The Gold of Troy by Fish Robert L.;

Author:Fish, Robert L.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road

Ruth McVeigh was tired, and she knew she looked terrible because she hadn’t slept. She was sure the rings under her eyes made her look ten years older than she was, and while that would make her only a year or so younger than Gregor, she would rather he always thought of her as being much younger than that. She sat at the head of the conference table, staring at Gregor’s empty seat, while the delegates filed in and took their places around the table, fiddling with their consoles as if they had never seen them before, filling water glasses, placing cigarettes and matches in position.

Where was he? Didn’t he know how much she wanted to see him, to look at him, to see that same light in his eyes when he looked at her that she knew would be in hers as soon as he walked in? Or the light she hoped would be in his eyes? To see if last night had been real, or if her imagination, through the sleepless night, had added dimensions to it that did not, in reality, exist? Where was he?

She sighed and shook her head, suddenly feeling depressed. Why was she so intent upon hoping he would appear, anyway? What difference did it make? Possibly he knew the utter hopelessness of their ever being anything but friends and had taken off for Leningrad to save both of them the embarrassment of a further meeting. Or at least to save her from making a fool of herself. She had probably done or said something the night before that told him how she was beginning to feel toward him, and to save him from having to—what was the word they had used when they were in school?—jilt her, had simply gone away. Jilt, my God! She was getting positively infantile!

She looked around the room, her eye quickly jumping the blank space where Gregor had sat the day before, her cheeks red. What was she doing here, anyway? Why had she come? Why had she ever suggested this silly conference to begin with? Bob Keller was right; Gregor was right. The entire conference was pointless, useless. In fact, the entire Schliemann collection was a pointless thing. Who cared who had it, who was selling it, or who bought it? Let them all fight over it, the Germans, the Greeks, the Russians, the Turks, all of them. Let them have their next war over the silly collection. It made as much sense as any of the other things they fought about. Not more sense, but as much. She suddenly shook her head. Was this she, Ruth McVeigh, director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and avid collector, thinking this way? The Schliemann treasure was extremely important, and no thoughts of a mere man should or would be allowed to obscure that fact!

Where was he?

She became aware that the elderly stocky man with the pure-white crew-cut hair had taken his chair next to the empty one Gregor

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