Lia’s stomach did a ridiculous somersault. “I would very much like to come with you because it would seem,” she said, shoving the sensation aside, “that some of the answers I’m looking for about my grandmère might be found in the same place.” Not because Gabriel Seymour was handsome and charming and kind.

“I hope so.” He held her gaze for a second too long before he looked away and cleared his throat. “It would be even better if we could find some answers about your paintings as well.”

“Have you been able to identify any?” she asked. “Find out who might have owned them?”

“Yes, to the first part of your question. Identifying the artists and their work is the easy part of this equation. Identifying the people who once might have owned those works is going to be far more difficult. And you should be prepared for the possibility that we might never be able to.”

Lia nodded.

“I’ve reached out to a friend, Patrick Langford, whom I graduated art school with and is now at Sotheby’s. His job is to verify the provenance of every painting and objet d’art that comes through Sotheby’s doors and ensure that what the auction house takes on consignment is not stolen. Over the years, he’s become a specialist when it comes to art looted by the Nazis during the Second World War. He spends a great deal of his own personal time researching and searching for lost treasures from those years.”

“And he’s agreed to help us?”

“God, yes. He nearly passed out when I showed him the photos and told him where the paintings were found.” Gabriel grinned crookedly. “Patrick has contacts in museums and auction houses all over the world and works closely with organizations such as the Monuments Men Foundation. He’s got multiple databases at his fingertips here in Europe and abroad. He also has access to the detailed records the Nazis themselves kept, and those records, ironically, have proven exceedingly valuable.”

Lia nodded. “You told him that I’m not ready to sell these paintings even if I can? Not yet, anyway?”

“Don’t worry. I made that clear.” Gabriel tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. “Both he and I ran a search of the name Aviva. We both came up empty with anything that might give us a lead, though that isn’t all that surprising given that, presumably, she was a child.”

“That would have been too easy, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Gabriel paused. “Have you given more thought to what you’d like to do with the paintings? In the short term, at least?”

“I’d like to exhibit them.”

“In Paris?”

“To start. They deserve to be shared, not hidden in a dark room. What do you think?”