The Fortune Teller(9)

The list comprised those items she would be taking back to New York for auction. She knew Theo was waiting to find out how many pieces her firm would be selling. The heirs always were.

To her dismay, instead of leaving, Theo walked toward her. She tried not to step back as he stood next to her at the examining table.

He stared down at the manuscript. “What about this one? What do you think?”

What a loaded question—Semele was unsure how to answer. She decided to play it safe and rattled off a general analysis of the manuscript’s condition, sounding more like a doctor giving a diagnosis. “The pages look fairly well preserved. Some disintegration is showing around the edges, and speckled mold is scattered throughout the text, but no more than one might expect. I also noted water damage on several leaves.”

“But what do you think?” he asked again.

“Um … I’m actually not sure yet,” she said honestly. “I only just discovered it this morning. It hadn’t been recorded in the collection for some reason. Did your father ever discuss this piece with you?” she asked, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Why?” He met her gaze with the hint of a challenge.

Semele could feel heat rising to her face. “Since it wasn’t noted in the collection, I wondered if he had special instructions for it.”

How she would have loved to ask Marcel why he had hidden this piece away and how he had known to address his note to her. But she couldn’t—and she definitely couldn’t ask Theo.

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.” That was an understatement, she thought.

“Good. Please take the utmost care with it. This manuscript was special to my father.”

His admission surprised her. So Marcel had discussed 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.