More art hung on the walls—this time instead of paintings there were black-and-white photographs taken by some of the world’s most renowned photographers and photojournalists. I made a quick tour, reading names and captions: Henri Cartier-Bresson, Alfred Stieglitz, Diane Arbus, Robert Capa, Edward Steichen, Ansel Adams. I stopped in front of the lone exception: an oil painting of a beautiful young woman in a blue-and-white gown, her red cape strewn on what appeared to be a throne next to the sea. Two men—one elderly, one young—and a horned creature that looked like a devil, surrounded her.

I was still staring at it when Prescott said in a sharp voice, “Take a seat, Lucie, won’t you? The sofa’s very comfortable.”

I stole one more quick glance at the painting and read the small plaque attached to the bottom of the frame. FERDINAND COURTING MIRANDA, WILLIAM HOGARTH, CIRCA 1735.

Miranda. Rose and Prescott’s daughter’s name.

“Lucie,” Prescott said again. “Do sit down.”

I turned around, flustered, as if he’d caught me spying or eavesdropping. He was standing behind the bar where a bottle of Madeira, a decanter filled with dark, ruby wine, and two crystal tulip-shaped glasses sat on a silver tray. Just how far in advance had he planned this meeting? It obviously hadn’t been a spontaneous idea.

“I see I’ve been expected,” I said. “It looks like your Malmsey was already waiting for us.”

Now he was the one who looked chagrined. His smile was half guilt, half guile. “I spoke to my sommelier earlier and asked him to decant our wine. He’s new, but so far, so good.”

“Is he here? In the wine cellar?”

“No, he’s upstairs helping at the party. It’s just you and me down here.”

I’m sure he didn’t mean to sound menacing, but a small shiver went up my spine. I walked over and sank into the sofa, which was covered in a concrete-colored fabric. It enveloped me like a pillow and felt like the softest cashmere.

I slipped my phone out of my pocket and checked the strength of the signal. One bar and then no bars. No way to let Quinn know where I was. Damn. I already regretted not insisting that he join us.

“I heard you have a new laboratory,” I said. “Maybe you could show it to me?”