The Ankh of Isis: The Library of Athena, Book 2

by Christine Norris

  Chapter Three: Unexpected Surprise

  Megan’s head snapped up and she met the butler’s reserved, unwavering gaze. “You always know. How do you always know?”

  “It’s my job to know, miss.”

  Megan tried to read him. Nothing, as usual. Just once, she wished she could figure out what he was thinking. “Yes, Bailey, the place is in perfect order,” she said with mock exasperation. She put her hand on the knob to her bedroom door. “If you see my dad, please tell him I’ll be down in a little bit. I need to clean up and change.”

  Bailey bent his upper body toward her, and Megan could swear she saw a smile skirt the edges of his mouth. “Yes, miss.”

  He walked away quickly, down the hall toward the stairs.

  Megan went to her closet, rifled through her clothes and picked out a crisp light blue blouse and a pair of khaki pants. After a quick scrub of her face and a check of her hair, she got dressed and dashed downstairs to look for her father and his guest.

  She found them in the parlor. The silver tea set sat on the coffee table, along with a plate of cookies. Her father sat in one of two overstuffed wingback chairs; he sipped his tea and munched on a cookie, all the time nodding to the two people who sat on the blue velvet-covered loveseat on the other side of the table.

  Two people? I thought Dad said there would only be one guest.

  The person on the left looked to be in his midfifties, with short salt-and-pepper hair and a well-groomed moustache. Ice blue eyes peered from behind round wire-framed glasses perched on the bridge of a long, thin nose, centered in an angular, lined face. He said something to Megan’s father, and Megan recognized his voice—it was the one she had heard on the landing, outside the secret door.

  Next to him sat a boy about Megan’s age. His hair was dark, a bit longer than the man’s. His face was thin, but not pinched. His eyes were the same shade of ice blue, his nose the same shape as the man. The boy held a teacup in one long-fingered, well-manicured hand, a look of polite boredom on his face.

  Megan realized she was staring at him, and looked away. She shuffled her feet and cleared her throat to announce her presence. Her father turned his head and smiled brightly.

  “Ah, there you are.” He finished his cookie and waved her over. “This is my daughter, Megan. Megan, this is Herr Josef Hemmlich, and his son, Diedrich. Diedrich is also on a school holiday, so Herr Hemmlich asked if it was all right if he came along. I figured you’d be able to show him around.”

  Megan gave Diedrich another quick appraisal. So here’s the third voice. Not an unpleasant surprise. I can totally live with it. Having a guest or two might not be so bad after all. She gave the visitors a small wave. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “We are most happy to meet you,” Hemmlich the elder said in a heavy German accent. He set his cup down on the table. “You have a beautiful home. Such a lovely country too—my son and I had no idea it was so…” He waved one hand in small circles, searching for the right word. “Quaint.”

  Megan sat in the empty wingback chair, next to her father. “Uh, thank you.”

  Mr. Hemmlich continued. “I was just telling your father that I am most interested in the history of your home. He tells me that it has been an asset of his firm since Sir Gregory’s death. It has an odd name, don’t you agree?”

  Megan took a cookie from the plate on the table and slowly prepared herself a cup of tea. Her father said Mr. Hemmlich was a fan of Sir Gregory’s, but the question still surprised her.

  “Yes, I guess,” she said, and took a sip of tea. “But Sir Gregory liked Ancient Greece, so then again, I guess not.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Mr. Hemmlich replied with a thin smile. “Your father doesn’t seem to know much about Sir Gregory beyond what is public knowledge.”

  Her father laughed. “I’ll readily admit it. I don’t have much time for leisurely pursuits. I sleep, eat and spend the occasional day in my home office, but otherwise I’m in the London office, doing my best to keep my clients happy.”

  Megan gave her father a look that said subtle as a brick, Dad.

  Her father took another cookie and tried to regain lost ground. “Megan is here by herself most of the time. Well, her and the staff, of course.”

  Mr. Hemmlich fixed Megan with a pointed, piercing gaze. “Do you know much of Sir Gregory, Miss Montgomery?”

  Megan tried not to choke on her tea. “Uh, not really.” She reached for a napkin. “I know a little more than my father, and that I learned from the servants and books. He was a prominent archaeologist in the thirties and forties. He also loved antiques and was an avid art collector. The big painting in the entrance hall, for example. The one by the front door, of the ballerinas? That’s an original Degas. He found it in a small curio shop in Paris.”

  The elder Hemmlich cocked his head to one side. “How do you know that? Sir Gregory’s personal art collection is well documented, so I know the piece. I don’t recall ever hearing anything about how he acquired it, however.”

  Her father looked puzzled. “Yes, Meg, how do you know? I don’t remember hearing that before either.”

  “Uh, Miranda must have told me.” Megan stuffed the rest of the cookie into her mouth and chewed. Inwardly, she kicked herself. She had almost slipped up. Miranda had told her the painting had been Sir Gregory’s favorite, but not where he had found it. That bit of information she discovered in Gregory Archibald’s own journal, hidden with the key and poem beneath the hearthstone in her room.

  Mr. Hemmlich nodded. The light reflected off his glasses and threw little beams around the room. “Those firsthand accounts are always the most rewarding. They have that little bit of personality that makes them so much better than reading about things in books.”

  He gave Megan a look that for some reason made her nervous. “Perhaps the servants would be willing to regale me with their tales sometime during my visit?”

  “I’m sure they would,” Megan’s father said.

  Mr. Hemmlich continued to give Megan that strange look, and Megan tried not to squirm beneath his gaze. What is with this guy?

  Megan’s father appeared not to notice. “I’ll arrange it myself, later in the week. You can interview them in the lounge.” He pointed to Diedrich, who had put down his cup and now sat comfortably with his long legs crossed. “Diedrich here is just about your age, Meg. He also likes horses.”

  Diedrich gave Megan a humble look. “I ride at home,” he said with a small shrug. His voice was rich and warm, and his accent was not as pronounced as his father’s.

  Mr. Hemmlich finally broke his eye contact with Megan. “Don’t be so modest.” He patted his son on the knee. “Diedrich is a dressage champion. He is an outstanding rider, the best at his school.”

  “Pater, please,” Diedrich said, and blushed. “It is a hobby, nothing more.” He turned his blue eyes up to meet Megan’s green ones. They were the same color as his father’s, yes, but unlike the older man’s, Megan saw warmth that his father’s did not have.

  Megan swallowed hard—she suddenly couldn’t remember what she was going to say. “Um…uh…” she stammered. When her tongue finally unlocked, she said, “Sure, we can go riding. There are plenty of trails, and our horses are very, uh…gentle.”

  Smooth, Megan, very smooth. You sound like an idiot. She didn’t know what had gotten into her. It wasn’t like this was the first boy she’d ever talked to. Diedrich just seemed so much more confident and much less childish than the boys she was used to.

  Diedrich’s gaze was steady. “That would be lovely.” He had a crooked smile that lit up his whole face. Megan thought she would melt into a puddle right there on the floor. She was sure everyone in the room could hear her heart beat—it was going a mile a minute.

  There was an awkward silence. Megan pushed a curl behind her ear and searched for something incredibly witty to say. She just opened her mouth when Bailey strode into the room.

  “Dinner is served.”

 
He turned on his heel and left.

  Megan’s father stood. “Come, I’ll take you to the dining room. Wait until you taste our cook’s food, it’s fantastic.”

  Mr. Hemmlich stood up and straightened his dark gray suit coat. “I’m sure it will be quite acceptable.” He joined Megan’s father and they walked toward the door. “Come, Diedrich, don’t dawdle.”

  Diedrich also stood. His back was straight, and he was taller than his father. “It would be rude to leave without waiting for our hostess. We must wait for Megan.”

  Megan felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She lowered her eyes to her lap. She couldn’t stand, because her legs felt like they were made of gelatin. If she stood now she would fall right over. “Oh, you don’t have to wait for me. I’ll meet you there. I’ll be fine, really.”

  Diedrich held his hand out to her. “I won’t hear of it. It would be my pleasure to escort you to dinner.”

  Megan balled her trembling hands into fists to try and calm them. She took a deep breath, which she let out slowly, then reached up and slipped a hand inside his. “Thank you.” Her voice shook, her face felt ready to burst into flames.

  Diedrich helped her stand and led her toward the door, where the two older men waited.

  “All set then?” her father said, and Megan heard the stifled laugh in his voice. She glared at him. He wiped the look of amusement off his face, but his eyes still danced. “Let’s go eat.”

  Dinner was Maggie’s best roast chicken with all the trimmings. After the crepes and cream dessert, Mr. Hemmlich had insisted in his charming, off-handed-yet-insistent way that Megan and her father give their guests a complete tour of the house.

  They walked through each room like a group in a museum, Megan’s father making cursory remarks and apologizing over and over that he didn’t know more about the house.

  Mr. Hemmlich was undeterred. He fired his carefully worded questions at Megan instead. His unending barrage kept Megan on her toes. She didn’t want a repeat of her slip in the parlor.

  “What is your interest in Sir Gregory?” Megan asked, trying not to sound as suspicious as she was. They were on the first floor, in the regular library, and Mr. Hemmlich had asked about the book collection.

  Mr. Hemmlich pulled his glasses off and cleaned them on a handkerchief he produced from his pocket. “Sir Gregory was my mentor. Oh, not in the physical sense,” he said in response to Megan’s surprised look. “I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but his work…” He replaced his glasses and stuffed the handkerchief back into his breast pocket. “Let’s just say, it inspires me.”

  Megan gave him her best I’m-a-stupid-teenager-I-don’t-know-anything expression. Her brain whirred with unanswered questions. And the way he practically invited himself here still nagged at her. “Oh, I see. Then being here must be very special for you.”

  Mr. Hemmlich’s smile was genuine. “Quite.”

  Chapter Four: The Walls Have Ears

  Megan wiped sleep from her eyes, looked at her clock and cursed. It was late, at least later than she had planned on getting up. She threw the comforter off, jumped out of bed and stifled a yawn. On her way to the bathroom she stretched her arms overhead. I guess this makes up for getting up early yesterday. Anyway, it’s not my fault I slept in.

  It had turned into a late night. Megan thought again about Mr. Hemmlich and his questions as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  I wonder what he really wants to know. She didn’t know why she thought there was more to Diedrich’s father, but she had the distinct feeling there was something else he wanted to know.

  She turned on the hot-water tap. While she waited for the water to heat up, she replayed the rest of the evening in her head. Once the tour was over, Megan’s father and Mr. Hemmlich had settled into the lounge for drinks and to talk about business. Megan had shown Diedrich into the family room and let him pick a movie from her impressive collection of DVDs.

  A faint, enigmatic smile crept onto Megan’s face. While they watched To Catch a Thief, Megan and Diedrich talked. He was polite—he didn’t even blink when Megan told him about her fascination with the goddesses of the silver screen. Megan loved old movies, especially starring women like Katharine or Audrey Hepburn, Ava Gardner or Grace Kelly. Megan’s mother had often taken her to showings at the revival houses in New York and watched DVDs with her, and the movies always reminded her of those days. Plus the movies were very romantic and the clothes beautiful.

  Diedrich was charming and easy to talk to. Despite her unrelenting giddiness, she managed to converse with him without sounding too stupid. At ten o’clock, he excused himself and went to bed. Megan went to her own room, but was too wound up to sleep. She had turned on her computer, and spent the next three and a half hours exchanging instant messages with Rachel, who of course wanted to know all about the new arrivals.

  But mostly about Diedrich. Megan mused as she rinsed the soap from her face. Megan had supplied Rachel with as many details as she thought necessary, just enough to make her completely abandon thoughts of her history paper and to rush over today.

  It took a good fifteen minutes to make sure her unruly hair looked just right, and another ten to choose what to wear to breakfast. She didn’t usually wear makeup, certainly not around the house, but applied just a little, to bring out her eyes, smeared some gloss on her lips and looked at the clock again. Whoops, she was more than fashionably late for breakfast. With a deep breath, she ran downstairs.

  She stopped outside the dining room door to catch her breath, so she could make at least an attempt at a dignified, sophisticated, older-than-fourteen-years entrance. She conjured up an image of Kate Hepburn and put her hand on dining room door.

  She heard the murmur of voices on the other side. Megan pulled her hand back and put her ear to the door instead. She ignored the scolding voice in her head, which sounded like Maggie, telling her it was rude to eavesdrop. She distinctly heard Diedrich and his father.

  “What are we doing here, Pater?” Diedrich said, loud and clear.

  “Kindly keep your voice down,” Mr. Hemmlich replied in a tone of brushed steel. “We are here enjoying the hospitality of a man whom I hope to have a working relationship with. That is all.”

  “That’s not all. I know you, father, you never do anything without good reason. You could have conducted this business on the phone, or at his office in London. There was no reason for us to come all the way out here.” Diedrich’s voice was edged with suspicion and annoyance.

  Megan furrowed her brow. She hadn’t been able to put her finger on it, but she knew something had seemed off about this visit. Apparently Diedrich had the same thought. She pressed her ear tighter against the door.

  “My reasons are my own, Diedrich, and I do not like this insolent tone. There are many things which you do not understand. I could not pass up a chance to visit Archibald’s manor. This opportunity may not come again.”

  “What is here that is so interesting? You aren’t still on that kick about Sir Gregory knowing—”

  “Do not speak of it here, boy. The walls may have ears.” There was a creak of wood as someone leaned back in his seat.

  “Aren’t you enjoying yourself, my son? You seem to like the company of that girl well enough.”

  The chair’s feet thudded to the floor. “And that’s another thing, plying poor Megan with questions. What could she possibly know?”

  “That is what I was trying to ascertain.”

  “Leave her out of this. She’s very nice. I—”

  “There you are, Megan. What are you doing?”

  Megan jumped and spun around to face her father. “Uh, nothing, Dad. I just came down for breakfast.”

  “We’ve been waiting for you. I just had to make a trip to the little boys’ room.” He glanced at Megan’s almost overly neat appearance, gave a cockeyed grin and pushed the door open for Megan. She gave herself a quick check in the gilt-framed mirror and strode into t
he room.

  “Good morning,” she said a bit too cheerily. Both Diedrich and his father stood when she entered. Diedrich pulled out a chair for her, and Megan was once again fighting to make her tongue work. “S-Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Her father took his seat at the head of the table. “Did you have a good night’s sleep? We were beginning to think you weren’t going to join us.”

  Megan plucked her napkin from the table and laid it across her lap. “I was up late last night. Doing homework.” She groaned to herself. She had just said the first thing that popped into her head, thinking about yesterday. Homework? Why did I just say that? Diedrich’s going to think I’m a total nerd, staying up late to do homework on vacation.

  “Homework, huh?” her father said, one eyebrow cocked. He passed her a plate piled high with pancakes and gave her a sarcastic grin. “Still? Didn’t Rachel come over yesterday to do homework? I’m impressed.”

  Megan speared a couple of pancakes and moved them to her own plate. Now that she had let her mouth rush off without her, she was left to dig her way out. “I, uh, you know, don’t want to leave it to the last minute.” Any other morning, her father’s jibes would have caused Megan to fire right back, but today there were more important things to worry about. On top of trying not to look like a total dweeb, the conversation she had overheard echoed in her head. She would have to sort it out later.

  “You are a very responsible young woman,” Mr. Hemmlich said, obviously missing the undertone of the exchange between Megan and her father. “I often tell Diedrich he should not put his work off. Always I am hearing that he’s working late the night before a project is due.”

  Diedrich’s mouth pulled into a tight bow and the knuckles wrapped around his fork turned white. “And as I always tell him, I work better under pressure.” He passed Megan the small pitcher of warm syrup. “You have no complaints about my grades, do you, Father?”

  “No, but learning to be organized and to finish projects in a timely manner is a valuable lesson,” Mr. Hemmlich said sternly. “In the real world, meeting deadlines is part of how you earn respect, a reputation. How will you be successful in business without a good reputation?”