Evelyn’s eyes dropped to his hand.The diamond rested against his finger, held there by the tight loops of chain.It was not a ring he could properly wear.He did not try to explain it.“Keep my name out of it,” he said.The documents lay between them.“Don’t put it on her trust.”Evelyn closed the file.He took his coat from the back of the chair, gave a small, courteous nod, and left alone.Outside, Manhattan was still cold.***Three years later, winter came early.In a newly restored gallery at the Met, an exhibition celebrated young women working in painting conservation.The Vivian Hayes Trust had sponsored it.In the quietest corner, several restored nineteenth-century coastal landscapes stood inside a glass case.Beside them lay an open charcoal sketchbook.Rain slanted past Roman columns.A black umbrella stood on the steps.There was no one beneath it.A man in a black coat watched from the other side of the glass.He was thirty-nine.Gray had spread at his temples.His shoul
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