There was no wonder in the old man’s tone, no surprise, not even any hate. Already he’d reduced Hendrik to a nonentity. At most, a bug crawling across his floor. Hendrik had forgotten how arrogant and unshakable Johannes could be-how he’d looked down his big nose at Hendrik. The de Geers weren’t diamond people. Hendrik had grown up on the fringes of that world, not in its midst as Johannes had.

“So you remember me,” Hendrik said, although there had been no question in his mind that Johannes would. “I’m honored.”

“Don’t be.” The old cutter set down his sandwich. “None of the memories are good ones.”

“Then perhaps your mind isn’t as sharp as it once was. We used to skate the canals of Holland together in the winter, before the war, and race bicycles in the summer. Remember, Johannes?” Hendrik was surprised by the sadness in his voice. “Those were fine days, ones not to forget.”

Johannes shrugged. In all the years he had known him, Hendrik had never seen Johannes Peperkamp show fear. He would today, unless he was a fool. That was some consolation, Hendrik decided, for this miserable predicament. As much as they’d been friends, a part of him had always wanted to make Johannes sweat.

But for now, the old man continued to chew his lunch, and not even his fingers shook. It was as if he believed there was nothing left Hendrik de Geer could do to him.

“Do you know why I’m here, Johannes?”

He sipped his tea, swallowing. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

There was that tone of cool superiority once more, and moving deeper into the shop, Hendrik recalled fewer moments of friendship and more those of indignation. He’d never been good enough for the Peperkamps. When he was a boy, his mother had tried to tell him that that was all in his head, but he knew better.

Catharina…

Yes, she was different. The others had expected him to fail, and yet they’d put their trust in him-and he’d done what he’d had to do. As he was now.

He said without drama, “I must have the diamond, Johannes.”

The old cutter gestured to his shop. “As you see, I have many diamonds-not so big, perhaps, as in the past, but some fine stones. Take what you want. It makes no difference to me.”

“These diamonds don’t interest me.”

“They don’t interest me, either, but they’re all I have. I’m an old man, Hendrik. Not very many people bring me the big diamonds anymore.” He held up his large, bony hands. “They don’t trust these.” Then he pointed to his eyes. “Or these.”

Johannes spoke without self-pity and shrugged as he resumed drinking his tea. Hendrik moved closer, but the old man looked at him without interest. If he hadn’t known Johannes Peperkamp better, Hendrik might have panicked, thinking he’d come to the wrong place.

He took the teacup from the old man and set it down. Nothing in Johannes’s expression indicated fear or anger-or even curiosity. I am nothing, am I, old man? Hendrik thought, but he refused to let his frustration show. “You know what I want, Johannes.”

“To be honest, no, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do, damn you!”

The old cutter sighed patiently. “Why don’t you just tell me, Hendrik?”

“The diamond,” Hendrik said. “The Minstrel’s Rough.”

Johannes laughed derisively and sucked something from his teeth, as if he had nothing better to do. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hendrik. I no longer have the Minstrel.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“As you wish.”

“Even if you don’t have it, you know where it is,” Hendrik said, fighting to regain the upper hand. Damn Johannes Peperkamp and his smugness! “You’ll get it for me.”

“Why would I do that?” With the stubborn self-righteousness that had always infuriated Hendrik, Johannes looked into the younger Dutchman’s eyes. “Only once in my seventy-three years have I ever been indiscreet. Never again, Hendrik. Never. It doesn’t matter what I know or what I don’t know: I will not cooperate with you.” He picked up his tea, pursed his thin lips, and took a sip. Peering over the rim of the cup, he said, “You must kill me first.”

“Then I wouldn’t get what I want, would I?”

Hendrik spoke in a mild tone, pleased with how unperturbed he sounded, and he slowly spun Johannes’s swivel chair around. Holding its wooden arms, Hendrik leaned over and searched the beady blue eyes. There was superiority there, all right, and hatred. He’d expected that. But there was also anguish. Sadness. That Hendrik hadn’t expected. Had Johannes hoped he’d changed? Shaken, Hendrik almost turned away.

“Exactly so,” Johannes said. “You wouldn’t get what you want. Kill me if you must. It makes no difference. I will not give you the stone.”

“You have family, Johannes. What if their lives were in danger?”

“My wife is dead.”

Ann. Intelligent, beautiful. She’d been a Jew married to a Gentile, but she’d survived the war-only just. Hendrik had put her out of his mind for forty years. Once more he shoved aside the thought of her, and as he did so, he straightened up.

“Your sisters are still alive.” He tried to sound cold and determined, as Senator Ryder had in the car on Saturday night, but he felt the uncertainty churning deep inside him, just as he knew the handsome Ryder had. They were not so different, the foolish senator and himself. They hid their fears behind an air of competence. Would Johannes see through his one-time friend? Hendrik warned himself he was thinking dangerously and went on steadily, “Wilhelmina lives in Rotterdam, and Catharina is in New York. Juliana, your niece, has an apartment on Central Park West. I know where they are, Johannes. I can find them.”

Now, he thought. Now the fear would come. Hendrik waited, but the old diamond cutter merely wiped his mouth with his napkin and climbed slowly to his feet.

“Catharina you would never harm, and Wilhelmina would cheerfully welcome the opportunity to slit your cowardly throat.”

He sounded slightly amused at the thought, but Hendrik couldn’t contradict him-they both knew Willie Peperkamp. If her older brother cooperated with Hendrik de Geer to protect her, she would only be annoyed.

“And Juliana’s too famous,” Johannes went on. “There’d be so much publicity if you touched her. Too risky. However-” The old man took his jacket from a peg on the wall next to his desk and shrugged his bony frame into it. “However, it’s been a long, long time, Hendrik. You could have come for the Minstrel anytime, but you didn’t. That means there are others involved. Someone else has guessed you’ve seen the Minstrel and is twisting that arm of yours that twists so easily. To whom did you promise the stone this time? Never mind, it makes no difference.” Johannes gestured politely toward the door. “Shall we go?”

Catharina’s Bake Shop had closed for the evening. In its gleaming kitchen, its proprietor rolled out pastry at an island counter. She patted the dough carefully, lovingly with the strong, broad hands, their cuticles and lines caked with flour and drying dough, the nails blunt and tough.

Juliana watched silently from the kitchen door. She’d come straight from the Club Aquarian and had used her key to enter the quiet, darkened shop. It was silly to be thinking about her mother’s hands, but she couldn’t stop herself. They were so unlike her own. Juliana had long, slender fingers, and although she kept her nails cut short, they were always manicured. Twice a day she massaged a European cream into them. They were strong hands. To be a pianist, they had to be. But suddenly she envied her mother’s wide palms and thick fingers. If Juliana had been born with Peperkamp hands, everything might have been different.

“Hello, Mother.”

Catharina didn’t look up. “Yes.”

She hissed the yes, clipping it off. Usually she just said, “Yaa,” drawing out a long, broad a. She pounded the dough, her usual care and gentleness abruptly gone.