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“And thank you again for such a generous contribution. It meant a great deal to David and me.”

“It was my pleasure,” I reply. “You’re doing excellent work here.”

Margaret smiles, then follows my gaze.

Her eyes land on Blaire.

“Oh,” she says.

“I should introduce you to Blaire Wilson. She’s been one of the people everyone has been trying to get time with this week.”

“I know who she is.”

Margaret looks back at me.

“Of course you do. The Whitcombe project went through the Kensington side, didn’t it?”

“It did.”

Margaret gestures toward Blaire.

“Come with me.”

We cross the remaining distance together.

Blaire’s expression has recovered by the time we reach her, but only barely.

Margaret smiles between us.

“Blaire, you know Ross Kensington, don’t you?”

Blaire looks directly at me.

“Yes,” she says. “We’ve met. Briefly.”

The emphasis is deliberate.

I hold her gaze.

“We have,” I reply.

Margaret looks between us without appearing to notice anything unusual.

“I should’ve known,” she says.

“Between the Whitcombe project and the Kensington collection, your paths were bound to cross.”

“They did,” Blaire says.

Her voice is controlled, but her hand tightens around the stem of her glass.

Before Margaret can continue, someone calls her name from across the terrace.

She glances over her shoulder.

“I’m being summoned again,” Margaret says.

“Excuse me. I’ll find both of you later.”