staring up at the leafy canopy. âIs it all as dark as this?â
âWhat?â MacGregor turned. âOh, lights for the camera, you mean. Itâs pretty much the same everywhere out here. I expect you can work it out. Roland said that you were good with this sort of thing and had some fancy new kind of camera. And we can always buy anything you need.â
Actually, what Roland had probably said was that she was good at making do and had the patience of Job when it came to rescuing photos on the computer. She wondered how he would feel about her making unauthorized purchases for this special job. Probably not thrilled. Maybe she could blame it all on MacGregor.
âOf course Iâll manage. Iâm a professional,â she said loftily. âI have worked in some of the most famous cemeteries inâOh my!â
MacGregor had tugged aside a curtain of honeysuckle and revealed a bedizened granite portico with a recessed wooden gate. The wood was so old it was nearly black, and it was heavily carved with a traditional funerary pattern of inverted torches, rose garlands and laurel wreaths. Again there came a feeling of déjà vu. Sleeping Beautyâs castle would have been guarded by justsuch a gate, she thought, and Chloeâs heart began to flutter.
MacGregor fished a giant key out of his pocket and stuffed it into the ancient box lock. The antique mechanism opened without the expected grate of rusted iron, and the gates themselves swung back without a shriek. Obviously, the gateâs hinges were cared for, in spite of the plant lifeâs overgrown condition. The plants were probably just a clever camouflage, which would suggest to a stranger a high degree of neglect.
Roger pranced on ahead of his master, but MacGregor paused before entering the dark space beyond. He held his arm across the threshold like a bar while he studied Chloe.
âI want you to understand something, Chloe. I donât let folks in here. Donât hold tours for the historical society and such nonsense. I donât have in photographers from the Smithsonian, though Iâve been asked a time or two. This is a private place for my family, and I want it to stay that way.â
Chloe didnât understand why MacGregor should suddenly be nervous about showing her the cemetery, but she was willing to agree with anything he wanted. She would do whatever it took to get the job done without arousing her bossâs ire.
âSure. I understand.â
MacGregor looked deep into her eyes. For the first time, the engaging twinkle was missing from his hazel gaze. Chloe was abruptly aware of a vein of granite running under his benevolent exterior.She shouldnât have been surprised by the streak of hardnessâall despots had them.
âIâm the keeper now. The guardian. These folks were my family. They were people once who were alive just like you and me. They laughed and loved, made war and babies. Some were heroes, some scoundrels. You ever hear that epitaph by Keats about â
Here lies one whose name was writ in waterâ
? Well, that goes for all these dead folks. All thatâs left of them now are these monuments and some crumbling old bones. I donât want them to end up being robbed of what little they have left. Flesh is forgotten, consumed. Bones, too, eventually. But these monuments live on.â
âThatâs why Iâm here,â Chloe said gently, though her heart was pounding with some strange alarm. âIâm your insurance policy in case the unthinkable happens.â
MacGregor nodded. âBut my best insurance is that no one knows itâs here. I want to keep it that way for as long as I can. Rory made me promise to talk to you about this.â
Rory
. Of course he was responsible for this new show of nerves on MacGregorâs part. Obviously he didnât trust her.
âYou have my word,â she said gravely. âI wonât reveal anything I see
âWhat?â MacGregor turned. âOh, lights for the camera, you mean. Itâs pretty much the same everywhere out here. I expect you can work it out. Roland said that you were good with this sort of thing and had some fancy new kind of camera. And we can always buy anything you need.â
Actually, what Roland had probably said was that she was good at making do and had the patience of Job when it came to rescuing photos on the computer. She wondered how he would feel about her making unauthorized purchases for this special job. Probably not thrilled. Maybe she could blame it all on MacGregor.
âOf course Iâll manage. Iâm a professional,â she said loftily. âI have worked in some of the most famous cemeteries inâOh my!â
MacGregor had tugged aside a curtain of honeysuckle and revealed a bedizened granite portico with a recessed wooden gate. The wood was so old it was nearly black, and it was heavily carved with a traditional funerary pattern of inverted torches, rose garlands and laurel wreaths. Again there came a feeling of déjà vu. Sleeping Beautyâs castle would have been guarded by justsuch a gate, she thought, and Chloeâs heart began to flutter.
MacGregor fished a giant key out of his pocket and stuffed it into the ancient box lock. The antique mechanism opened without the expected grate of rusted iron, and the gates themselves swung back without a shriek. Obviously, the gateâs hinges were cared for, in spite of the plant lifeâs overgrown condition. The plants were probably just a clever camouflage, which would suggest to a stranger a high degree of neglect.
Roger pranced on ahead of his master, but MacGregor paused before entering the dark space beyond. He held his arm across the threshold like a bar while he studied Chloe.
âI want you to understand something, Chloe. I donât let folks in here. Donât hold tours for the historical society and such nonsense. I donât have in photographers from the Smithsonian, though Iâve been asked a time or two. This is a private place for my family, and I want it to stay that way.â
Chloe didnât understand why MacGregor should suddenly be nervous about showing her the cemetery, but she was willing to agree with anything he wanted. She would do whatever it took to get the job done without arousing her bossâs ire.
âSure. I understand.â
MacGregor looked deep into her eyes. For the first time, the engaging twinkle was missing from his hazel gaze. Chloe was abruptly aware of a vein of granite running under his benevolent exterior.She shouldnât have been surprised by the streak of hardnessâall despots had them.
âIâm the keeper now. The guardian. These folks were my family. They were people once who were alive just like you and me. They laughed and loved, made war and babies. Some were heroes, some scoundrels. You ever hear that epitaph by Keats about â
Here lies one whose name was writ in waterâ
? Well, that goes for all these dead folks. All thatâs left of them now are these monuments and some crumbling old bones. I donât want them to end up being robbed of what little they have left. Flesh is forgotten, consumed. Bones, too, eventually. But these monuments live on.â
âThatâs why Iâm here,â Chloe said gently, though her heart was pounding with some strange alarm. âIâm your insurance policy in case the unthinkable happens.â
MacGregor nodded. âBut my best insurance is that no one knows itâs here. I want to keep it that way for as long as I can. Rory made me promise to talk to you about this.â
Rory
. Of course he was responsible for this new show of nerves on MacGregorâs part. Obviously he didnât trust her.
âYou have my word,â she said gravely. âI wonât reveal anything I see
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