As usual, Chiara was bothered by the dizzying stench of Gabriel’s solvents. To help cover the smell, she prepared lavish meals, which they ate by candlelight at their table overlooking Mount’s Bay. Though they tried not to relive the operation over dinner, the constant presence of the Rembrandt made it a difficult subject to avoid. Invariably, Chiara would remind Gabriel that he would never have undertaken the investigation if she had not insisted.

“So you enjoyed being back at the Office?” Gabriel asked, taunting her a bit.

“Parts of it,” Chiara conceded. “But I would be just as happy if the Landesmann operation turned out to be your last masterpiece.”

“It’s not a masterpiece,” Gabriel said. “Not until those centrifuges are in place.”

“Does it bother you to leave it in Uzi’s hands?”

“Actually, I prefer it.” Gabriel looked at the battered painting propped on the easel in the living room. “Besides, I have other problems at the moment.”

“Will she be ready in time?”

“She’d better be.”

“Are we going to attend the unveiling?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Chiara gazed at the painting. “I understand all the reasons why Lena decided to let the National Gallery have it, but…”

“But what?”

“I think I would find it hard to give her up.”

“Not if your sister had been turned to ash because her hair was dark.”

“I know, Gabriel.” Chiara looked at the painting again. “I think she’s happy here.”

“You wouldn’t feel that way if you spent as much time with her as I do.”

“She’s misbehaving?”

“Let’s just say she has her moods.”

For the most part, Gabriel and Chiara managed to keep the outside world at bay after their return to Cornwall. But in late February, as Gabriel was laboring through the teeth of the restoration, Martin Landesmann managed to intrude on their seclusion. It seemed Saint Martin, after an unusually long absence from public view, had decided to raise the stakes on his annual appearance at Davos. After opening the forum by pledging an additional hundred million dollars to his African food initiative, he delivered an electrifying speech that was unanimously declared the highlight of the week. Not only did the oracle declare an end to the Great Recession, he described himself as “more hopeful than ever” about the future of the planet.

Saint Martin seemed particularly upbeat about the potential for progress in the Middle East, though events on the ground the very day of his remarks seemed to conflict with his optimism. Along with the usual litany of terrorist horrors, there was an alarming report from the IAEA concerning the state of the Iranian nuclear program. The agency’s director dispensed with his usual caution and predicted the Iranians were perhaps only months from a nuclear capability. “The time for talk is over,” he said. “The time for action is finally upon us.”