After leaving the dining area, Don and Miss Claire moved through a long corridor branching off from the main hall.
The lighting here was softer.
Framed paintings lined both sides of the walls—portraits in oil, landscapes in muted tones, abstract pieces that required more thought than immediate appreciation.
Between them stood miniature sculptures placed atop narrow pedestals: marble busts, bronze figures frozen mid-motion, delicate carvings etched from pale stone.
Their footsteps echoed lightly across the polished floor.
Don slowed near one of the portraits.
A stern-looking man dressed in attire from another era stared outward from the canvas, one hand resting atop a cane.
"Relative?" Don asked casually.
Miss Claire glanced at the painting without stopping.
"Great-grandfather," she replied. "He believed expressions were a liability."
Don studied the rigid jawline in the portrait.
"Family resemblance," he said.
She did not look at him.
But her lips curved faintly.
