“Me?”

“Yeah. I’m curious. You’re a curiosity. As long as you don’t mind answering personal questions—”

“How personal?” Daniel interrupted.

“Unapologetically intrusive, knowing me. Unconscionably so.”

“You have a large vocabulary, Eleanor.”

“And you have a large...” She paused as he gave her a warning look. “House.”

“I do.”

“How does a librarian afford a house like this? That was the first unapologetically personal question, for those of you keeping count.”

Daniel smiled but Eleanor saw the pale ghost of pain pass across his eyes.

“Librarians can’t afford houses like this. But a partner in a Manhattan law firm can.”

“Your wife? She was a lawyer?”

“She was. A very powerful attorney.”

“You married a shark?” Eleanor asked, laughing.

“A corporate shark, in fact.”

“Wow,” Eleanor said, duly impressed. “How did you meet her?”

“At the library, of course.”

“She read?”

“She gave,” Daniel said with great emphasis on the last word. “She gave balls, galas, parties, charity events, fund-raisers of every stripe. She actually had a heart and a conscience. She was the human face of an otherwise very imposing old firm. She held a gala one year to raise money for a literary charity at the NYPL—”

“Holy shit, you worked at the NYPL?”

“Fifth Avenue, Main Branch,” he said with barely concealed pride.

“With Lenox and Astor?” she asked, naming the two famous lions that guarded the legendary library.

“On warm days I ate my lunch outside with Astor.”

“Why not Lenox?”

“He asked too many personal questions.”

“I like him already. So you were both guests at the party?”

“Oh no. She was the hostess. I happened to be working late that night in the Map Room. Lowly archivist. Not important enough for an invitation.”

“So you were tucked away in a dusty corner alphabetizing 18th century maps of Tierra del Fuego...”

“Something to that effect—”

“And she slips away from the suffocating crowd of the geriatrically wealthy—”

“Has anyone ever told you that you should be a writer?”

“No one who’s ever tried it themselves. But back to you and her. So you’re up to your elbows in Fuego and she rushes in all disheveled elegance, out of breath, desperate for just one moment of solitude...”

“Actually I was examining a map of Eurasia for signs of wear; she strolled in quite calmly, apologized very politely when she saw me and said she simply wanted to see the library by night.”

“I like my version better. But still that is romantic. You gave her a tour? It was love at first sight?”

“Intrigue at first sight. I assumed she was just a guest at the gala. She was lovely, intelligent, a very young-looking thirty-nine.”

“Ohh...an older woman. I love it.”

“Her age or mine was never a factor. Or perhaps it was. She was older than me, powerful, wealthy...but at night when we were alone...”

“She was your slave,” Eleanor said, finishing his sentence.

“My slave. My property. My possession.”

“Your possession...I know how she must have felt. Pressure to be in charge of the world. So much responsibility. The whole world on her...to let go and just give herself to you, to give up to you...”