Two hours before the Met opened to the public for the day, Lauren took a quick walk through the Egyptian galleries, spot-checking the display cards to reassure herself they matched the exhibits.
At her side, Anita carried a clipboard with today’s agenda, ready to make any notes as necessary. “Good weekend?” she asked.
“Eventful.” Lauren described the Vandermeer and Moretti parties she’d attended.
“You had a date, I assume?” Anita tucked her raven hair behind an ear. “Let me guess. Your father. Or—wait, no!—a certain dashing detective.”
“Good guess.” Lauren allowed her smile to reveal as much as she wanted to on that score. She hardly knew what she felt, let alone how to put it into words. “My father is back in Newport overseeing repairs to the Napoleon House. What have you got for me?”
While Anita briefed her on the schedule, Lauren finished skimming the exhibit cards in the Jewelry room before passing into the adjacent Daily Life room.
“Miss Westlake,” Mr. Robinson called, hustling after her from the direction of Middle Kingdom Tomb Furnishings. “A word, please.”
Anita excused herself to start brewing a pot of coffee. “See you downstairs, Dr. Westlake.”
Lauren smiled at her loyal assistant, then gave her full attention to her boss. “I do hope things are better with the Morettis,” she began, and told him about attending their Christmas party last Friday.
“Did you? Smart. I knew you were good at this type of thing. Thank you.”
Lauren nodded, then added, “I’d love to share with you some new ideas on the spring exhibition sometime.”
“Sometime, yes. But right now we have a more pressing matter to deal with. An honorary fellow of the Metropolitan is in town, and we need to give him a private tour of the Egyptian rooms.”
Lauren mentally juggled her other commitments to fit this in. “Who is it?”
“Theodore Clarke. I’m sure you know the name.”
A jolt went through her. “Of course.”
He straightened his tie, one finger pushing in a dimple. “I thought so. We do still need the Morettis’ financial contributions, so keep up the friendly relations there, but the collection Clarke has promised the Met upon his death—one cannot overstate its importance to the museum. I hope I don’t have to tell you how much he amassed, a sampling of all the ages and phases of ancient Egyptian art. The man discovered eighteen tombs.”
“I’m well aware, sir.”
“He’s sensitive about the King Tut discovery eclipsing his decades of work. He knows we’ve lent our staff photographer and other team members to help Carter catalog the tomb as he clears it out, and I pray that doesn’t affect his confidence in how we value him and his collection. We need to reaffirm the decision he already made. In other words, don’t give him a reason to change his mind about the Met being the recipient of his legacy.”
Heat prickled Lauren’s scalp. If the stakes were this high, perhaps she wasn’t the best person to give this tour after all. Then again, whatever quarrel her father had had with Clarke had been decadesago. Dad might hang on to it, but since Clarke had clearly come out the winner, perhaps it was no longer an issue.
Mr. Robinson narrowed his eyes. “You’ve gone pale. What’s wrong?”
“My father worked with him in Egypt, many years ago.”
“On good terms, I hope?”
Unable to agree, she twisted her strand of pearls around one finger.
He rocked back on his heels. “Good heavens, Miss Westlake. If there is any bad blood between them, and I mean even a drop, don’t tell him who you are. I doubt your name will come up anyway. It’s not important. Whatisimportant is that you show him how seriously we take the stewardship of art. We must prove to him that none do it better. Not Boston. Not anyone. Reassure him that we are the best, the only choice for his collection.” He blew out a breath and smoothed his mustache.
After checking his watch, he began walking through the rooms, and motioned for Lauren to follow. “I’ll be with you the entire time. I’d conduct the tour myself, but no one knows these rooms better than you. I’ll help make sure the conversation doesn’t derail, that’s all.”
“And when will this take place?” she asked.
“We’re meeting him in the Great Hall now.”
———
Theodore Clarke carried himself with the bearing of a pharaoh. In a camel-colored suit with a blue dress shirt and gold tie, he wore the colors of sand, sky, and sun. Were it not for her father’s grievances against him, Lauren would be even more starstruck to meet him.
Mr. Robinson managed the introductions, calling her simply Lauren, stripping her of both her doctorate and her surname. She understood his reasons, but it still stung.
