The Magyar Venus

CHAPTERSIX

April 30

My Journey to Budapest was a difficult one, not because my accommodations were unacceptable, nor even because of the mal de mer that afflicted me as soon as the ship left England, but because of anxiety as to what I would find on my arrival. As to the city itself Budapest is a wonder. Although I had heard much from T, who extols the beauties of his native city with great enthusiasm, I believe I still laboured under the Englishman's staunch belief that of London there is no equal. I have seen with my own eyes that this is not so.

I felt great apprehension, almost oblivious of the splendid vistas on the river, as the steamer from Vienna made its way through the gorge and turned almost due south toward the city. Or to be precise, I should say cities. To my right, I saw Buda, its castle, not yet completed, but still impressive, having a fine vantage point high atop cliffs over the Danube. To my left lay the city of Pest, not so grand perhaps, but rather to my liking with its industrious nature. I am pleased that I chose to reach my destination by steamer rather than by train, and happy indeed that the disagreeable condition that plagued the first part of my journey did not reappear on the river, because it seems to me that arriving by boat is to capture the essence of the city, the Danube being so great a feature of it.

I am most fortunate in my choice of lodging, having found an apartment that is clean and well situated in what is called the Lipdtvdros not far from the Danube for a price that I am able to manage with some care. The building is owned by a family called Nddasdi who live on the piano nobile, the first floor, in what I am told are quite splendid accommodations, although they summer at their country estate in the mountains. The smaller apartments are above them, mine on the fourth, the top, floor. The janitor lives on the main floor near the front door, but behind the rather wide main stairway to the first floor. His name is Fekete Sandor, his wife Marika, whom I am to refer to as Fekete Neni, which means, I believe, Mrs. Fekete. The Hungarians put their family name first. My little apartment looks over the central courtyard, and yet, as I am on the corner of the building, if I stand just so, I can see the Parliament, and beyond it, just a glimmer, the Danube. The Parliament is not yet complete, but nonetheless rather grand. I walked the short distance to view them the day after I moved into my lodgings.

I am happy to find that many here speak some German, and my pitiful efforts in that same language are by and large understood. While we do not understand each other well, Fekete Neni is very kind and much concerned for my comfort.

I am most taken with the city. My walks about my neighbourhood are quite agreeable. The building in which I now stay is rather pleasing in aspect, neoclassical, with four columns in front. The main portal, up a few steps, is protected by a wrought-iron gate and there is some interesting tile work which I am told is porcelain from a famous Hungarian factory called Zsolnay. Across the street is an apartment one story higher than mine, modern and lavish in aspect. If I walk south and a little bit east, I come to the Basilica of Pest, and a little beyond that is a magnificent street which is referred to as a Sugdrut, a radial avenue. If I am correct, ut in Hungarian is a word for street or avenue. This avenue is shaded by chestnut trees, is wide and most impressive, and flanked by very beautiful buildings in many styles. One of the most beautiful of all is the Opera House, quite the equal of any in London, and if I husband my allowance, it may be that I will be able to see a performance there.

The admirable avenue, where I most like to walk, ends, or is it begins in a grand square, which like so many structures in this amazing city is under construction. It is to be a monument to the Magyar conquest of the Carpathian basin, built to honour its millenary year, already past, although the monument is not completed. It seems to me that the Magyars are a proud people much interested in their history and their heroes. They will tell you that Budapest is one of the oldest settlements in Europe. The Magyars themselves were a fierce nomadic race who came into this area from the east under the leadership of one Arpdd, conquering the area in 896, hence their millennium celebrations four years ago. While the monument to Arpdd is not finished, there are buildings to either side, one of which, a palace for the arts, is constructed to resemble a Greek temple with six Corinthian columns.

Beyond that, there is a city park which is endowed with a castle, quite an extraordinary one. On Sundays, many families gather in the park at an outdoor restaurant called Wampetics, and I am quite determined to take a meal there at some time during my visit. Should one become weary on the walk along the avenue, which must extend, by my reckoning, for two miles, there is an electric subway, the Franz Josef Underground line, which is a marvel. I find the trip in the yellow cars beneath the street exhilarating, but mindful of mounting expenses, I walk almost everywhere.

My lodgings are also most conveniently situated near the Danube. There is a splendid walk along its banks. The bridges across the Danube—bridges are hid in the local language which I am making every effort to learn—are a marvel of both engineering and aesthetics. I find the Lanchid, the chain bridge, which is very near my apartment, particularly attractive, but the Erzsebet Bridge, now under construction, will be equally impressive, I'm sure. It may well be that it is named for their Emperor Franz Josef's late wife, the Empress Erzsebet, Elizabeth we would call her, whom Fekete Neni tells me was adored here. They called her Sisi, but she died about two years ago, assassinated by a madman. They mourn her still.

The coffee houses seem to me to be a very important part of the life of the city, where like-minded men gather to discuss issues of importance, like politics, or great literature and the arts. Perhaps when T arrives we will visit one of these together so that he may translate for me the discussions. As it is, I rather enjoy the smell of coffee, slightly burnt, that permeates the air almost everywhere I walk, competing with the scent of violets this spring. The weather has been very fine since my arrival. It is such a relief from the rains that so depressed me in February when it seemed to me to be the worst such winter as I could recall.

I have left a letter and packet for T as we arranged before he left England for the continent. I have not received a letter back, but am not concerned. Nor am I idle. I am continuing my studies on ancient man, and indeed find myself quite taken with the idea that it should be possible to find evidence of his existence nearby. It now seems quite laughable to me that our immediate forebears believed as they did, that the world was created in 4004 B.C. I am much taken with the reports of the skeletons found in the Neander Tal, and also of reports of caves north of the city.

I have already made enquiries and find that a journey of reasonable duration will take me to the region in which limestone caves are to be found. When T arrives, I will question him closely on this subject, and it may be that he will accompany me there.

I am quite convinced that my decision to journey here was the right one.

September 13

Many questions had surfaced in my reading through the excerpts from Piper's diaries, the identity of T and the need for his anonymity being only one of them. The decision to choose Budapest was another. In 1900, most of the discoveries of evidence of early man had been in France or in Germany. If I were looking for an old skeleton in 1900 or so, the Dordogne in France was the place I'd go. Altamira in Spain was another possibility. The famous cave drawings there had already been found, and while many disputed their authenticity, someone like Piper would not. That was with the benefit of a century of hindsight, of course. Still, it was a question. Did T have something to do with it? Did Piper strike up a friendship, or perhaps even a business relationship, with a Hungarian so persuasive that Piper chose Hungary for his scientific explorations, other evidence to the contrary? The fact that the choice was such a happy one would surely be merely serendipitous.

On one point Piper and I were in total agreement. Budapest, to my surprise, is lovely, with broad tree-lined avenues reminiscent of Paris, the gleaming Danube its Seine. On one bank, Buda Castle reigns over its surroundings; on the other, the Pest side, cafes along the river's edge were filled with people enjoying the last of the sun before the cold weather took over, laughing and talking and sipping their drinks. I expected a city of Soviet-style gray concrete bunkers and prominent statues of heroes of the Revolution. I was wrong.

Only thirty hours after I'd been visited by Anna's specter in my dreams, I was sitting in the Cafe Gerbeaud, a very old coffee house not far from the Danube on Vorosmarty ter, a place that my guidebook told me everybody visited.

I was not, however, there because the guidebook said I should be. I was there because my hotel room on a back street off Andrassy ut near the Opera House was not yet ready for me, and because Karoly Molnar had, according to his expense claims, been there four times on the trip that netted him the Venus, in the company of someone by the name of Mihaly Kovacs.

It's amazing what you can find out about a person from their expense claims. I knew that Karoly usually stayed at the Hilton in Buda, came to the Gerbeaud almost every day, and, if I'd been able to read Hungarian, which I couldn't, I would have known what he ate. What I didn't know was anything about the city in which I found myself. It had been a very long time since I'd been somewhere I'd never been before, and where I spoke not so much as a word of the language. While I do get to travel all over the world, I have a regular route for my buying trips, agents and pickers at every stop, and at a very minimum, I know how to say hello, thank you, and goodbye. Not here.

Right at that moment I couldn't think what had possessed me to come. I was jet-lagged, fatigued beyond endurance, to say nothing of rumpled and scruffy. All I'd brought with me, other than clothes and toiletries hastily assembled, were Karoly's file and the book on the discovery of the Magyar Venus. The guidebook, I'd acquired at Heathrow.

I could see it was a business kind of place, as well as a tourist haunt. The tourists were there, certainly, in their jean suits and trainers, money belts strapped around their middles, but there were locals too, people with papers spread out on the marble-topped tables, talking very seriously to a companion or their cellphone.

I'd managed to order an egg sandwich and a coffee, and thus encouraged, decided to try to ask the waitress whether she knew a Mihaly Kovacs.

"Please?" she said. "More coffee for you?"

This is not going to be easy, I thought. I tried pointing at the name on the invoice.

"American Express?" she said. "Yes, here."

'Perhaps I could help," a very attractive woman a table or two away said.

"I'm supposed to be meeting someone here," I lied. "I don't know what this person looks like. I was just hoping the waitress would know him."

"Let me try," she said, and I pointed out the name. "It is pronounced Kovash," she said. "Despite what it looks like. That explains your problem."

She spoke to the waitress who shook her head. "She doesn't know him," the woman said.

"Thank you for your help," I said. "My name is Lara McClintoch, by the way. I'm an antique dealer from Toronto. As you have already guessed, I'm new to Budapest."

"Laurie Barrett," she said. "A lawyer, also from Toronto. I'm here keeping my husband company. He's in insurance."

"But you speak Hungarian," I said.

"Not particularly well anymore," she said. "But yes, a little. My mother is from Hungary, and I spoke it a bit when I was young. Her father's name is Lorand, and she found me an English name that was close. My father was British. It was only with my grandmother that I spoke Hungarian. My husband comes here regularly. He's opening an office here for his firm, and I often tag along. I take Hungarian lessons when I'm here, and it helps a little. I wouldn't bother trying to learn it unless you'll be here a great deal, by the way. More and more people speak English, now that the Soviets are gone. It's a difficult language, not related to any of the romance languages you might stand a chance of comprehending."

"My guidebook says it's related to Finnish in some obscure way."

"Apparently so."

"Do you still have relatives here?" I asked.

"No. I did try to find the family home. It wasn't there, bombed, I expect during one of the wars. Hungary has a bad habit of being on the wrong side of just about every war going. I was disappointed not to find the house, as was my mother to hear about it. We're so accustomed to moving all the time, in North America. You know, bigger and bigger houses as the family grows, then back to an apartment at retirement. But here people don't move as much. My mother's family had lived in the same house for several generations. That's the way it is, I guess. So are you here to buy antiques?"

"Yes," I lied again. "Well, sort of. This is really just a reconnaissance trip, I guess you'd call it. I've seen some really attractive antiques that have come from here, and given I had to be in Europe anyway, I thought I'd take a side trip to see what I could find."

"I love antiques," Laurie said. "Where are you going to look?"

"Umm, Falk Miksa," I said, naming the street on which Karoly claimed to have had a shop and where, as it turned out, the firm that had sold the Venus also did business.

"Where's that?" she said.

"The Pest side of the Margit Bridge," I said, trying to sound authoritative. This lying business takes a lot of energy. "Not that I know exactly where that might be from here."

She pointed over her shoulder. "That way," she said. "I could show you."

"That's very kind of you to offer, but you don't need to do that. I'll manage."

"Are you saying that because you don't want company? If so, that's fine. But to tell you the truth, I'm rather bored. My husband is at meetings much of the day, and it isn't as if I haven't been here many times before. I would be happy to show you around. If you are here alone, perhaps you would have dinner with my husband and me one evening, or perhaps we could go to the opera. We do that regularly while we're here. You really must see the Opera House."

"That is extremely kind of you," I said. "And I would appreciate being shown around. Right now, all I want to do is get to my hotel room, get cleaned up, and get some sleep. It's supposed to be ready at four."

"You've just arrived then?"

"I did."

"The overnight transatlantic nightmare. I'll give you one of our cards with our address and phone number on it. My husband and I stay in an apartment his company owns. I'll give you one of his business cards as well, in case you have a problem reaching me at the apartment. His name is Jim McLean, and you could always leave a message with his office. Just call when you would like a tour guide."

"Thank you," I said. "I will."

Despite what I'd told Laurie, sleep wasn't on the agenda.

As hard as I tried, I couldn't sleep more than a couple of hours that night, and spent most of it reading guidebooks, studying maps, and trying to figure out what approach I could possibly take to Mihaly Kovacs. Making an appointment was pretty much out of the question. If I told him what I wanted, he'd be sure to be on his guard. A surprise attack seemed the only answer, but I felt so out of my element, I couldn't figure out what to say.

What if he doesn't speak any English, I fretted. It was possible I could ask Laurie Barrett to accompany me to act as translator, if she'd be willing to do so, and with that thought in mind, I dug out her number and her husband's card. Then, just looking at it, I knew what I could do. J. R. McLean the card said, and he was a vice president at a very well-known international insurance company. It was a good card for my purposes, suitably vague as to the sex of its owner. I carefully copied out all the information on it, and early the next morning, headed for Falk Miksa.

Falk Miksa utca was right where Karoly said it was, at the Pest end of the Margit Bridge over the Danube. The little street, or utca, runs off the much larger Szent Istvan korut, and on that corner was a large BAV store, which I had learned from my guidebook was the government-run antique chain. The street itself was lined with private antique shops on both sides. The antiques on display were impressive to be sure, virtually acres of beautiful mahogany furniture, jade and ivory, huge crystal chandeliers, miles of Herend and Zsolnay porcelain, art deco everything, including some quite stunning jewelry. I was practically salivating by the time I'd walked a block or two.

The shops weren't open yet, so I had a cappuccino in a little coffee house called Da Capo, where the walls were lined with glass cases containing an extraordinary array of espresso cups, and where patrons sat on brown pseudo-leather banquets, and drank their coffee from mahogany tables.

At ten, I presented myself at Galleria Kovacs Mihaly and asked to speak to the proprietor. "Janet McLean," I said, holding up my card. "As you can see, I'm an insurance adjuster."

I believe he gave me his name, but I couldn't understand him. Fortunately he went back to his office to get his card. It was Hungarian on one side, and, praise be, English on the other. Kovacs Mihaly, proprietor, it said. Now wasn't that a break! I tried to hold on to McLean's card, but Kovacs insisted upon taking it and looking at it closely.

"How may I help you?" he said at last, in impeccable English.

"I'm here in regard to the insurance on an antiquity that I believe was purchased from you." I got out the copy Diana had made of the receipt from Karoly's expense claim, and waved it under his nose. "I'm sure you know it. It's called the Magyar Venus, and it's at the Cottingham Museum in Toronto."

"It hasn't been stolen?" Kovacs exclaimed.

"No, no, nothing like that," I said. "Now, first of all I will need to confirm the purchase price, which according to the receipt was six hundred thousand dollars. Correct?"

"Yes," he said.

"That's a very good price. I expect we'll be insuring it for considerably more than that, perhaps in the millions. Does that sound about right to you?"

"I would think so," he said. "If you would like a professional evaluation I would be happy to be of service."

"Thank you. I'll pass that information along to our valuation department. The seller was rather keen to unload it, was he?"

Kovacs looked annoyed. "It was a reasonable price. Dr. Molnar took a chance when he bought it, of course, but the arrangement allowed time for the tests, and the seller was very happy with the transaction."

"Well, assuming the Venus checks out, Dr. Molnar certainly got a bargain. You know Dr. Molnar personally, I take it? Didn't he tell me he once had a shop around here?"

"Yes, yes, of course I know him. And he had a shop just down the street a few years ago. But you said 'assuming the Venus checks out'. There can't be a question as to its authenticity!" he said. "Dr. Molnar told me he had submitted it to the most stringent of scientific testing—"

"Yes, indeed. And the tests, which we were intimately involved in arranging, were very reassuring. But you do see what I am getting at, do you not? There is that pesky matter of provenance. As you will know far better than I, in places like Hungary—as one of the Axis countries during the last war, and then afterwards under Soviet occupation— the question of ownership is something an insurer must consider. If someone claimed that it had been stolen, that would be a problem, now wouldn't it? As you are no doubt aware, most countries do not have a statute of limitations on genocide, and if a work of art were to be identified as Jewish cultural property confiscated by the Nazis, for example, and the true owner found, then the object is either returned, or the owner is compensated. I'm not saying that is the case with the Venus. I'm not saying that at all. But as you have already pointed out, the value of the authenticated Venus could well reach into the millions, and due diligence must be exercised. So, if you could just show me your records, that would be extremely helpful. A copy of any documents proving ownership that you have will be fine. I will take copies of them with me, and not take up too much of your time."

Kovacs looked at me very, very carefully. I tried to look crisp and authoritative. "I am afraid that I am not able to help you," he said after a few seconds pause. He was trying to look as if he were consumed with regret. "I understand your reason for asking, but if you have been insuring art for some time, you will know that there are times when the seller asks the dealer not to reveal his name, and I'm afraid this is one of those times. You might speak to Dr. Molnar at the Cottingham, however. I was able to get permission for him to speak to the seller, and he was quite satisfied that all was in order. Now, if I may help you with anything else?"

"I will have to go back to my superiors on this, you understand," I said, pulling Jim McLean's card out of his hand. "I will be back in touch when I've done that. Thank you for your time."

"It has been a pleasure," he said. "I am so sorry I was unable to help." I reached out to shake his hand. He looked at mine as if he thought there might be a gun in it, and then reluctantly shook it. I could understand why he had hesitated. His hand was shaking rather badly.

I had held out faint hope for that conversation, and was not surprised by the outcome. I wouldn't have given someone that kind of information if they'd just wandered into my store, but I had been hoping that decades of Soviet rule had instilled such a fear of authority in people that Kovacs would simply do what he was told if I was sufficiently officious. It had been, I supposed, worth a try. The visit was not without some benefit, in a negative sort of way, in that I had spotted a discrepancy. Karoly had claimed that he hadn't talked to the previous owner, Kovacs said he had. It wasn't a huge lapse, and in and of itself probably meant little, simply a miscommunication between Karoly and Kovacs, perhaps. But still, it was there.

I realized I was hungry and went out to Szent Istvan konit to find myself something to eat. Eventually I discovered a pleasant restaurant in the basement of an old building just off the koriit, the name of which, Keresztapa, I couldn't even guess until I was inside and discovered, from the photos of Manhattan in what was probably the thirties, and the English menu, was called The Godfather. I had a delicious soup of smoked sausage, mushrooms, sour cream, and the ever-present paprika that the waiter, who spoke some English, explained was called bakonyi betydrleves, something to do with young rogues. He recommended palacsinta for dessert, essentially crepes with cottage cheese and lots of whipped cream, dusted with sugar and flavored with vanilla. I was a new person when I was done.

But I was no further ahead. Unless I could think of some other way to persuade Kovacs to tell me at the very least who had owned the Venus most recently, I was in a bind. It certainly made it way harder. The only tack I could take now was to start at the other end, as it were, that is, start with Piper's discovery and try to work forward to the present. In some ways a hundred years is not long where an antiquity is concerned, in others it's an eternity. Right now it could have been a thousand years, not just a hundred as far as I was concerned, sitting here in a restaurant where I couldn't even read the menu without help. Should I start in Budapest with the discovery in the Biikks, or should I head for London and Piper's presentation to his colleagues in the pub? I just didn't know. And so, not defeated exactly, but certainly discouraged, I made my way back to the hotel. I thought I might try for an afternoon nap, given I hadn't slept much at night, and might awake to a more positive attitude. When I got to my hotel, however, I was handed a note.

We're here! the note said. We thought you might need some help. We're having a rest now to get over our jet lag, but meet us in the lobby around seven and we'll all go for dinner. Diana picked a place in her guidebook on the flight over, and the nice people at the desk say it's good. See you at seven. Morgan, Diana, Grace and Cybil.

My plan for shaking one person loose from the pack of suspects in the drugging of my drink had been stunningly unsuccessful, although at least two, Frank and Karoly, hadn't shown up. Not that Karoly was a suspect in this particular matter. He hadn't known who I was at that time, as I'd had occasion to mention since. It now behooved me to try to find out whose idea it had been to come here, and then figure out a way to distance myself from them all.

I thought of changing hotels while they slept, but when it came right down to it, it was probably just as well they were there. They were just as much a part of this puzzle as the Venus was, and perhaps having them where I could see them was for the best. I called Clive, though, to find out who he'd blabbed to.

"Rob called asking where you were, but I didn't tell him," Clive said the minute I reached him. "Wild horses wouldn't have dragged your location out of me."

"But you did tell somebody," I said. It was entirely predictable, and indeed, I'd been counting on it.

"No, I didn't," he said.

"Yes, you did," I said. "I'm betting Morgan. Tall woman, rather attractive, high heels."

"Morgan, of course," he said. "You didn't mean her, did you? Nice-looking woman. She said you were classmates, one of those Divas you occasionally talk about. I didn't think you'd mean her," he said. "When are you coming back?"

"When I'm done," I said.

"Done what? What are you doing over there?" he said.

"I'm not sure. Having a mini-nervous breakdown, maybe?"

He snorted. "Over what?"

"I don't know. Middle age, breakup with Rob, suicide of an old friend." I couldn't believe I was actually saying these words to Clive, of all people. I really needed to get some sleep.

"I see," he said. "I have two words for you, Lara. Shit happens. Get over it."

"That's five words, Clive," I said.

"And here's three more. Get back here."

"I thought you told me I should get away," I said.

"That was before I knew you'd be acting so silly," he replied. "Stay out of trouble, please." Lovely man. But maybe he was right.

The five remaining Divas had dinner at a restaurant off Vaci utca, the main shopping drag, very near the Erzsebet Bridge over the Danube. The place claimed to be one of the oldest restaurants in Budapest or something, and maybe it was. It was also my introduction to that Budapest institution, the surly waiter. Within two minutes of dealing with him, he had me longing, for the first time in my life, for someone who knelt beside my table to tell me his name was Jason and it was his pleasure to be my server that night. The man forgot just about everything we asked him for, argued with us when he brought the wrong entree, managed to go for very long stretches without ever making eye contact with any of his patrons, and took forty minutes to bring the bill. But that was the least of my worries.

"We're a little bit surprised that you just took off for Budapest without telling any of us that you were going," Grace began rather belligerently the minute we were seated.

"I don't recall anything about having to tell you where I was going," I said. "You asked me to trace the Venus's provenance and that is what I am here to do."

"You didn't return my file," Diana said.

"I'm glad you brought up the subject of your file," I replied. "Because I've been asking myself, is it normal to keep copies of all the documents you deal with when you're a bookkeeper? To keep copies at your home?"

"I was freelance. I worked from home," she said.

"I'm sure Diana has her reasons," Grace said.

"These were not all current files," I said, ignoring her. "Some of them went back to the day Karoly started at the Cottingham, I believe."

"So?" she said. "I brought the whole file home with me, that's all."

"Actually, they were not all expense claims either," I said. "Technically they shouldn't have been in the same file." I could see the others watching this exchange with some interest.

"When he fired me, I went back and got some of the files I thought would be useful," she said. "I had been wrongfully dismissed, and I wanted to prove my innocence, so I went back and got some of the files."

"No, you didn't," I said. "They changed the locks on your office before they fired you."

"You don't know that," she said.

"Yes, I do," I said.

"How do you know that?" she demanded. "The only person who could have told you that is Karoly Molnar!"

"I saw you, Diana. You couldn't get into your office."

That was not true, but I wasn't about to say I had been hiding behind a curtain when I heard the news.

"What are you getting at?" Diana demanded.

"I'd say she is wondering, as I now am, why you would have been collecting files on Karoly for all that time," Morgan said. "If I have interpreted this conversation correctly, there seems to be more to this than your being fired, perhaps?"

"Absolutely not," she said.

"So why did you, then?" Cybil demanded. "Keep the files for so long."

"Okay, if you want to know, I'll tell you," Diana said. "I have nothing to hide. I have my PhD, and I'm working part-time as a frigging bookkeeper, that's why. I live in a crummy apartment, I don't own a car, I can never take a decent vacation, and it is all because of Karoly Molnar. Do you know the magic word when you're teaching at a university? It's tenure. I'd got my doctorate, slaved as a student, a teaching assistant, and finally a professor. And then it came time for me to apply for tenure. However, I'd written my thesis on a subject that Karoly considered his own. Furthermore, my conclusions contradicted, no, not just contradicted, destroyed, one of his prize theories, and when it came time for my application for tenure at the university to be considered, he vetoed me. I'm told he spoke very eloquently, as only he can, against me. I expect I don't need to tell you that that ended my academic career on the spot. No other university was going to touch me, and I'd already invested years of effort where I was for nothing. I had to scramble just to earn a living, and have been working at pathetic jobs ever since."

"So when he came back to Canada you saw your chance for revenge," Cybil said.

"Yes, I did," Diana said. "I got a job at the museum.

Karoly even hired me. He's probably forgotten what he did to me, it was so inconsequential from his perspective. I had heard about his big spending habits from a former colleague of mine who works in England now, and I figured I'd bide my time and I'd find a discrepancy somewhere in his expense accounts, and the board would fire him, for a change. But then the Magyar Venus came along, and I was sure it was a fake. I still think so. And I don't care what you think of me keeping his files."

"I don't know why you wouldn't have told us this before," Cybil said.

"I agree," Grace said. "You shouldn't keep this bottled up. We are your friends, you know. Talking about it will enable you to move on."

"Whatever," Morgan said.

"It does rather beg the question of why we're all here, sitting in this restaurant tonight," Cybil said. "I guess I just want to believe that it was not my insensitivity, my negligence as a friend, that allowed Anna to die. I suppose I'd rather believe that Karoly had something to do with it, although I can't think what it would have been. I have no reason other than my personal demons to come to such a conclusion."

We all sat and thought about that for a minute. Grace reached over and patted Cybil's hand. "You mustn't blame yourself for what happened," she said.

Morgan made a face. "Lara knows why I'm in this, but right this minute I think I'd rather not say," she said. "Lara, tell them I've confessed already, please."

"She has," I said. "What about you, Grace? Do you have some reason you haven't shared with us. Can it really be because he dumped you in university? Surely not."

"I have my reasons," Grace said. "I prefer to leave it at that."

"And you, Lara?" Diana said. "Why are you here, exactly? Surely, to use your expression, it is not because he didn't recognize you that night. I will not believe that."

"Maybe I'm here to prove you all wrong, Diana," I said. "Had you thought of that?"