“It takes a lot of research, which most people would find tedious. So many dead ends and disappointments,” said Tess. “Most of my time is spent combing archives and old records and catalogs. It can be frustrating. But so worthwhile when I get to make a restitution like this. And every once in a great while, I might find myself peeling away a worthless canvas to find a Vermeer beneath. Or unearthing a fortune under a shepherd’s hut in a field somewhere. Sometimes it’s a bit macabre. The plunder might be stashed in a casket.”

Miss Winther shuddered. “That’s ghoulish.”

“When people have something to hide, they tend to put it where no one would want to look. Your piece wasn’t stored in a dramatic hiding place. It was tagged and neatly cataloged, along with dozens of other illegally seized pieces.”

Miss Winther arranged the scones just so with a crisp linen napkin in a basket, and brought them to the table.

Tess took a warm scone, just to be polite.

“It sounds as though you like your work,” Miss Winther said.

“Very much. It’s everything to me.” As she said the words aloud, Tess felt a wave of excitement. The business was fast-paced and unpredictable, and each day might bring an adrenaline rush—or crushing disappointment. Tess was having a banner year; her accomplishments were bringing her closer to the things she craved like air and water—recognition and security.

“That sounds just wonderful. I’m certain you’ll get exactly what you’re looking for.”

“In this business, I’m not always sure what that is.” Tess sneaked another glance at the clock on the stove.

Miss Winther noticed. “You have time to finish your tea.”

Tess smiled, liking this woman almost in spite of herself. “All right. Would you like me to leave the contract with you or—”

That’s not necessary,” the old lady said, touching the faceted pink topaz. “I won’t be selling this.”

Tess blinked, shook her head a little. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My mother’s lavaliere.” She pressed the piece against her bosom. “It’s not for sale.”

Tess’s heart plummeted. “With this piece, you could have total security for the rest of your life.”

“Every last shred of security was stripped from me forever by the Nazis,” Miss Winther pointed out. “And yet I survived. You’ve given me back my mother’s favorite thing.”

“As you say, it’s a thing. An object you could turn into comfort and peace of mind for the rest of your days.”

“I’m comfortable and secure now. And if you don’t believe memories are worth more than money, then perhaps you’ve not made the right kind of memories.” She regarded Tess with knowing sympathy.