“You have?” William narrowed his eyes at Gabriel. “He tends to hide that fact behind all of his fancy screens and chemicals and machines.”

“I saw it by accident,” Lia admitted. “But I’ve seen it all the same, and I agree wholeheartedly. He is extraordinarily talented.”

“Are you listening, Gabriel?” his grandfather demanded.

Gabriel looked out the window, pretending to be absorbed by something beyond the glass, acutely uncomfortable with the turn this conversation had taken.

“When he was younger, he spoke of nothing but becoming an artist,” William continued. “Exhibiting his work all over the world.”

“Indeed?” Lia sounded contemplative. “So what happened?”

“I grew up,” Gabriel growled. “And learned how to make a living. I believe we’ve been over this.”

“He could sell his work,” William insisted. “Should be selling his work.”

“I bought two of his pieces,” Lia offered. She still sounded thoughtful.

“You did?” William’s voice rose in disbelief.

“I did,” Lia confirmed.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” his grandfather said with clear delight. “I thought I would meet my maker before I saw that happen.” He thumped the arm of his chair with his hand. “I thought he’d hide his talent forever.”

“I’m not hiding.” There was more defensiveness in his protest than he had intended. “I’m not hiding,” Gabriel repeated.

“Then promise me you’ll exhibit your work—just once—and I can die a happy man.”

Gabriel stood and moved away from the window.

“Promise me, Gabriel,” his grandfather nagged.

“Fine. I promise.”

“Good.”

“Miss Leclaire plans to exhibit her collection,” Gabriel said, firmly changing the subject. “In Paris. We think some of the art may have been hidden prior to the war.”

William sniffed, giving Gabriel a look that told him he had fooled no one. “Well, you can send me photos, I suppose.”

“We actually have some photos that I’d like to show you now,” Gabriel said. “We’re hoping you may be able to tell us a little bit about them.”

“Oh?” His grandfather leaned forward.

Gabriel walked over to where Lia sat and took the folder from her. He crouched at the side of William’s chair and opened it. “We found these in Lia’s grandmère’s apartment, too, along with the art,” he told him. “We think that these are photos of Sophie. Your sister.”

This time, there was no missing William’s reaction. His ruddy face paled, his body stilling.

Gabriel laid the first photo on his lap, one of the glossy, Hollywood-style shots.

William stared down at it without making any effort to pick it up.

“Is that her?” Gabriel asked. “Aunt Sophie?”

Finally William lifted the photo. His fingers traced the edge of her face. “It looks like her.” His voice was barely audible. “But I don’t understand why these would be in your grandmother’s apartment. Were they friends?”