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“You are also pal of Nina?” asked Kuznetsov, beaming, the cards arcing between his fingers.

“I hope so.” Jack rose.

“Intermission, gentlemen.” Kessler rose, too, and retrieved a bottle of scotch from an open packing crate. McAdams didn’t pause his number. Jack sidestepped the crate. He and Alan reached Nina at the same moment. She stood between them, the air snapping with tension. They both looked ready to snarl. Jack acted first. He gave himself a shake, palmed back his hair, and smiled at Alan.

“De’Ath,” he said. “You let me slope off once, and if you let me slope off again, I swear this will be the last time you ever see my pretty face. I didn’t come to make trouble.” He held up both his hands, then reached slowly into his coat. “I asked myself what more I could do, for Nina, and I did it.”

His hand emerged, fingers pinching an envelope.

“Here.” He handed it to Nina. “It’s thin but the notes are fat. Your money. I sold the factory. Buy the bakery from Old Craddock. You don’t need him.” He moved his gaze back to Alan.

“Jack.” She turned the envelope in trembling hands. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Don’t want to embarrass you.” Her brother was the one who looked embarrassed. He rocked on his heels. “But you’re gone on the man. Wasn’t hard to guess you’d go back.” He glanced at Alan and frowned. “I’ll shoot you clear across the Channel if you give her one second’s sorrow.”

“You don’t have to get on a boat.” Nina’s stomach cramped. “Alan told Lloyd Syme, told everyone, that he was wrong, that the paintings were authentic. There won’t be an investigation.”

For a moment, Jack stared. Then he hooted.

“Thank you kindly,” he said to Alan, and then to Nina: “I see why you like him. I’m starting to like him too.” He shot Alan a grin. “We could collaborate on your next book. Call it Secrets of a Forger’s Workshop. My pen name is Anonymous, of course. I’ll help you make forgery detection into a science. Think about it. Together we’re unstoppable.”

“Jack.” Nina made a sound like a laugh that turned into a strangled sob. “You never change. You’re always on to the next scheme. This time it won’t involve me. It won’t involve Alan, either.” She was definitely laughing and crying. “I’ve changed. Do you hear me?”

Jack looked at her, lips pressed together.

“I don’t want you so far as France,” she said. “But I need you farther than you are right now. For I don’t know how long.”

She shut her eyes. When she opened them, he was still looking at her, white and still.

“All right,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I’ll just win this last game of cards. And then—au revoir.” He knuckled his eye, hard, then fixed her with a familiar squint, shaking his head. “That’s enough, now, Birdie.”

She realized she was crying harder, and Alan was pressing his handkerchief into her palm.

“Let’s say it’s not forever.” Jack reached out to touch her arm, and Nina felt Alan go rigid beside her. But he didn’t move, and neither did Nina, and Jack’s touch was gentle.

“And next time you see me,” he said, “you’ll have cause to be glad of it. How’s that?”

She nodded and covered his hand with hers before he drew it away.

“Deal me in, lads,” he called. Kuznetsov waved him over. For his part, Kessler had lost interest in cards.

“I have a new poem,” he declared. “Who wants to hear it?”

Nina turned to Alan, and they moved as one, out of the room, down the hall, out the door into the garden, into the cool night. They wandered around the house.

“I’m proud of you,” said Alan, drawing her into the deep shade of the chestnut tree. “Proud of us.”

He leaned against the trunk, and she leaned into him, her back against his chest, his arm tight around her. His lips nuzzled her nape.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“With my fingers,” she said, walking them up his arm.

His laugh made her smile.

“And with my heart and my soul,” she added in a softer voice. “Because you’re here.”

“Does that mean you will marry me?”