The cabby took them north for several blocks on Bond Street, then turned onto the side road housing Lydia’s gallery. Tigger buzzed the two men through the front door. The receptionist looked carefully at Kenyon as he entered, clearly concerned about his abrupt departure the day before. “Is everything all right, Mr. Kenyon?” “Yeah, I’m okay, Zoë,” he said. He turned to his companion. “This is Hadrian deWolfe. He’s going to help me evaluate some art. We’ll be down in the storage room.” Hearing Kenyon’s voice, Bruno Ricci emerged from his back office and approached the reception area. “Oh, there you are, Kenyon,” he called, languidly pushing back the locks of curly black hair that had fallen over his forehead. “My banker is a pig. There is an overdrawn account, you can help, no?” Suddenly, Ricci noticed deWolfe. Without another word, he exited the gallery and strode swiftly down the street.
