When Merkel set the wineglass and the plate of cheese on the coffee table, Talia's arm visibly trembled. She then awkwardly withdrew her gaze, subtly concealing her embarrassed expression.
In truth, Talia did not quite know what she was doing. She had weathered countless storms, remained calm in crises of life and death, seized slivers of survival from hopeless situations, and even turned defeat into victory. So why did she become so jumpy when facing a man alone?
Talia distracted herself by examining the surroundings. The room was done entirely in deep brown tones. The polished herringbone floor reflected the refracted light from the crystal Chandelier. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows were divided by cherrywood frames into modest squares, with heavy drapes hanging neatly beside them.
The liquor cabinet on the wall opposite the windows held all kinds of fine wines and several oddly shaped sculptures. A slender bone-china vase sat on the desk, holding a single camellia.
There were, of course, many traces of the estate owner's daily life here as well. Nearly imperceptible footprints on the carpet showed that Schiller had paced back and forth before the desk. One print was especially deep, suggesting that Schiller had stood there for a long time.
There were also concealed fingerprints on the metal picture frame hanging on the door. It appeared that the frame had been crooked and Schiller had reached out to straighten it. A smudge of black ash on the fireplace edge was still fresh. The fire had been lit last night and put out this morning.
Talia was exceptionally good at observing such details. She could always find enough clues among them to sketch out the course of someone's life, then piece together their personality and habits from those scattered traces.
But what confused Talia was that all the