Death of an Adept

While Lockhart lay back and listened, and Ximena and her mother drew up chairs on the other side of the bed, Adam began describing the house, from its Palladian fa9ade and gothic windows to the allocation of space in the kitchen wing. More and more, however, he found himself digressing to talk about Templemor, the seventeenth-century tower house elsewhere on the Strathmourne estate. Once a ruin, Templemor had been undergoing extensive renovation during the past two years. Most of the structural repairs were now complete, and Adam was starting to consider plans for the interior refurbish-ments which would eventually make the old tower habitable again.

Almost without being aware of it, he found himself pouring out his enthusiasm for the project with a fullness he had rarely shared with anyone outside the ranks of the Hunting Lodge. Lost in contemplating the image in his mind's eye, he only belatedly became aware that Alan Lockhart was smiling up at him with genuine warmth. He stopped himself with a self-deprecating grin.

"You'll have to pardon my misplaced fervor. Restoring Templemor has been an ambition of mine since childhood."

Lockhart's smile remained in place, his voice firm when he spoke, even if weak. "Sounds as if you're not only a traditionalist, but a romantic as well," he said softly.

Adam gave the architect a quizzical look. "Is that good or bad?"

"Either way," said Lockhart, "it makes you a man after my own heart."

A sudden commotion from the direction of the hall put an end to any further discussion. An instant later, a small figure came bursting into the room in a diaphanous flutter of white robes, papier-mache wings, and a tinsel halo atop titian curls. This cherubic apparition was closely pursued by a taller figure in royal blue, who scooped up her quarry with maternal single-mindedness.

"Easy, Emma!" she admonished. "This is a hospital, not a circus tent."

Laurel Lockhart had fiery-red hair and the springy fitness of a natural athlete. Her freckled cheeks were flushed with the chase, and she grinned good-naturedly over her daughter's somewhat tousled head as she noticed Adam.

"Excuse me if I seem to have my hands too full to offer any other form of greeting, but I'm Laurel Lockhart," she said. "You must be Adam. There couldn't possibly be a second man fitting the descriptions we've had from Ximena."

A diversion from Emma spared Adam the necessity of framing a response. Wriggling loose, she darted over to the bed to stretch on tiptoe, flourishing a slightly crumpled construction in silver paper.

"Look, Grandpa!" she urged. "See what Mrs. Chang made me!"

Lockhart retained strength enough to feign ignorance. "Is it a goose?"

"No, silly, it's an angel!" Emma crowed triumphantly. "Mrs. Chang says it's supposed to be me."

"That was very complimentary of her," said a joking male voice from the doorway. "It's a good thing Mrs. Chang doesn't know you like we do, eh, pumpkin?"

Emma whirled away from the bedside. "Daddy!" she exclaimed happily, and hurled herself at the newcomer with puppy-like abandon. Clearly Ximena's brother, he bore a close resemblance to what their father must have looked like in his youth.

"I'm Austen," the man said, staggering under the impact of his daughter's embrace around his knees. "You must be Adam. It's a pity we couldn't have met sooner. Now that you're here, I hope you'll be staying long enough for us to get better acquainted."

"I hope so, too," Adam said, turning a physician's eye on the elder Lockhart. "In the meantime, though, perhaps we'd all better adjourn to the lobby. Your father looks as if he's needing a rest."

Even as he spoke, a nurse appeared at the door.

"Sorry to interrupt," she apologized, "but it's time for Mr. Lockhart's medication."

"That's all right. We were just getting ready to leave," Austen said. "We'll see you tomorrow, Dad. And we'll take pictures of the angel for you - if monsters disguised as angels register on film!"

So saying, he scooped up his daughter, being careful not to crush her wings, and carried her giggling into the corridor, followed by Laurel, Ximena, and Adam, leaving Teresa to sit with her husband as he drifted off into drug-induced oblivion. Adam watched briefly from the doorway before turning to join Ximena and her brother, while Laurel attempted to straighten little Emma's halo.

"This play of Emma's starts in just over an hour," Austen was saying to Ximena, "and we still have to grab a bite to eat. I don't suppose you and Adam would care to join us at McDonald's?"

"That sounds fine to me," Adam said, before Ximena could decline. "I'm game, if you are," he told her.

"Play and all?"

"Play and all," Adam agreed. He cocked an eyebrow at Ximena and added, "You can regard it as a test of my devotion."

"More like a trial of courage," Ximena murmured, "but you did volunteer."