“She called me a jewel.” Delighted, Malory hugged herself. “I love her. This is good stuff, Tod. It’s really started my day off on a high note.”

“There’s even more. James is pissed. When’s the last time you’ve seen James pissed?”

“Um. Never.”

“Bingo.” Tod punched a finger in the air. “He was pale as a sheet, his mouth was all tight and grim. And he told Pamela between clenched teeth”—Tod clamped his together to demonstrate—“ ‘I need to speak with you, Pamela. Upstairs.’ ”

“What did she say?”

“Well, she stormed up, and he went behind her. Then he closed the door, which was very disappointing. I couldn’t hear much of what he said, even though I went up and lurked around hoping to. But you could hear her clearly enough when she started raging. I’m making something out of this place, she tells him. You said I was in charge. I’m tired of having Malory Price thrown in my face every time I turn around. Why the hell didn’t you marry her instead of me?”

“Oh.” Malory thought about that scenario for a couple of seconds. “Eeuuw.”

“Then she started crying, saying she was working so hard and nobody appreciated her. And she ran out. I barely scrambled away in time. It was all so exhausting, yet oddly exhilarating.”

“Crying? Damn it.” A little worm of sympathy crawled into Malory’s chest. “Were they I’m-really-hurt-and-sad tears, or were they just I’m-really-pissed-off tears?”

“Pissed-off tears.”

“Okay, then.” She squashed the worm without mercy. “I’m probably going to hell, right, for getting such a charge out of all this?”

“We’ll get a nice little condo together. But while we’re still shuffling on this mortal coil, I think James is going to ask you to come back. In fact, Mal, I’m sure of it.”

“Really?” Her heart gave a quick leap. “What did he say?”

“It’s not so much what he said, as what he didn’t say. He didn’t go running after the weeping Pamela to dry her beady eyes. In fact, he stayed for the rest of the day, going over accounts. And he looked grim when he left. Absolutely grim. I’d say Pamela’s reign of terror is at an end.”

“This is a good day.” Malory let out a long sigh. “A really good day.”

“And I’ve got to get started on it. Not to worry,” he said as he got up. “I’ll keep you updated with bulletins. Meanwhile, the painting you were wondering about? The portrait?”

“The what? Oh, yes. What about it?”

“Remember how we both thought there was something familiar about it? It came to me. Do you remember, about five years ago, the oil on canvas, unsigned? Young Arthur of Britain, on the verge of drawing Excalibur from an altar of stone?”

Chilly fingers brushed the nape of her neck as the painting floated into her mind. “My God. I remember. Of course I remember. The color, the intensity, the way the light pulsed around the sword.”