Page 22 of Homeport

A stubborn line dug its way between her eyebrows. “I’d stake my reputation on it. It’s an early work, brilliantly executed—it’s a gorgeous piece, echoing the sensual style of his drunken Bacchus. I was still working on documentation when I left, but there’s enough to support it.”

“The bronze wasn’t documented?”

Miranda began to tap her foot in irritation. “Giulietta probably hid it, or at least kept it to herself. Politics. It fits,” she insisted. “I’d have proven it without a doubt if she’d given me more time.”

“Why didn’t she?”

Unable to sit, Miranda unfolded her legs and got up to jab at the fire with a poker. “Someone leaked it to the press. We weren’t nearly ready for an official announcement, and the government got nervous. They fired Standjo, and she fired me. She accused me of leaking it.” Furious, she whirled back. “Of wanting the glory so badly I’d have risked the project to get it. I would never have done that.”

“No, of course not.” He could brush that aside without a thought. “They fired her.” Though it was small of him, he couldn’t quite stop the grin. “I bet that set her off.”

“She was livid. Under other circumstances, I might get some satisfaction out of that. But now I’ve lost the project. Not only won’t I get credit, but the only way I’ll see that piece again is in a museum. Damn it, Andrew, I was so close.”

“You can bet that when the bronze is authenticated and announced, she’ll find a way to get Standjo’s name in it.” He arched a brow at his sister. “And when she does, you’ll just have to make sure yours isn’t left out.”

“It’s not the same.” She took it away from me, was all Miranda could think.

“Take what you can get.” He rose as well, wandering over to the liquor cabinet. Because he would have to ask. “You saw Elise?”

“Yes.” Miranda slid her hands into the pockets of her robe. Because she would have to answer. “She looks fine. I think she’s well suited to managing the lab there. She asked how you were.”

“And you told her I was just dandy.”

Miranda watched him pour the first drink. “I didn’t think you wanted me to tell her you were turning into a brooding, self-destructive drunk.”

“I’ve always brooded,” he said, saluting her. “All of us do, so that doesn’t count. Is she seeing anyone?”

“I don’t know. We never got around to discussing our sex lives. Andrew, you have to stop this.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a waste and it’s stupid. And frankly, though I like her, she’s not worth it.” She lifted her shoulders. “No one’s worth it.”

“I loved her,” he murmured, watching the liquor swirl before he drank. “I gave her the best I had.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe she didn’t give her best? Maybe she was the one who didn’t measure up?”

He studied Miranda over the rim of his glass. “No.”

“Maybe you should. Or maybe you should consider that the best you had and the best she had didn’t equal the best together. Marriages fail all the time. People get over it.”

He studied the liquor, watching the light flicker through the glass. “Maybe if they didn’t get over it so easily, marriages wouldn’t fail so often.”

“And maybe if people didn’t pretend love makes the world go round, they’d pick their partners with more care.”

“Love does make the world go round, Miranda. That’s why the world’s so fucked up.”

He lifted his glass and drank deeply.

five

The sky shimmered with a cold, gray, angry dawn. Restless, dark, and full of sound, the sea hammered against the rocks and rose up to punch its white fists into the raw and bitter air. Spring would have a fight on its hands before it could beat back winter.

Nothing could have pleased Miranda more.

She stood on the bluff, her mood as fitful as the churning water below. She watched it spew up from the rocks, ice-edged and mean, and drew in the ancient violence of its scent.

She’d slept poorly, tangled in dreams she blamed on temper as much as travel fatigue. She wasn’t one for dreaming. It was still dark when she’d given up on sleep, and had dressed in a thick green sweater and dun-colored slacks of soft wool. She’d scraped out the last of the coffee—Andrew wasn’t going to be pleased when he awoke—and had brewed herself half a pot.

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