The Girl Under the Desk

"Who the hell is under my desk?"

Something small bumped Vincent Moretti's knee.

He pushed his chair back. Beneath the mahogany desk sat a little girl in pink pajamas, holding a rabbit against her mouth as though the rabbit had been responsible for the noise.

She stared at him. Then she raised one finger to her lips.

"Please don't shout. She's looking for me."

Music drifted up from the Christmas party downstairs. In his office, a clock ticked behind him, and a stranger's child pressed herself farther into the shadows.

Vincent reached for the intercom.

"Who brought you upstairs?"

"The lady with the shiny shoes is taking your picture."

His hand stopped.

"What picture?"

"The big one with the lady in the blue dress. She's putting it in a box. She said you wouldn't know because you never look at it properly."

Elena's portrait.

He had looked at it that morning. He looked at it every morning, although he never stayed long enough for anyone to notice.

"Where did you hear that?"

Before the child could answer, heels sounded in the corridor.

She seized his trouser leg.

"That's her. Please."

Victoria knocked once and opened the door.

"There you are. I've been looking everywhere."

Vincent lowered his hand from the intercom. Victoria wore emerald silk and the diamond necklace he had given her when she agreed that their engagement would remain private until January.

She had announced it to forty guests over dinner.

"I'm working," he said.

Her gaze traveled over the sofa, the closed terrace doors, the narrow space beside the filing cabinet.

"Has a little girl wandered in here? Pink pajamas, dreadful old toy? One of the temporary staff brought her."

Under the desk, small fingers tightened around his leg.

"Why are you looking for her?"

"She's been getting into things. I wouldn't want anything damaged."

Victoria moved toward the desk.

Vincent stood.

He was a large man, and he knew precisely what happened when he rose too quickly in a quiet room. Victoria stopped.

"I'll have Marco find whoever's responsible," he said.

"There's no need to bother him. I'll take care of it."

"You've done enough tonight. Go back to the party."

Her smile thinned.

For a moment he thought she might insist. Then she adjusted the diamond at her throat and left, pulling the door shut with unusual care.

Vincent waited until her footsteps faded.

"You can let go of my leg now."

The girl loosened her grip one finger at a time.

"Did you tell a lie?"

"I didn't answer her question."

"That's what I do when Nanny asks about cookies. She still counts it."

He looked down. The girl looked back, solemn and unconvinced by his distinction.

He should have summoned security immediately. Nobody entered his private office without permission. Nobody hid behind him. Certainly nobody discussed cookies with him while holding a rabbit whose left ear had been repaired in purple thread.

Instead, he crouched.

"What's your name?"

"Lily."

She held up four fingers before he could ask anything else.

"I'm almost five. I can find my way downstairs."

"Where is your nanny?"

"She went to find the quiet man. I was supposed to stay in the little kitchen, but the shiny-shoes lady came in. She knew my name."

Her mouth trembled on the last sentence.

"Did she hurt you?"

Lily pulled her sleeve down over her wrist.

He held out his hand without touching her. After a moment she placed her arm in it. Four pink marks crossed the skin.

Vincent kept his voice level.

"You can come out. She won't come back in here."

"Can you make her stay out?"

"Yes."

Lily considered him, then crawled forward. Her pajama knees were dusty, her slippers too thin for the weather. A chestnut curl had escaped the crooked bow above her ear.

He pressed the intercom.

"Marco. My office. Find the woman who brought a child to the house tonight. Quietly. And nothing leaves the gallery."

"On my way."

Lily climbed onto the leather chair he indicated. Her feet barely reached the front edge.

"Are you the boss?"

"Yes."

"Then why do you have to ask Marco?"

Vincent looked at her.

"Because I can't be in every room at once."

"Oh." She tucked the rabbit under her chin. "You're very big, though."

The laugh surprised him. It came out rough from disuse.

Lily watched his face, then cautiously smiled.

"That's better. Your eyebrows were touching."

At forty-two, Vincent had frightened men who carried guns for a living. Apparently his eyebrows were the real concern.

He opened the cabinet beside his desk and took out a bottle of water. Lily drank with both hands around it.

"Tell me about the box," he said.

"It was by the other Christmas tree. The little one where the coats are. The lady said the real picture had to go before morning."

"Was she alone?"

"There was a man. He gave her a mint, and she said she didn't want one."

Vincent's attorney carried peppermint lozenges in a silver tin. So did a hundred other men in New York. He put the thought aside without dismissing it.

"Did you see his face?"

She shook her head.

"I was behind the curtain. I wasn't spying. I was hiding."

"I understand."

She reached into her pocket.

"This fell off. I didn't break it."

In her palm lay a small gilded rose, snapped from carved wood.

Vincent recognized the curling petal immediately. He had commissioned that frame in Florence. Elena had complained that it cost more than the painting deserved, then kissed him for choosing roses instead of the severe black frame she expected.

The portrait had been her last Christmas gift to him.

He closed his fingers over the fragment.

"Did you pick this up beside the box?"

"Yes. Are you sad about it?"

"A little."

"Nanny has glue."

The office door opened. Lily flinched, and Vincent moved between her and the entrance before he had decided to.

Marco stopped on the threshold.

"Just me, boss."

He took in the child, the water, Vincent's position beside the chair.

"Find her nanny first," Vincent said. "Victoria is not to question the child."

Marco's eyes changed, but he nodded without asking in front of Lily.

"And the gallery?"

Vincent opened his hand. Marco recognized the ornament too.

"I'll check the service entrance," he said.

When he left, Lily slid from the chair and caught Vincent's sleeve.

"Can we see the picture?"

He should have kept her in the office. But the gallery was across the hall, and he wanted her where he could see her until they found the woman who had brought her.

"Stay beside me."

She took his hand as if that had been the arrangement all along.

The gallery lamps illuminated Elena's portrait above the marble fireplace. Blue dress. Bare shoulders. One hand resting against the back of a chair. He knew the position of every brushstroke.

At first glance, nothing had changed.

Then he saw the smooth replacement frame.

Beside him, Lily let go.

She walked toward the fireplace and lifted the rabbit, showing it the painting.

"There she is."

Vincent watched her face brighten.

"Do you know that lady?"

"That's my mommy."