Death of an Adept

Chapter Seven

THE meditation room was a tiny, intimate retreat tucked away on the ground floor at the far end of the lobby. Perhaps eight feet by ten, it housed two small pews capable of seating three to four people, a lectern against the far wall, and a stained-glass panel suspended in front of a floor-to-ceiling ivory curtain that filtered the light from a window beyond. The panel, done in blues and rich jewel-tones of gold and crimson, read: The Lord bless thee and keep thee. At the rear of the room, a small shelf held a vase of dried flowers and copies of the Bible and the Torah.

"Good, there's no one here," Ximena said, leading Adam inside and closing the door. "Now, what on earth did my father say to you that made you want to bring me all the way down here to tell me about it?"

Given the tragic ironies of the situation, Adam knew he was going to have to tread delicately. Smiling gently, he drew Ximena to sit beside him in the rear pew.

"He said very little on his own account," he told her. "Mostly, we talked about you. It won't come as any surprise to you to hear that he loves you very much. What you may not realize is the scope of the many aspirations he cherishes on your behalf."

A small, puzzled furrow appeared between Ximena's winged eyebrows.

"I know he's always wanted me to be happy and successful," she said. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "Have I somehow failed to satisfy him on those accounts?"

Adam mentally drew a deep breath. "Let us say that his satisfaction in life won't be complete until he feels that yours is."

Ximena's perplexity deepened. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Then let me see if I can help," Adam said, choosing his words carefully. "Forgive me if, for a moment, I sound like a psychiatrist again.

"Everyone has some notion of what it would take to make him or her perfectly happy. Happiness is frequently denned as that state of contentment which an individual experiences when he or she has satisfied a significant number of personal goals. It's a sense that one's life is in balance - an awareness of personal harmony that comes from living out one's highest aspirations and promises. In short, it's the conscious attainment of wholeness which thereafter becomes the rock upon which the rest of life can confidently be founded. 'Fulfillment' might be an apt one-word descriptor."

He broke off, his dark eyes earnestly searching hers, but she turned her gaze away.

"What are you trying to tell me?" she asked.

"If you feel your life is already complete as it is, then your father needs to be assured of the fact," he replied. "If not, it might set his mind at ease to know that you're at least aware of what you truly want, and have some notion how to go about getting it."

He paused to give Ximena a chance to offer comment. When she remained mute, only lowering her eyes, he forced himself to continue.

"Ximena, yesterday you asked me to promise to think only of the present, and I agreed," he reminded her. "Now I'd like to ask you to change that perspective. I'd like you to overleap all thoughts of the present and think about the future."

"How far into the future?" Ximena asked. Her face was pale and her voice strained, and she would not meet his eyes.

"Far enough to put yourself beyond any of the grief you're no doubt anticipating," Adam said. "Maybe five years from now. If you could shape that future any way you wanted, where would you like to be, and what would you like to be doing?"

Ximena plucked at a fold of her skirt, still not looking at him. "You'll have to give me a minute or two to think about that," she murmured. "You've got to understand that for over a year I've been teaching myself to take things one day at a time."

"I understand completely," Adam said. "Take as long as you want."

He settled down to wait, one arm resting along the back of the pew but not daring to touch her. After a moment, she buried her face in her hands and was motionless for a very long time. When she raised her head at last, she had recovered some measure of her usual composure. She spoke softly, and with great deliberation, as she redirected her attention to Adam's watchful face.

"My father used to say that building a future for yourself is a bit like designing a house," she said. "You draw up the plans to meet your expectations, then start in on the construction. Sometimes there are builders' strikes or shortages of materials, and sometimes you have to modify the plans, but you go on as and when you can.

"The way it looks right now, my future has more than its share of empty rooms," she said more firmly. "But I know what I'd like to put in them, if I were allowed to have my way."

"Please go on," Adam said softly, as she glanced at him for reassurance.

She nodded, her gaze shifting unfocused to a point on the back of the pew before them.

"My career will always be important to me," she said, "but it isn't everything and it certainly isn't enough. Above and beyond the satisfactions of being a doctor, I want to love and be loved in return. I want children to cherish and nurture in celebration of that union. I want the joy of growing old in fond companionship. In other words," she finished on a softer note, looking up at him beseechingly, "I want you."

Adam's heart swelled within him, and his hand shifted to her shoulder. But before he could say anything, Ximena laid a silencing finger tenderly across his lips.

"No, let me finish, darling. This isn't easy to say, and I don't want to lose my nerve. I know I've caused you no end of frustration in the last year or so, with all my dithering and indecision. At the same time, I guess the fact that you're here means you don't intend to hold that against me. With all you've put yourself through on my account, you deserve to hear me say that there isn't anything I wouldn't do to redress the balance - that is, if you think you're still willing to have me."

Their eyes met. Ximena's were bright beyond all shadow of remaining doubt, and answered whatever hesitation Adam himself might have entertained. Only barely containing his joy, he took her hand and turning her palm up, kissed it with a tenderness approaching reverence.

"This is not the setting I imagined," he told her gravely. "Certainly not the one this moment deserves - but it will have to do."

In a single fluid movement, he left the bench and sank down on one knee before her, keeping her hand in his.

"We've talked about marriage before, but never come directly to the sticking point," he continued. "Well, I'm coming to the point now. I would give you the sun, the moon, and the stars thrown in, if that would make you happy. Will you marry me?"

Ximena was wavering between laughter and tears. With her free hand she dashed the wetness from her eyes.

"Adam, you dear fool, of course I will!" she exclaimed. "Just tell me when and where."

Although Dr. Philippa Sinclair was American born and bred, and currently residing in New Hampshire, she had spent more than half of her life in Scotland as the wife of a Scottish laird. Among the British customs she had adopted in the course of her marriage was the time-honored ritual of afternoon tea.

That custom had been introduced as a regular feature at the private psychiatric clinic at which Philippa was chief consultant. On the twenty-second of December, she was taking tea in the parlor with senior members of staff when one of the secretaries poked her head into the room.

"Dr. Sinclair, I have your son on the line. He says he's ringing from San Francisco."

"It's Adam? Good heavens. Put it through to my office, please, Janine."

She had known, of course, that Adam was stateside. He had rung her from his hotel in Houston, primarily to advise her of his safe arrival, but they had also spent some time discussing the situation he expected to encounter when he joined Ximena on the West Coast. En route to her office, as she calculated the time difference between California and New Hampshire, she concluded that something significant must have occurred to warrant Adam's phoning in the middle of the day.

Her first thought - that Adam was calling to report the death of Ximena's father - was put to flight the moment she heard her son's voice, buoyed up with a strange note of excitement that conveyed a wide range of emotion.

"Philippa," he said, "are you sitting down?"

"No," his mother said astringently. "Should I be?"

She thought she detected the suppression of a chuckle.

"Quite possibly. I've got a fairly important announcement to make."

"I see," Philippa said, groping behind her for her chair. "All right, I'm ready. Now, what's your news?"

"I think you'll find it to your liking," Adam said with a laugh. "Will you mind terribly if I bring a new Lady Sinclair home to Strathmourne?"

"What? Do you mean - "

"That's right. Ximena and I are getting married."

Philippa restrained an undignified impulse to squeal.

"Oh, thank heavens!" she exclaimed. "And about time, too! Have you set a date?"

"Ah. That's partly why I thought I'd better call you as quickly as possible," Adam replied, on a note of apology. "Do you think you could get out here for Christmas Eve?"

"This Christmas Eve?" Philippa blurted, then made haste to recover herself. "Probably not without a minor miracle," she allowed, "but this being a good and worthy cause, I daresay I could probably conjure one up."

"I know. I'm sorry. I know this must seem a bit sudden."

He sounded like a guilty schoolboy - which gave Philippa an absurd twinge of delight.

"Oh, I don't know," she said airily. "I've seen it coming for at least the last year. So far as I can see, the only mystery involved is what took you so long. That having been said, I hope you'll forgive me for asking why you're going ahead so precipitously now?"

Adam's voice took on a more serious note.

"I'm afraid the rush isn't intended for our benefit. It seems that, many years ago, Alan Lockhart promised his daughter that he would attend her wedding - and Ximena and I would like to make that possible. He's already waited far longer than he should have done."

Philippa's agile mind was quick to seize the unspoken implications of this disclosure, but she made herself move on to practicalities.

"I see. Holiday air schedules aside, have you considered other important logistics?" she asked. "Blood tests shouldn't be a problem for two doctors, but this close to Christmas, the license might be."

"We've already decided not to worry about that for now," Adam replied. "We haven't the time. Alan Lockhart hasn't the time. We'll have a second ceremony when we get back to Scotland. Besides, Christopher will be crushed if he doesn't get to officiate."

"Quite so," Philippa agreed, somewhat taken aback.

"Meanwhile, we're making arrangements for a small, very intimate ceremony in Alan's hospital room," Adam went on. "The chaplain who's been working with the family has agreed to preside, and to offer a Eucharist, and she's in full agreement with our reasons for rushing things through and waiving the legalities. Even if the wedding isn't technically legal, it will be sacramentally valid."

"Very sensible, under the circumstances," Philippa concurred, "though that still leaves a great many loose ends to tie up. Professionally speaking, is Ximena quite resigned to giving up her job there in San Francisco?"

"It wasn't her job that brought her back to San Francisco," Adam reminded his mother quietly, "though she wouldn't be human if she didn't have a few regrets. Fortunately, with her qualifications, she'll never have any shortage of job offers. I was pleased to learn that she's kept up her contacts with her old colleagues at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. Apparently most of them would be delighted to have her back, including the head of section. But even if that doesn't work out, she assures me that she's still committed to returning to Scotland, once her responsibilities here in San Francisco are discharged."

"You seem to have the larger issues well in hand," Philippa said, deciding not to pursue the lingering questions centered around Ximena's father. "Just to give you more to think about, I wonder if you've thought about your own obligations back in Scotland. Social obligations, if nothing else. I know you've thought about the others."

"Social obligations'?" Adam said, puzzled.

Philippa clucked her tongue. "Adam, Adam - getting married ought to be one of life's most memorable experiences, not only for the bride and groom, but also for those who are closest to them," she pointed out. "You needn't make any decisions just yet, but speaking as the most senior surviving member of the Sinclair family, I would like to see you celebrate the event in a style worthy of your station and equal to a mother's fondest ambitions."

This declaration earned her a chuckle from her son's end of the line.

"I see what you're getting at," he said. "Did you think I'd make Ximena settle for a registry office wedding?"

"Well, hardly that. You did mention having Christopher preside, and he'll insist on bells and smells, even if you'd prefer to run away to Gretna Green. Just remember that most little girls dream of a fairy-tale wedding to a handsome prince. If that's Ximena's dream, you wouldn't want to deprive her of it."

"It's my fondest wish never to deprive her of anything," Adam replied with a chuckle, "but I'm afraid she will have to settle for a baronet rather than a prince. But never fear: Ximena deserves nothing but the best - and whether she knows it or not, I intend to see that our 'official' wedding is no exception. Since we've got to go through the forms a second time in any case, we might as well make the most of the occasion."

"Then, there will be a splendid party! Excellent!" Philippa exclaimed. "I shall look forward to helping the two of you plan the details. Incidentally, have you given any thought to a ring?"

"Not yet," Adam admitted.

"Then don't," Philippa said. "Unless, of course, you think Ximena would be averse to wearing the sapphire that belonged to my mother."

"The Rhodes sapphire?" Adam was obviously taken with the idea. "Mother, you have me at a loss for words. Thank you. I'll ask her, but I imagine she'd be delighted to wear it."

"Then I'll be sure to bring it with me," Philippa said crisply. "Being a surgeon, she'll probably want a plain gold band to go with it, but we can sort that out later. At least you've left me twenty-four hours' grace to get it out of the safe deposit box."

"I gather this means you approve of the match," Adam said wryly.

"Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" Philippa countered, and smiled to herself. "If your stars have been slow on the ascendant, my dear, their impending conjunction presages as bright a future as any two people could ever wish for."