“The least you could’ve done is accept his invitation to a celebratory lunch.”

“I didn’t want to have lunch with Julian. I wanted to have lunch with you.”

“He has an idea he wants to discuss.”

“What sort of idea?”

“A partnership,” Chiara said. “He wants us to become partners in the gallery.”

Gabriel slowed to a stop. “Let me make this as clear as possible,” he said. “I have absolutely no interest in becoming a partner in the sometimes-solvent firm of Isherwood Fine Arts.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing,” he said, walking again, “we have no idea how to run a business.”

“You’ve run several very thriving enterprises in the past.”

“It’s easy when you have the backing of an intelligence service.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Gabriel. How hard can it be to run an art gallery?”

“Incredibly hard. And as Julian has proven time and time again, it’s easy to get into trouble. Even the most successful gallery can go under if it places a bad bet.” Gabriel gave her a sidelong look and asked, “When did you and Julian concoct this little arrangement?”

“You make it sound as if we were conspiring behind your back.”

“That’s because you were.”

With a smile, Chiara conceded the point. “It happened when we were in Washington for the unveiling of the Rembrandt. Julian pulled me aside and said he was beginning to think about the possibility he might actually retire. He wants the gallery to end up in the hands of someone he trusts.”

“Julian will never retire.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Where was I when this deal was being hatched?”

“I believe you’d slipped outside for a private conversation with a British investigative reporter.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this until now?”

“Because Julian asked me not to.”