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“If nothing else, Ms. Toth, you are entertaining.”
“Allow me to give you my professional, educated opinion on the earring and I’m sure I can come up with a few more risqué innuendos while I’m at it.”
“I have no doubt.” He was sitting back in his chair, relaxed, and threw back the last of his wine, then set aside his glass decisively. “Very well. Let’s go to my office.”
“Really?” Her heart nearly came out her throat.
“Perhaps you’ll tell me it’s a fake and we’re arguing over nothing.”
He led her to a study next to the receiving parlor. It held the smell of the ashes in the unlit fireplace and leather-bound books. The books were free of dust and arranged in severe lines on a wall of shelves. There was a door to the parlor and a small footstool to the side of the desk, closest the windows. Its placement gave her the impression he often swiveled his chair to set his feet there and contemplate his kingdom through the windows.
Over the marble mantel, an imposing portrait stared down at the pair of leather chairs that faced the desk.
“Is that your father?” The clothing didn’t seem right, but the resemblance to Viktor was undeniable.
“Istvan.”
Oh. No wonder her grandmother had fallen so hard. He seemed to project Viktor’s same aloof confidence.
“And this is Cili.” Viktor went behind the desk, drawing her gaze to the painting he pulled away from the wall to reveal the safe mounted behind it.
Rozi moved so she could get a better look at the seated woman wearing a yellow gown with a billowing skirt. She cradled a dog in her lap. The work captured beautifully the glint of light against satin and the hues in the dog’s fur.
“There’s no combination. It’s my fingerprint. You can’t break in unless you plan to dismember me.”
“I’m looking at her, wondering how people sat for so long in those days. Surely that dog got fed up and snapped at her? But she keeps that peaceful smile on her face.”
He closed the safe and swung the painting back into place. “The painter was her lover.”
“Of the dining room floorboard lovers?”
“He didn’t carve his initials into the space, so we can only assume he spent time there. Her marriage was arranged, and despite her husband’s generous wedding gift of a pair of elegant earrings, their relationship was strained. That’s why my aunt Bella was allowed to forgo marriage. Her mother refused to trap her in a situation she adamantly opposed.”
“She never married?”
“Her romantic feelings lay in a direction that was considered inappropriate. She’s had companions over the years. She lives alone now.”
“But your mother was persuaded to marry your father when your grandmother offered the earring she’d managed to recover.”
“This one, yes.” He opened a velvet box and showed her the clover of sapphires and diamonds set in granulated gold nestled on a bed of satin.
She gasped aloud, shocked by the visceral impact of seeing it for the first time. Her gaze ate up the square-cut blue sapphires and dozens of tiny diamonds, maybe a twentieth of a carat, that formed the petal patterns around the oval sapphire in the center. A gem hung from the bottom, framed in more of the intricate beadwork.
Emotive tears sprang to her eyes—the kind that overtook a marathon runner in the last sprint. She couldn’t even touch it. Could only hold her hands to her cheeks as she gazed, transfixed.
* * *
Had he expected more avarice? Yes. Instead, she wore a look of reverence. She had said she would consider holding the earring an honor and a privilege. He had thought she was exaggerating. He hadn’t even understood the concept since he had never been humbled by anything. Not by an object and certainly not by a person—the painful situation around his brother’s death notwithstanding. Responsibility had tested his mettle, of course, forcing him to prove what he was made of, but that didn’t intimidate him. He had risen to that challenge, refusing to let it make him feel small.
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