Writ on Water by Melanie Jackson Page A

were back to glaring at each other across the damask linens and gardenia blossoms floating gently in a Waterford bowl.
    â€œPeasants? Peasants are poor! With the wages you pay those boys—,” MacGregor began only to be interrupted.
    â€œWhat I pay them is my affair. And I would gladly pay them double wages to not have to spend the day hacking brambles off those gothic horrors—”
    â€œThose are your family’s final resting places! You will show some respect—”
    â€œOh, for God’s sake!” Rory stood abruptly and threw his napkin down on the chair. It was a very nice napkin and an even nicer chair. Chloe thought that they deserved better treatment, but didn’t say so. “I’ll be back around four. You should stop drinking that swill unless you want to have a coronary while you’re hiking the snake-infested outback.”
    â€œâ€”
Swill?
”
    â€œâ€”
Snake-infested?
” MacGregor and Chloe exclaimed at the same time.
    â€œExactly,” Rory said meanly and marched away.
    Chloe cleared her throat as his angry footsteps receded. For a man wearing soft-soled shoes and walking on the finest Aubusson carpets, he managed to make a whole lot of noise. It had to be deliberate. He had managed to be quiet as a mouse when he sneaked up on her yesterday.
    MacGregor slammed his bottle on the table and beamed at her. As the suds started to overflow the neck, he quickly returned the bottle to his mouth and polished off the offensive potation. Either the argument or the alcohol left him looking refreshed and pink as a rose.
    â€œOne more for the road?” he suggested.
    Chloe eyed MacGregor’s flushed face and then glanced at the three empty bottles on the sideboard. Her boss hadn’t mentioned that MacGregor had a heart condition—or a drinkingproblem. But maybe, like the mania for ugly garden statues, this was a recent development.
    â€œNo thanks,” she said firmly. “Actually there’s no need for you to put yourself out. I—”
    â€œNow, girl!” Clearly, interrupting people was a familial trait. “Don’t get in a lather. Rory just doesn’t understand that when a man’s as dry as dust he needs a little somethin’ besides coffee to quench his thirst. Anyway, my heart is sound as a bell. That quack doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. I’ll live to see a hundred!”
    Chloe was beginning to have some belated sympathy for Rory Patrick. Keeping his dad out of trouble must be a nearly full-time job. Chloe couldn’t have managed it. She had an attachment to her father, but it was a rather elastic one. Pushed to admit the truth, she would have to say that she was closer to her dad’s younger brother, Benjamin, who was irresponsible and unmannered, but a great deal more fun to be around. He was also more open to New Age ideas. Specifically, he believed in witchcraft, reincarnation and alien abduction. Her father didn’t even believe in God.
    â€œFine with me,” Chloe answered. The boys would be there at nine to handle the hard work. They would just do a little leisurely supervising until it was time for the noon break. Surely by then MacGregor would be ready for a nap.
    â€œShall we go?” MacGregor stood.
    Chloe cast a longing eye at the basket of scones and the numerous chafing dishes from whichwafted alluring smells. She had enjoyed the same odors many times before, but in Riverview they were especially evocative. In a private home, this mix was the smell of good taste and old money liberally applied to already luxurious possessions. She was willing to bet the bagels were fresh and the eggs came from hens raised in palatial coops and fed baby greens and fresh corn.
    â€œBut it’s only eight,” she objected. “The boys won’t be here until—”
    â€œWe’ll do the family graveyard first. It’s more interesting anyway,” he said