Here they were having their second real conversation, and she was horrified to discover he still made her tongue-tied. It didn’t help that today he appeared energized and slightly windswept, as if he had just galloped across the estate on a horse. She wasn’t sure if the strange performance jacket he was wearing was high-tech riding or ski gear. At this point she wouldn’t be surprised if he was an expert in both sports and had an Olympic medal shoved in a drawer somewhere.
“I would like to take it back to New York.” She cleared her throat. “I should know more within a few weeks. The piece could potentially generate a large sum at the auction.”Thatwas an understatement, she thought.
“Good. Please take the utmost care with it. This manuscript was special to my father.”
His admission surprised her. So Marcelhaddiscussed the manuscript; Theo just didn’t want to discuss it with her. Which begged another question: Did Theo know about the note? There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but Theo had turned away and was now absentmindedly surveying the room.
“I can see you’ve been quite industrious. How much longer do we have the pleasure of your company?”
Semele frowned, not sure how to take the remark. “I fly back tomorrow, thank you,” she answered, knowing she sounded stiff.
He gave her a faint smile, and his gaze trailed over her face again.
She could feel her cheeks starting to burn and fought to control it, becoming annoyed with herself.
“Do keep me informed of your progress. You have my numbers and can call me anytime.”
Again, he looked as if he wanted to say something more, just as he had at their first meeting and every day since.
She waited, the knot of anticipation tightening in her stomach. But the words never came.
“I’m afraid I leave tonight on business.” He went to the door. “Please take every precaution and safeguard my father’s collection. I’m sure you know better than I do, but there are some very special pieces in this room.”
Semele nodded, about to reassure him, but then he was gone.
What a strange man. Of course she would safeguard the collection. Why else was she here?
Text message to VS—
She found it.
Reply from VS—
Excellent. We are in play.
The High Priestess
Semele’s instincts told her she needed to make a copy of the manuscript right away. Usually flagging an item for digitization meant involving a preservation manager, a collections manager, and a photographer. They would all discuss handling issues, customize the cradle to hold the manuscript, and come up with contingencies to avoid any undue stress on the parchment. That was the ideal scenario. But occasionally when working in the field, she needed to digitize a work before transporting it back to New York—like today.
She set up her tripod, which had a pan-tilting head so she could shoot the image flat on the table. Then she mounted her camera, along with a special scanning camera, and positioned her portable high-intensity discharge lamps to provide a continuous light source.
She kept waiting for Theo to barge in and question what the hell she was doing, just like he had to the maid. Her hands became unsteady and she could feel the frown locked on her face. The quality of several leaves looked tenuous. Two thousand years were weighing on this parchment like invisible stones; it was a heavy burden to carry.
When the last page had been digitized, a wave of dizziness hit her and she closed her eyes until it passed.
She had been working with unwavering focus for several hours. Now she was completely drained. But when she opened the file on her laptop to double-check her work, what she saw made her whistle. The quality of her scan was a hundred times better than any image from a commercial digital camera. Every blot of ink and speck of dust had been captured in the minutest detail: it looked like an exact replica.
She dismantled all the equipment and then carefully packed the manuscript in the last remaining crate, her mind still reeling from her eleventh-hour discovery. What if she hadn’t looked in the cabinet?
The thought that she might have left Switzerland without finding this jewel horrified her. She still couldn’t believe there was no mention of the manuscript in the official registry.
The grandfather clock in the hall struck four and she glanced at her watch in surprise. The day had vanished. The courier would be here soon, but there was one more thing she had to do before leaving the château. She needed to make sure Marcel was really the one who had written her the message.
She pulled Marcel’s note from her pocket and studied it again. The writing had a distinctive right-slanted scrawl with wide spacing, connected letters, and restricted loops. Her mind automatically began to list the defining traits: he was larger than life, generous but cautious, and signs of tension marked his penmanship. She needed only to see a small sample to be sure.
Hurrying across the gallery, she ducked into Marcel’s personal study. She usually passed through the room to access the kitchen, but today she stopped and closed the door. The chances of one of the staff coming in were slim, but she couldn’t risk anyone seeing what she was about to do.
She rushed to the sixteenth-century mahogany writing desk and opened all the drawers, where she found ledgers, letters, even an old appointment book—more evidence than she needed.
