"You want a beer?"
"I would love a beer."
Echo remained by the windows looking out while Peter went to the refrigerator. While he was popping tops he said, "So—figure we just put the portrait away in a closet a couple years, then it could be worth a shitload?"
"Oh baby," Echo replied.
"Then, also in a couple years," Peter said, coming back to her and carefully fitting a can of Heineken into her hand, "when Ransome's estate gets settled, that cottage in Bedford, which looks like a pretty nice investment, will go on the market?"
"Might." Echo took a long drink of the beer and began laughing softly, ironically, to herself.
"All this could depend on, you know, he doesn't turn up." Peter looked out the window. "Again."
The last Ransome woman was silent. Wondering, lost in a private rapture.
Peter said, 'You want to order in Chinese for Rosemay and Julia tonight? I've still got a few bucks left on my MasterCard."
"Yeah," Echo said, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Chinese. Sounds good."