Semele stared at him, speechless. That was the last thing she thought he would say.
Theo must have sensed her confusion. “At one of the World Book summits years ago,” he clarified. “He was keynote speaker for the International Federation of Library Associations. I had just begun working with UNESCO.”
Semele had no idea Theo was connected to UNESCO. “What kind of work were you doing for them?” she asked.
“I head one of the subcommittees that assesses nominations for the Memory of the World Register.”
She couldn’t have been more surprised if he had told her he was an astronaut and had landed on the moon.
Her father had been a curator at Yale’s Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library, and she knew all about UNESCO’s global conservation programs, including MOW nominations. Memory of the World was an international initiative to preserve archives and library collections that transcended the boundaries of culture. Being listed on the register was just as impressive as getting a National Historic Site designation and ensured that those works would survive.
“He gave a wonderful speech about the history of the world’s libraries and their effects on different time periods.” Theo gave her his first real smile.
Semele couldn’t help giving a faint smile back. She could just imagine her father talking about his favorite subject. How every second a book somewhere in the world disappeared, destroyed by the divine hand of time for any number of reasons—natural disasters, worms, insects, rats, humans. Even the acid in paper worked against a book’s survival. It drove him mad.
“Well,” Theo said, looking uncomfortable, “please give him my best.”
Semele only nodded, unable to explain that her father had passed away earlier this year. The loss still gripped her like it was yesterday. She and Theo had more in common than he knew. That he had met her father made her look at him differently.
When she went back to the hotel that night, she decided to google Theo. What she discovered surprised her even more.
Theo owned a computer software company that specialized in storing high-value information. His client list included Fortune 500 companies and government institutions. They were also working with the Japanese IT specialists who were archiving the Vatican’s library—over 82,000 manuscripts and 41 million pages.
She read every news article and press release she could find, both impressed and intimidated at the same time. Talk about out of her league—the pope was his client.
In one interview he discussed the vital need for engineering long-term digital preservation, explaining that the digital world had its own set of threats and needed to be safeguarded, or one day, digital archives would vanish too. Files were no different from papyrus or parchment.
Semele devoured every word. Astounded by how similar their philosophies were, her attraction to him only became more real and unsettling. She liked it better when she had assumed he was just an eccentric heir.
Now she was beginning to feel serious guilt over her fixation. People in relationships didn’t spend all night on the Internet reading about their clients for personal interest, especially not when they were in a relationship with someone like Bren.
While she was in Switzerland, he had been leaving her the sweetest voice mails. She had listened to one yesterday on the drive to the estate, and it still made her smile.
“This one is Yeats.” He recited the poem, his voice soft and intimate. “When you are old and grey and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book, and slowly read and dream.…”
But the car had started to pull up the drive and she’d saved the message, promising herself she would listen to the rest later. With a pang of guilt, she realized she hadn’t finished it yet, or the two others he’d left her.
Even when she wasn’t traveling he liked to leave her poems, from classical to contemporary to his own creations. Bren was an English professor at CUNY, a published poet, and unapologetically sentimental. They had been together for almost two years—her longest relationship to date—and she had never thought twice about another man, until now.
She began to count down the days until she left Montreux. It would be a relief to put an ocean between her and Theo. During her last week, she would wake up and sit outside on her hotel balcony, feeling the future looming across the lake, imminent and inescapable. Something was going to happen here. She could feel it. And she had no idea if she was ready.
***
When the last day of her assignment finally arrived, anticipation tightened inside her like a coil ready to snap. She awoke early that morning, unable to sleep, and arrived at the château two hours before her usual start time, to finish preparing all the shipments and review the letters of export.
A deep sense of melancholy hit her as she sealed the crates. Marcel had devoted his whole life to preserving these antiquities, and now they would never reside under his roof again. Disbanding a collection sometimes felt like lowering the curtain on closing night; it had to be the hardest part of her job. She only hoped that Marcel would approve of her decisions if he were still alive.
For a moment she gave in to the sadness and sat down, staring at all the crates. The longer she sat there, the more uneasy she began to feel that she’d missed something.
She got up and double-checked the official collection registry against her shipping schedules. Then she looked in all the display cases to make sure nothing had been left behind. Every item was accounted for and ready for transport. Still, anxiety consumed her.
Somehow she knew she had made a mistake.
She told herself the feeling was normal, nothing more than the stress of having to ship priceless manuscripts halfway around the world. But as hard as she tried to calm her nerves, she wouldn’t rest easy until she had checked all the rosters again. Luckily, it was still morning; she had plenty of time. She would review the shipments after she had a quick coffee in the kitchen. Perhaps the chef had even made some of his fresh-bakedbürliand marmalade. She hadn’t eaten anything yet today.
When she went to set the security alarm in the gallery, her eyes landed on the wooden cabinet underneath the examination table.
Her hand stilled on the keypad.
