Homeport

For the first time Elizabeth smiled, a quick curving of lips that was more an acknowledgment of the absurdity than genuine amusement. “Carlo Rinaldi. Apparently he’s an artist at heart, if not in deed. He’s never been able to make a living from his painting and his wife’s father owns a plumbing business, so . . .”
    Miranda’s quick eyebrow flick was a measure of mild surprise. “Does his background matter?”
    “Only insofar as his connection to the piece. There appears to be none. He, from all accounts, literally stumbled over it. He claims to have found it hidden under a broken step in the cellar of the Villa della Donna Oscura. And that, as far as has been verified, seems to be the case.”
    “Was there some question of that? Is he suspected of fabricating the story—and the bronze?”
    “If there was, the minister is satisfied with Rinaldi’s story now.”
    Elizabeth folded her perfectly manicured hands on the edge of the desk. Her New England spine was straight as a ruler. Unconsciously, Miranda shifted ever so slightly to level her own.

    “The fact that he found it,” Elizabeth continued, “smuggled it out of the villa in his toolbox, then took his time reporting it through the proper channels caused some initial concern.”
    Troubled, Miranda folded her hands to keep her fingers from tapping on her knee. It didn’t occur to her that she now exactly mirrored her mother’s pose. “How long did he have it?”
    “Five days.”
    “There was no damage? You’ve examined it?”
    “I have. I’d rather not make any comments until you’ve seen it yourself.”
    “Well then.” Miranda cocked her head. “Let’s have a look.”
    In answer, Elizabeth walked over to a cabinet, and opening the door, revealed a small steel safe.
    “You’re keeping it in here?”
    “My security is more than adequate. A number of people have access to the vaults in the labs, and I preferred to limit that access in this case. And I thought it would be less distracting for you to do an initial exam here.”
    With one coral-tipped finger, Elizabeth punched in a code, waited, then added another series of numbers. Opening the reinforced door, she took out a metal box. After setting it on her desk, she opened the lid and took out a bundle wrapped in faded velvet.
    “We’ll date the cloth as well, and the wood from the step.”
    “Naturally.” Though her fingers itched, Miranda rose and stepped forward slowly when Elizabeth set the bundle on her spotless white blotter. “There are no documents, correct?”
    “None, so far. You know the history of the villa.”
    “Yes, of course. It was once the home of Giulietta Buonadoni, a mistress of Lorenzo the Magnificent known as the Dark Lady. After his death she’s believed to have become a companion of other Medicis. At one time or another every light of the Renaissance in or around Florence was welcomed into her home.”

    “So, you understand the possibilities.”
    “I don’t deal in possibilities,” Miranda said curtly.
    “Exactly. That’s why you’re here.”
    Gently, Miranda brushed a finger over the tattered velvet. “Is it?”
    “I wanted the best, and I’m in a position to access what I want. I also demand discretion. If news of this find leaks, the speculation will be wild. That is something Standjo can’t and won’t risk. The government wants no publicity, and no public speculation until the bronze is dated, and tests are complete.”
    “The plumber’s probably already told all his drinking pals.”
    “I wouldn’t think so.” Again that small smile played around Elizabeth’s mouth. “He took the bronze out of a government-owned building. He’s quite aware, at this point, that if he doesn’t do precisely what he’s told, he could go to prison.”
    “Fear is often an efficient gag.”
    “Yes. But that isn’t our concern. We’ve been commissioned to test the bronze, and to provide the government with all the information science can offer. We require an objective eye, someone who believes in facts, not romance.”
    “There’s no room for romance in science,” Miranda murmured, and carefully unwrapped the velvet.
    Her heart gave one hard thud against her ribs when the bronze lay naked. Her skilled and experienced eye recognized the brilliance of the workmanship, the glory of it. But she frowned, instinctively burying admiration under skepticism.
    “It’s beautifully conceived and executed—certainly the style falls within the