secretary. Fortunately, she caught herself, claiming Violet Sparks as her identity.
"Hallo, Violet. I'm thankful you called so promptly."
"Hello, Mr. Bronson. What can I do for you?"
"Oh, do call me Barry. I'm a huge fan of your blog, and the owners of the items in the upcoming exhibit are requiring that our staging be approved before they ship their treasures. It's the first time I've had to deal with this kind of issue. So, I'm really under the gun here. I'd be most grateful if you'd consider meeting with me. I've got the basics established, but I feel certain displays lack pizazz. Without the jewels present, it's hard to mock up their settings. Would you consider discussing it over lunch?"
She could not believe what was happening. The director of Special Collections and Exhibits wanted her input on staging jewelry from Czarist Russia? She didn't have to think twice.
"I'd love to. What time and day works for you, Mr. Bronson?"
"Today would be best. Say around noon? And please, do call me Barry."
"All right, Barry. I'll see you at twelve."
The director signed off. Kate tried to pinpoint his sophisticated accent but couldn't. With a name like Barry, she guessed he was an older gentleman. Who would have thought such a blessing would come from her internet musings about jewelry?
She spent the remainder of the morning organizing her research for the presentation to Mr. Dodd. Finding the receptionist area deserted at 11:30, she took a quick glance around the fifteenth floor. The conference room had its shades drawn, and none of the department heads appeared to be in their offices. All signs pointed to an important meeting. She had her own summit to attend, so she didn't give the gathering any more thought as she hailed a cab.
Katrina attended numerous exhibits at the Heller over the years, so she knew her way around the public spaces of the museum. She approached the main desk, where she often purchased tickets, and asked to see Mr. Bronson. Again, she almost identified herself as Katrina Crimshaw instead of Violet Sparks. Oh, what a tangled web we weave .
Escorted upstairs, she waited outside a mahogany door as the receptionist knocked. A female voice authorized admittance, and the auditor was left alone in an anteroom with Bernard's secretary. The pretty twenty-something welcomed Katrina with a smile and invited her to sit in one of the chairs opposite her desk. She recognized Mr. Bronson's assistant as someone who possessed the sophisticated ease of the trust fund babies who populated museums and auction houses.
"Barry, Violet Sparks is here," the girl spoke into an office phone.
"Send her right in!"
Katrina overheard what sounded like a zealous response.
The pretty young thing stood and opened the director's door, moving to the side so Violet could enter.
"Hallo, Violet. Thank you for coming on such notice. I do appreciate it."
She had to make sure her jaw didn't gape open. Standing in front of her with a hand outstretched in greeting, Barry appeared thirty at the outside. Devilishly handsome with a grin to match, the director flashed a smile unlike any Katrina had witnessed before. She took in his suit— custom made in London, no doubt, dark navy with pin striping, double-breasted and tailored to fit the man's slim physique. His wavy amber hair matched his brown eyes, which stood out against a flawless, pale, probably English complexion.
"Are you all right, Ms. Sparks?" he said, again with that accent.
She found her tongue.
"Yes. I'm afraid with a name like Barry, I took you for a much older person. It's uncommon in the States," she explained, then wished she'd kept her musings to herself.
"Oh. Well, I am from England, although raised on the Continent. Please have a seat," he said as an amused expression played across his face.
He took her comment in stride. She settled in a plush leather club chair, and the director handed
"Hallo, Violet. I'm thankful you called so promptly."
"Hello, Mr. Bronson. What can I do for you?"
"Oh, do call me Barry. I'm a huge fan of your blog, and the owners of the items in the upcoming exhibit are requiring that our staging be approved before they ship their treasures. It's the first time I've had to deal with this kind of issue. So, I'm really under the gun here. I'd be most grateful if you'd consider meeting with me. I've got the basics established, but I feel certain displays lack pizazz. Without the jewels present, it's hard to mock up their settings. Would you consider discussing it over lunch?"
She could not believe what was happening. The director of Special Collections and Exhibits wanted her input on staging jewelry from Czarist Russia? She didn't have to think twice.
"I'd love to. What time and day works for you, Mr. Bronson?"
"Today would be best. Say around noon? And please, do call me Barry."
"All right, Barry. I'll see you at twelve."
The director signed off. Kate tried to pinpoint his sophisticated accent but couldn't. With a name like Barry, she guessed he was an older gentleman. Who would have thought such a blessing would come from her internet musings about jewelry?
She spent the remainder of the morning organizing her research for the presentation to Mr. Dodd. Finding the receptionist area deserted at 11:30, she took a quick glance around the fifteenth floor. The conference room had its shades drawn, and none of the department heads appeared to be in their offices. All signs pointed to an important meeting. She had her own summit to attend, so she didn't give the gathering any more thought as she hailed a cab.
Katrina attended numerous exhibits at the Heller over the years, so she knew her way around the public spaces of the museum. She approached the main desk, where she often purchased tickets, and asked to see Mr. Bronson. Again, she almost identified herself as Katrina Crimshaw instead of Violet Sparks. Oh, what a tangled web we weave .
Escorted upstairs, she waited outside a mahogany door as the receptionist knocked. A female voice authorized admittance, and the auditor was left alone in an anteroom with Bernard's secretary. The pretty twenty-something welcomed Katrina with a smile and invited her to sit in one of the chairs opposite her desk. She recognized Mr. Bronson's assistant as someone who possessed the sophisticated ease of the trust fund babies who populated museums and auction houses.
"Barry, Violet Sparks is here," the girl spoke into an office phone.
"Send her right in!"
Katrina overheard what sounded like a zealous response.
The pretty young thing stood and opened the director's door, moving to the side so Violet could enter.
"Hallo, Violet. Thank you for coming on such notice. I do appreciate it."
She had to make sure her jaw didn't gape open. Standing in front of her with a hand outstretched in greeting, Barry appeared thirty at the outside. Devilishly handsome with a grin to match, the director flashed a smile unlike any Katrina had witnessed before. She took in his suit— custom made in London, no doubt, dark navy with pin striping, double-breasted and tailored to fit the man's slim physique. His wavy amber hair matched his brown eyes, which stood out against a flawless, pale, probably English complexion.
"Are you all right, Ms. Sparks?" he said, again with that accent.
She found her tongue.
"Yes. I'm afraid with a name like Barry, I took you for a much older person. It's uncommon in the States," she explained, then wished she'd kept her musings to herself.
"Oh. Well, I am from England, although raised on the Continent. Please have a seat," he said as an amused expression played across his face.
He took her comment in stride. She settled in a plush leather club chair, and the director handed
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