“This is a lovely present,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Not at all. I am very pleased that you like it.” He sighed contentedly. “I have a great fondness for maps.”
*
I raced up to the guest suite, hoping to catch Bill before he descended the hidden staircase with Willis, Sr.’s map. I wanted to show him what his father had given me—the irony was too delicious to keep to myself—but he had already come and gone by the time I got there, taking my bags as well as the map. I put Meg’s blanket on the coffee table in the parlor, then went back down to meet Willis, Sr., at the front door.
“Do you have everything you need, Miss Shepherd?” he asked.
“I do now,” I said, brandishing his gift.
“I shall telephone you regularly with Miss Westwood’s questions—though I confess I should probably do so in any case.”
“We’ll be happy to hear from you,” said Bill, joining us in the doorway. “You take care of yourself while I’m gone, Father. No wild parties, no rowdiness, or I’ll have to come home and give you a stern lecture.” He gripped his father’s hand, hesitated, then leaned over and hugged him. Willis, Sr., stiffened for a moment, then raised a tentative hand to pat his son’s back. Before either one of them could say a word, Bill turned and made his way to the car.
“Extraordinary,” Willis, Sr., murmured.
“Thank you for everything,” I said. “I’m going to miss you, you know. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Soon,” he agreed. I started down the steps. “And Miss Shepherd,” he added, “I shall miss you, too.”
*
Bill dictated memos until the last boarding call and by the time I’d stowed my carryon bag under the seat in front of me, fastened my seat belt, and declined the free champagne, he’d fallen asleep. I was more than a little disappointed. I had spent a restless night gearing myself up for a heartfelt expression of gratitude for the exquisite frame, I’d waited all day to deliver it, and now it looked as though I would have to go on waiting.
Still, he did seem exhausted, as though he’d been on the go since dawn. He had spent so much time with me during the past week that I had forgotten about his other responsibilities. Apparently he had, too, and had tried to cram them all into a single marathon day. Once we were airborne, I called a flight attendant over and asked for a blanket. Bill didn’t stir so much as an eyelid when I tucked it in around him.
I was much too keyed up to sleep, so I spent the time leafing through magazines and reading the novel I had brought along. After a while, I simply gazed out of the window at the moonlit clouds. I imagined Willis, Sr., examining his map, perhaps asking a law student to fetch a book or two down from the small library. I smiled again when I remembered his going-away gift to me. The smile grew broader when I thought of his characteristically precise description of it: “A topographic map… It shows the natural features and the elevations of the land surrounding the cottage.”
The natural features and elevations…
With a sharp glance to make sure Bill was still asleep, I reached into my bag and pulled out the photograph, kicking myself for not having thought of this sooner.
A small clearing on a hill overlooking a broad valley. Beyond the valley, a series of hills, all of them of uniform height and shape. Excited now, I took out the topographic map. It would be child’s play to locate the clearing if it was anywhere near the cottage.
Except that the cottage was smack-dab in the middle of the Cotswolds, which meant that it was surrounded by hills and valleys, and I hadn’t learned enough from Willis, Sr.’s short lesson to be able to distinguish one hill from another. As soon as I opened the map, I saw that there were at least a dozen places that seemed to meet my requirements. I pored over the maze of curving lines, as though staring at it would force it to yield up its secrets, until Bill’s voice broke my concentration.
“Planning a walking tour?” he asked, peering at the map with great interest. A scant two days ago, I would have bristled and told him to mind his own business. Now I tilted the map so he could see it better.
“A bon voyage present, from your father,” I explained.
“You’re kidding.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Did you manage to keep a straight face?”
“More or less. Well, I mean, you’re supposed to grin when you get presents, aren’t you?”
“I wish we’d hidden a camera in the office. I would love to have seen his face when he saw his map.”
“Thanks for remembering to smuggle it down.” I refolded the topographic map, trying to recall the words I’d rehearsed the night before. “And, Bill, about the frame. I just want to say that—”
“What’s this?” Bill was folding the blanket I had put over him, but he stopped and reached for something on the floor. When he sat up again, he was holding the photograph. “Is it yours?”