“No, nothing. Do you know why he came in at three?”
“He might have wanted to get a head start on the day: as you know, we have to start moving in the final artifacts at nine. I’ve got the carpenters, the Exhibition Department, and the conservation staff all mobilized. But no Adrian. I can’t believe he would just vanish like this.”
“He’ll show up. He’s always been reliable.”
“I should hope so.”
“I should hope so, too,” came another voice.
Nora glanced up, startled. Wicherly stood in the doorway, looking at her.
Menzies seemed startled himself and then smiled with relief. “There you are! I was starting to get worried.”
“No need to worry about me.”
Menzies rose. “Well then, much ado about nothing. Adrian, I’d like to have a chat with you in my office about the artifact placements. We have a big day ahead of us.”
“Mind if I have a word with Nora first? I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Fine.” Menzies left and shut the door behind him.
Wicherly sat himself down, uninvited, in the wing chair Menzies had just vacated. Nora felt a twitch of annoyance. She hoped he wasn’t going to repeat his asinine behavior of the previous week.
When he spoke again, his voice was laced with sarcasm. “Worrying that I might try to slip something unwelcome into your knickers?”
“Adrian, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and so do you. Give it a rest.”
“Not after your abominable behavior.”
“My behavior?” Nora took a breath: this was not the time to get into it. “The door is over there. Please use it.”
“Not until we settle this thing.”
Nora looked at Wicherly more closely, feeling a twinge of alarm. She was suddenly struck by how tired he looked—wiped out, even. His face was white; gray pouches had formed under his blue eyes; and his hair was damp and disordered. Most surprising of all, his suit and tie, always immaculate, looked untidy, even disheveled. Beads of sweat stood on his brow.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine!” But as he spoke, one side of his face suddenly contracted in a grotesque twitch.
“Adrian, I honestly think you need a break. You’ve been working too hard.” She kept her voice calm and cool. As soon as he left, she would call Menzies and suggest he order Wicherly home for the day. Much as they needed his expertise—and despite his obnoxious behavior, he’d proved invaluable—they couldn’t afford a crack-up just before the opening.
His face twitched again, a horrible muscular contraction that screwed his handsome features into a brief grimace before allowing them to spring back into normalcy.
“Why did you ask me that, Nora? Don’t I seem all right?”
His voice had risen in volume. She noticed his hands were gripping the arm of the chair so hard that the fingernails were digging into the fabric.
Nora rose from her seat. “You know, with all your hard work, I really think you’ve earned a day off.” She decided she wouldn’t even check with Menzies: she was the curator of the show, and she was going to send him home. Wicherly was in no condition to be supervising the moving of millions of dollars’ worth of artifacts.
Another hideous twitch. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“You’re exhausted, that’s all. I’m giving you the day off. This is not optional, Adrian. I want you to go home and get some rest.”
“Not optional? And since when have you been my boss?”
“Since the day you arrived here. Now, please go home or I’ll be forced to call security.”
“Security? They’re a ruddy joke!”
“Please remove yourself from my office.” And Nora reached for the phone.
But suddenly Wicherly—rising—lunged forward and swept it from the desk to the floor, stomped on the cradle, yanked the wire out the back, and tossed it aside.
Nora froze. Something terrible was happening to Wicherly, something utterly beyond her experience.
“Look, Adrian,” she said calmly. “Let’s just cool down here.” She stood up, then began edging along the desk.
“You bloody tart,” he said in a low, menacing tone.
Nora could see his fingers twitching now, contracting a little more with each twitch until they formed a spastically clutching fist. She could almost smell the air of violence gathering around him. She came around the desk, not fast, but with slow determination.
“I’m leaving,” she said as firmly as she could. At the same time, she braced for a fight. If he came at her, she’d go straight for his eyes.