Saint's Gate
“She’d headed straight from the airport to his apartment in a Georgian row house. She rang his doorbell, but she wasn’t surprised when she discovered he’d already left for the day. He’d always been an early riser.Restless after her long overnight flight, she welcomed the chance to set off on foot through the city streets. She walked through St. Stephen’s Green, its twenty-plus acres of lawns, gardens and ponds glistening with dew and quiet in the morning sun. She hadn’t been to Ireland since last summer and loved being back.She just needed coffee, and answers.In ten minutes, she was on the cobblestone street where her grandfather had opened the Dublin offices of Sharpe Fine Art Recovery in a small corner building fifteen years ago. For a year after leaving the convent, Emma had taken this same route almost every day as she’d reacquainted herself with the mechanics of her family business and sorting out what she wanted to do with her life. Matt Yankowski, of course, had kept in touch.Sh...e smiled and ran up the narrow stairs, eager to see her grandfather.MoreLess
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