“It’s beautiful,” I say dumbly, an understatement.

“Edward does enjoy having me around to help him spend his money. Come on back, let’s have some champagne before everyone else gets here. Do you know about Klimt?”

I shake my head. I’d been in plenty of rich peoples’ homes before—a perk of being connected with the trustees and the Duncans—but I still felt like a kid in a museum. None of the ski fans in our milieu were particularly into art though; back then, I was the prize commodity.

“He was an odd duck,” Gemma continues, opening the vast gleaming fridge in Edward’s kitchen and pulling out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. “Viennese. And quite the pervert actually, obsessed with the female body—naturally—and something of a recluse. No café society for that one. He had dozens of extramarital affairs, but he rarely left the house or even put pants on.”

“Living the dream.”

Gemma laughs. “Indeed! I’m only hoping to save Edward from the same fate. He spends entirely too much time in his bathrobe if I’m not here.”

We wander back into the living room and stand near the fireplace. For a moment, we both stare at the Klimt.

“Edward has the right house to pull it off too. Sadly I’ve never owned any property that would support something as flashy as a Klimt.”

“Your knowledge of art is impressive,” I venture.

“Well, yes, I specialize in impressive. Pedigree, credentials, lineage. All of the things I was raised to believe in. But it’s all useless in the end isn’t it? Or rather, its usefulness is limited to a very small radius. And I assure you, I’m currently very far outside of that radius. And the irony is, I thought I wanted out.”

“Buenos Aires seems like a good place for an . . . art dealer?”

She smiles, throwing back the rest of her champagne.

“Curator.”

She slips back into the kitchen and returns with the bottle.

“And what goes on in your radius, Liz? Tell me about your life. What would you be doing right now if you weren’t here?”

For a moment, my mind reels. If I weren’t here, I’d be preparing for the Olympics in Vancouver, but only if my life had gone very differently. Only if . . .

“Well, it’s winter there now, of course,” I say, plastering a smile on my face to hide my discomfort, “so lots of skiing, some snowshoeing maybe. Hot tubbing, drinking hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps. Simple stuff.”

“Sounds divine. You’re very sporty, aren’t you? You remind me of my friend Katherine, she’s always going hunting and horseback riding. Her cheeks are forever this ruddy outdoorsy shade of pink, it’s very fetching.”

I startle at the name, but it’s just a coincidence.

“Hello, ladies.”