She perched on a stool at the kitchen island and sipped the golden white. The chef tried to offer her a late lunch, but she declined, too worked up to eat.
She opened her laptop to try to take her mind off Theo. What she really wanted to do was read more of the manuscript, but she didn’t feel comfortable working on the translation in front of anyone. What if Theo came downstairs? Just the thought made her stomach do a somersault.
Instead she logged in to her company’s server, where there was a running news stream of sales happening at various auction houses around the world. She forced herself to focus on the recent highlights.
Sotheby’s had sold twelve items of a collection she was quite familiar with for $14.9 million. One of her associates at the firm, Fritz Wagner, had managed the auction. She made a mental note to send him a bottle of champagne when she got back.
A copy of the Torah had set a record, selling for $3.85 million, and a Titanic letter had sold for $200K. It seemed like all the usual suspects were up for grabs this week. Writings from Abraham Lincoln’s journals—the man wrote more than a million words in his lifetime—and works by Thomas Jefferson and the Beatles too. And it looked like Bonhams had just sold the second of two known copies of the first edition of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz for $100K.
The next listing grabbed her attention.
Sotheby’s had auctioned off an entire private manuscript collection for $2.5 million. The collection was billed as “a representation of the history of the written word in Europe” and contained pieces from Early Antiquity to the Renaissance, including several rare works from the Dark and Medieval Ages in a myriad of languages: Latin, Hebrew, Greek, Syriac, Armenian, and Old English. The catalog would be an excellent reference. Semele studied the list of all sixty items and started to take notes.
Half an hour later she reached for her wine and realized she had finished it. When the chef asked if she would like another, she slid the glass forward.
As she watched him pour, she noticed he wore a Geiger watch like her father’s. She had been meaning to ask her mother if she could have the watch as a keepsake, only they weren’t speaking to each other now.
With a sigh she sipped the wine and moved on to checking e-mail. There was one from Bren letting her know he had made a reservation at La Grenouille for tomorrow night.
Her eyebrows rose as she read—the place was a landmark, where Elizabeth Taylor, Frank Sinatra, and Salvador Dalí had all dined by candlelight and roses. Semele and Bren had been to La Grenouille once before on a business dinner with a collector her firm was courting. Over Grand Marnier soufflés Bren had whispered that he’d bring her back for a special occasion. Semele was beginning to wonder just what he had in mind.
Was he planning to turn dinner into something more than an anniversary celebration? An image of him placing a ring-sized box on the table took shape in her mind. Surely he wasn’t going to propose. They weren’t at that stage yet. She brushed the thought aside.
In his e-mail he had attached a funny picture of himself holding a handwritten sign that said LOST AND LONELY. It made her smile.
They had barely spoken the past three weeks. Whenever she tried to call, she got his voice mail because he was tied up in class. Switzerland was five hours ahead, so most of their conversations ended up happening over e-mail and texts. But Bren understood how consumed she was by her assignments. Out of the twenty days she had been in Switzerland, she’d allowed herself only one day off to play tourist.
Last week she had strolled the gorgeous lakeside walk to Chateau de Chillon, the famous island castle on the edge of Lake Geneva. The castle looked like it was literally rising from the water; its construction was a marvel of architecture and steeped in a thousand years of history. It had been everything from a Roman stronghold to a royal summerhouse to a prison.
Semele spent the morning touring the grounds, looking out Gothic windows and wandering along the sentry walks. She visited the Clos de Chillon wine cellar, where monk Fran?ois Bonivard, the hero of Lord Byron’s famous poem, had been imprisoned. She did a small tasting of their Grand Cru and bought a bottle to take home to Bren. At the gift shop she also found a leather-bound copy of The Prisoner of Chillon. Wine and Lord Byron would be perfect anniversary gifts. She planned to give him both tomorrow night.
Semele’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she sent Bren a reply—perhaps a sappier one than usual to atone for her unexpected feelings upstairs. Then she finished off her drink and thanked the chef for a wonderful stay. As soon as the courier came, she would be officially done at the chateau, and she was ready to head home.
She waited for her computer to shut down and zipped it into its case.
Feeling mellow from the wine now, she wandered back into the gallery. A sharp pang of guilt hit her as she realized she’d been half hoping Theo would come downstairs. Although they had said their good-byes this morning, he was still here … and so was she.…
In a bit of a haze, she shut the door and leaned back against the heavy wood and closed her eyes.
“Daydreaming?”
Startled, she turned to find Theo standing in the doorway of his father’s study. He was waiting for her. He had changed into slacks and another sweater. Her eyes reflexively swept over him, but then she caught herself.
“Did you have a chance to take a last tour around the house before you’re off?” A knowing look danced in his eyes.
Semele’s heart hammered in her chest. He had seen her upstairs. “I-I … I wanted to look at your Orbis.…” She hesitated, thinking that didn’t sound right.
“Did you? Look?” He walked toward her.
She watched him close the distance between them. “Is it really an original?” She hated how nervous she sounded. Her conscience screamed for her to back up, to look away, to figure out how to leave the room, but she couldn’t resist the spell that was weaving itself around them.
“I’m afraid this house is full of surprises,” he said softly. “God knows I shouldn’t be down here.” His hand came up and trailed along her cheek. “Tell me to go.”
The desire in his eyes made her forget every thought running through her mind. She wanted him—had wanted him from the first moment they met. Their lips locked, seeking each other, and the tension that had been building between them all these weeks turned into an insatiable dance. It was as though a hand reached inside and turned her like a spinning top.
“Semele,” he whispered and lifted her up.
She felt the table beneath her and his hands as they slid along the silk of her stockings. She leaned back, taking him with her as the kiss deepened. They were almost unable to stop.
It was Theo who pulled away. His breath sounded ragged as he ushered an apology. “I’m sorry.”
Those two words jolted her back to reality. She was lying across the examining table in her client’s arms.