“I’m not sure,” Lia said. “Did she ever mention a woman named Estelle Allard to you?”

William shook his head. “No.”

“Ever mention anything about paintings that were hidden in Paris?”

“No.” His answer was faint.

“There are more photos.” Gently, Gabriel laid out the rest of the Hollywood collection.

“She looks different,” William said, picking each one up in fingers that were trembling before putting them back down. “Different than I remember.”

Gabriel nodded. “What about this one?” He put the small, battered photo of Sophie astride the leggy horse on top of the blanket.

William was shaking his head. “No, this isn’t her. These all look like her but it’s not her.”

“How can you be sure?” Gabriel asked.

“Sophie didn’t ride. Horses, that is. She never rode when we were kids. The neighbours—the Stantons—had horses, down the road. They’d let me ride their old mare whenever I asked, but Sophie never came. Didn’t trust horses, she said.”

“Do you think that maybe she could have learned later on? Maybe when she was working in Poland?”

William picked up the picture. “No. She would have told me. She sent me letters,” he said. “Even when I enlisted and was moved around, her letters found me. Eventually. And that’s something she would have told me if only because I was such a brat to her about it. That’s not her.”

Gabriel extracted the last photo in the folder. “I think it is. Because this one was with it.” He put the picture of Millbrook on his grandfather’s lap.

William seemed to hold his breath. Gabriel put a hand on his arm, more to reassure himself that his grandfather would start breathing again.

“Then this is her?” William’s voice shook. His eyes were wet.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t she tell me she had learned how to ride a horse?” he whispered. He turned the photo over. “There’s writing here. What does it say?”

“It’s written in Polish,” Gabriel told him. “And it says ‘I will always remember.’”

His grandfather looked down at the collection of photos spread out on his lap. He suddenly looked every day of his ninety-eight years. “I’ve never seen any of these photos of her. I don’t know who took them or where they were taken.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Gabriel said.

“Forgive an old man his sentiments. These photos are reminders of a time that I didn’t have with her. Parts of her life I didn’t get to share. Selfish of me, I know, but after all these years, I still miss her. She was my dearest friend.” He removed his glasses and wiped at his eyes.