It was a sleekly modern structure with white concrete parapets, stone ledges, and glass. Everything about the design bore Liam Jenner’s signature. As she got out of the car and made her way toward the niche that held the front door, she wondered where he’d found an architect saintly enough to work with him.

She glanced down at her watch and saw that she was exactly half an hour late for this command performance. Just as she’d intended.

The door swung open. She waited for him to bark at her for not being on time and was disappointed when he merely nodded, then stepped back to let her in.

She caught her breath. The glass wall opposite the entrance had been constructed in irregular sections bisected by a narrow iron catwalk some ten feet from the ground floor. Through the glass she could see the sweeping vista of lake, cliffs, and trees.

“What an amazing house.”

“Thanks. Would you like something to drink?”

His request sounded cordial, but she was even more impressed that he’d traded in his paint-stained denim shirt and shorts for a black silk shirt and light gray slacks. Ironically, his civilized clothes only emphasized the Sturm und Drang of that rugged face.

She declined his offer for a drink. “I’d love a tour, though.”

“All right.”

The house hugged the terrain in two uneven sections, the larger of which held an open living area, kitchen, library, and cantilevered dining room, with several smaller bedrooms tucked into lower levels. The catwalk she’d seen when she’d entered led to a glass-enclosed tower that Liam told her held his studio. She hoped he’d let her see it, but he showed her only the master bedroom below, a space designed with an almost monastic simplicity.

Magnificent works of art were on display everywhere, and Liam talked about them with passion and discernment. An enormous Jasper Johns canvas hung not far from a contemplative composition in blues and beige by Agnes Martin. One of Bruce Nauman’s neon sculptures flickered near the library archway. Across from it hung a work by David Hockney, then a portrait of Liam done by Chuck Close. An imposing Helen Frankenthaler canvas occupied one long wall of the living area, and a totemlike stone-and-wood sculpture dominated a hallway. The very best of the world’s contemporary artists were represented in this house. All except Liam Jenner.

Lilly waited until the tour was over and they’d returned to the central living area before she asked about it. “Why haven’t you hung any of your own paintings?”

“Looking at my work when I’m not in the studio feels too much like a busman’s holiday.”

“I suppose. But they’d be so joyous in this house.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then the craggy lines of his face softened in a smile. “You really are a fan, aren’t you?”