquities.
    She unlocked a drawer, drew out a book of her own. In it, she’d noted down everyone who’d come to her husband’s funeral, what flowers they’d sent. Mr. and Mrs. Stefan Nikos hadn’t made the trip from Corfu, or Athens—they had homes in both places—but had sent an offering of five dozen white roses, a Mass card and, best of all, a personal note of condolence to the young widow.
    She picked up the phone, nearly buzzed her assistant to make the call, then reevaluated. Best to make it herself—friend to friend—she decided, and was already practicing the words and tone as she dialed.
    She wasn’t put through right away, but she held the line and her temper so that when Stefan picked up, her voice was as warm and welcoming as his.
    “Anita. What a wonderful surprise. I must apologize for keeping you waiting.”
    “Oh, no. You didn’t. I’m the one who’s surprised I’d be able to reach a busy man like you so easily. I hope you and your lovely wife are well.”
    “We are, we are, of course. And you?”
    “Fine. Busy, too. Work’s a godsend to me since Paul died.”
    “We all miss him.”
    “Yes, we do. But it’s wonderful for me to spend my days at Morningside. He’s here, you know, in every corner. It’s important for me to . . . well . . .” She let her voice thicken, just slightly. “It’s very important to keep his memory alive, and to know old friends remember him as I do. I know it’s been a very long time since I contacted you. I’m a bit ashamed of that.”
    “Now, now. Time passes, doesn’t it, my dear?”
    “Yes, but who knows better than I that one should never let people drift away? And here I am, Stefan, calling you after all this time for a favor. I nearly didn’t.”
    “What can I do for you, Anita?”
    She liked the fact that a hint of caution had come into his voice. He’d be a man accustomed to hangers-on, to old acquaintances hitting him up for favors. “Yours was the first name I thought of because of who you are, and your friendship with Paul.”
    “You are having difficulties with Morningside?”
    “Difficulties?” She paused, then let embarrassment, even a touch of horror, color her tone. “Oh no. No, Stefan, nothing like that. Oh, I hope you don’t think I’d call this way to ask for any sort of financial . . . I’m so flustered.”
    She twirled, gleefully, in her desk chair. “It concerns a client, and some pieces I’m trying to track down at his behest. Honestly, your name popped into my mind, a kind of shot in the dark, as the pieces are Greek images.”
    “I see. Is your client interested in something in my collection?”
    “That would depend.” She tried a quiet laugh. “You don’t happen to own the Three Fates, do you?”
    “The Fates?”
    “Three small silver statues. Individual, that apparently link together by their bases to make a set.”
    “Yes, I have heard of them, but only as a kind of story. Statues forged on Olympus that will, if complete, grant the owner anything from eternal life to untold fortunes, even the fabled three wishes, one for each Fate.”
    “Legends increase the value of a piece.”
    “Indeed they do, but it was my impression that these pieces were lost, if they ever existed in the first place.”
    “I believe they existed,” she said, running a fingertip over the statue of Clotho, which sat now on her desk. “Paul often spoke of them. More to the point, my client believes it. To be frank, Stefan, he’s piqued my interest enough that I’ve made