Macedonian Icon

By Barbara Nugent

Researcher Jane Percy Brown is fascinated by the extraordinarily vivid pictures of antiquities and artifacts taken by photographer Caulder Macgregor. Needing more material for his book, he asks her to come with him on his travels.
But is there a deeper reason behind his search for the unusual? Is the sinister stranger who follows them the dangerous instigator of kidnapping and attempted murder?
During exploration of strange, ancient places, three brave men, a Croatian, an Albanian and a Macedonian, are determined to protect Caulder and Percy and prevent a terrible destruction that could spread fear across the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 15, 2010
• ISBN: 9781462824236

Barbara Nugent

British-born Barbara and engineer husband Gerald, have explored areas of Africa where no white woman had been; judged an international dance competition at an African Durbar; endured the kidnapping of their daughter Rachel--and thankfully, her rescue; danced at the Queens State Ball in Accra; played golf on the King of Nepals golf course; even escaped riots in Pakistan by hanging a black (the rioters symbolic colour) cocktail dress from the flagpole of their house. She has taught on four different continents; produced Shakespeare, acted in Shaw and written a play for 90 children. Her more recent projects have involved her in the design and construction of their home, and finally, a new church building. Now she happily lives quietly with her husband on top of a mountain in Tennessee, leaving exciting adventures to her four children.

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Copyright © 2010 by Barbara Nugent.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Photograph on the front cover is of a 14th. century Icon that is in The Gallery of Ohrid Icons, Macedonia. It represents Mother of God Peribleptos.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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Contents

Acknowledgement

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

To our beautiful Renegade Mountain Golf Course, Tennessee, where the idea for this story began; and to a high, lonely mountain in Northern Albania where the story almost ended.

Acknowledgement

Thank you to all my caring family and my so many wonderfully supportive friends. Your constant encouragement means the world to me.

Chapter One

You can’t do that. These things are meant to be formal and serious. James looked down his long nose at his sister as he picked up the resume. It was the last one in the box that lay among the many half-written letters and crumpled newspapers scattered over the table.

Unrepentantly, pushing back her unruly mane of auburn hair, uncapped pen in hand, Percy took the paper from him, Why not? It’s mine. If I write something over it, at least it will catch their attention. It has to be something different.

Yes, being different is fine, but write what you want in a covering letter. People don’t scribble over resumes. It’s undignified.

She frowned, tapping her pen against her teeth. Then her quirk of humor, never far from the surface, bubbled over. She grinned, ignoring the gloomy words as her rather staid brother continued to look unconvinced.

Oh, don’t be so stuffy. I shan’t scribble. I’ll write very neatly. Look, I’ve sent out nearly a hundred of these by e-mail and by post listing my university education, and the only replies I’ve received have been rejections. Maybe I should expand with something about my other capabilities. She was tired of the frustration of not being able to find a job. It was becoming increasingly obvious no one was looking for a girl with a degree in Medieval Architecture. Why on earth hadn’t she taken computer science as her major instead of her minor?

Ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

She reached for the want ads where she had circled a rather oddly worded request:

‘Researcher required. Board and lodging available.

Must be able to cook. Will need own car.

Knowledge of ancient European buildings an asset.’

Well, I can cook—had to with Mom so often immersed in her latest book. Heaven knows, research has been the family’s bread and butter.

She looked round the crammed shelves of the library where her father’s scientific manuals mingled with her mother’s abstruse tomes on Greek mythology.

It isn’t as if I don’t know anything about what the ad is looking for. She had just finished two glorious years in England on an advanced scholarship studying old castles and cathedrals. Thoughtfully, she paused. But I can’t help feeling that food seems to be the priority of whoever is the old fuddy-duddy who wrote this. A small frown touched her face; then her impish grin reappeared.

Oh, what the heck! Here goes.

She pushed aside the newspaper and reached again for that last printed resume. Quickly, but carefully, she wrote across it in script:

And I make a terrific Spanish Omelet. J. Percy Brown

Oh, Sis, ruefully, James chuckled; whoever put in that ad is either going to tear this up because you’re too flippant, or…

Or what? Water at the mouth at the prospect of food, glorious food? Throwing down her pen, Percy laughed rather grimly. Anyway, what’s one more rejection? I’ll stick it in an envelope and we’ll send it off tonight. Then I’ll make you a meal fit for that starving, dusty old professor. One Spanish omelet coming up.

The two cleared away the clutter and headed for the kitchen.

That had been little more than a week ago. A barely decipherable reply had come, almost by return post, offering J. Percy Brown an adequate salary and a one-month trial period. No details about the job were given; just a time for her arrival the following weekend, and a somewhat sketchy map with directions. The writer had, at least, promised to pay traveling expenses, so her prospective employer was not too unworldly.

The signature at the bottom of the letter was far from clear. M.M. Carlater was their best guess. None of her family recognized the name, and an internet search brought up nothing; even the address was a P.O. Box, with no telephone number, so no help there.

Somewhat dubiously, in spite of the information being so scrappy, her parents finally agreed she should go. After all, someone requiring a researcher, particularly of ancient monuments, had to be a reasonable person. She posted a letter of confirmation, and a few days later, set off very early.

It was a long drive from Connecticut to Tennessee, so she stayed overnight in a motel, leaving from there in plenty of time to reach her destination.

The last few miles were down a winding country byway through heavily wooded mountains. Delighted, she enjoyed the glorious scenery; quaint farms, small villages, a meandering stream beside the road. Another world: so different from bustling Hartford where she grew up.

With still some time to spare, she drew into the side to eat the sandwiches she had bought at a gas station. The day was hot, and she let down the car windows to enjoy the dappled sunshine filtering through the trees. She smiled as she heard turkeys gobbling in the distance. A deer with a couple of fawns wandered across in front of her, quite unconcerned by her presence, gentle eyes giving her only a momentary perusal.

What a lovely scene, and what beautiful weather! It had been chilly when she left her home yesterday, but now the temperature must be well into the eighties. Pulling off the scarf she had tied so neatly around her unruly tresses that morning, Percy reveled in the gentle breeze, and the faint invigorating smell of pines that permeated the fresh air.

Such a sparkling day; it was good to be alive. She wanted to sing. At last she had a job—her first since finishing her studies—so surely everything was right in her world.

The letter had said for her to arrive at two o’clock central time. With half-an-hour to go and only a few miles, she reread the directions, then eagerly started the engine and joined the sparse traffic.

Just beyond the last village, at the bottom of a hill and round the corner, she was to look for a narrow lane on her left. There was no sign, but she should see an equally narrow bridge spanning a stream. Crawling along behind a farm tractor, she drove slowly enough to avoid missing the turning. When she saw it, she wasn’t too sure, because it certainly was narrow: little more than a cart track, but the bridge was there, just as the letter had said.

‘Keep straight on. Just a short distance,’ were the last of the directions. Should be near, Percy thought eagerly.

Surprisingly, within a hundred yards, the lane veered to a much wider tarred surface, not visible from where she had turned off, but no longer was it straight. It curved round, up the slope. Oh well, the directions had been vague, but she had to be on the right track.

So far, so good.

Then gradually, the road steepened, twisting and turning, following the contours of the mountain. It hardly seemed a short distance as the letter had suggested, but her little car, though no longer in the first flush of youth, labored on.

Suddenly, with a splutter, the engine died.

Worriedly, Percy looked at her watch. Only a few minutes to go, but she could just make out a building through the trees. She only hoped she would be able to start the car later; meanwhile, she had better walk the last bit.

Quickly, she ran a comb through her hair and retied the scarf around it; a touch of lipstick and she was as ready as she was likely to be. Locking the car door—though she hardly thought it was necessary, for the whole area seemed to be quite isolated—she set off, her purse strap over her shoulder.

The road leveled into a broad parking area with a cluster of buildings beyond. In the center was a low, rustic, sprawling cabin with beds of bright impatiens on either side of the walkway leading up to a long verandah. She climbed the steps and rang the door bell.

No answer. She rang again and waited. Still no answer. She checked the letter; she had certainly arrived on the right date, and it was just two o’clock.

The verandah seemed to skirt the whole house, so she ventured along it to one side. Perhaps M.M.Carlater was there. A barn and some garages were across a lawn; one was empty with the door open. She moved farther round.

Then she stopped in amazement.

No wonder her little car had baulked at the steepness of the long climb. She had been so concentrating on the twists and turns that she hadn’t realized how high she had driven.

Now, an incredible scene opened before her. The house was perched on the very crest of the mountain, with a broad valley spread below.

She could see for miles. It seemed to be mostly farmland, animals peacefully grazing, with country roads winding haphazardly past the occasional small cluster of houses. Hawks were gliding majestically over the escarpment in an aerial ballet. The wind sighing in the trees, with the chirp-chirp of goldfinches, was a musical backdrop to another world.

Percy sank into one of the rocking chairs grouped along the verandah. Awed by the sheer beauty of the view, she relegated the absence of her future employer to the back of her mind. She could certainly understand how time and clock-watching would seem insignificant in such peaceful surroundings.

Taking out her cell phone, she called home to say that she had arrived safely. Everyone was out, so she left a message, then settled down to wait.

The drowsy hum of bees and the occasional click of cicadas, all mingling with the busy chatter of the birds, soon lulled her into a light doze. She had not slept well last night: the excitement no doubt. Try as she would, she could not keep her eyes open. Perhaps M. M. Carlater had gone somewhere locally—the open garage door. Surely she would hear the car return, and whoever was driving would see hers. Settling down more comfortably, Percy drifted into a deep sleep.

She awoke with a start, hot and sticky. The sun had dipped toward the western horizon and the verandah was no longer sheltering her from its rays. Percy looked at her watch. Almost five. Yet, no sign of her employer. The garage was still empty; no car, and no sound of one arriving. She got to her feet, very much aware that she could use a bathroom. Maybe there was an outside one among the conglomeration of buildings at the other side of the sprawling cabin. She dared not be so presumptuous as to try to enter the main house.

One of them, with an inviting, bright red door, seemed to be a studio or guest quarters. She tried the handle. It was unlocked. She found a bathroom and, feeling considerably better, she wandered to wide glass doors that opened onto a patio. Beyond was a swimming pool.

Now that was too much temptation to resist. To heck with M. M. Carlater. She was shielded from the house by the studio, so even when a car eventually came, no one would know she was there. Surely that would give her time to get dressed again. A frisson of anger spurred her on. Punctuality was not particularly her strong point, but to be kept waiting for hours was rude.

Stripping down to her undies—just as covering as a bikini—she slid open one of the doors and dived into delicious coolness. Bliss!

After a few lengths, Percy turned onto her back to float. The heat of the day had warmed the pool, so even though the sun was sinking, and a stronger breeze had arisen cooling the air, she had no desire to get out. She closed her eyes as she lazily stroked the water. Idly, she wondered what she should do if nobody came; then she thrust the thought away. The day was much too lovely to worry.

Gradually, she became aware of an intrusion of sound, a faint put-put; not the steady purr of a car engine. Suddenly, she heard a door bang. It was near enough to be the red door of the studio.

Dear heavens! Now she was caught. With a flurry of arms and legs, she began to swim to the side of the pool. There, she hesitated. Her clothes were inside, and her undies were decidedly transparent. She clung to the edge, hoping whoever it was would go into the main house.

What the hell? An angry voice erupted as the patio door was slammed open.

Wide eyed, at a total loss for words, Percy gaped at the man standing there. He looked like an enormous thunder cloud. Dark hair, excessively long, hung over a brow creased in angry lines, his mouth, grim. Dear God. Was this her soon-to-be employer? She cringed.

In his hands he held her skirt and top.

Now she was well and truly caught, but she could hardly get out of the water. If only she had taken a towel from the bathroom she could have grabbed it and covered herself, maintaining some of her dignity.

The man towered over her. He was well over six feet, lean and strong, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, powerful legs: obviously no dusty old professor. His weathered complexion was hardly that of a man who spent his time pouring over old manuscripts. Angry, brilliant blue eyes stared down at her, antagonism in every ridged muscle of his tough body. She felt he should be clad in battle armor instead of the casual, open-necked polo shirt and shorts he was wearing. Feeling totally intimidated, she tried to answer.

I… I was waiting for you, she stuttered.

Really. Sarcastically, he quirked an eyebrow. Why? The two words were sharp with exasperation.

Percy tried to splutter an answer, but he interrupted her. You’d better get out, you’re shivering. At least some of his fury seemed to die.

I… I can’t. She hastily glanced down at herself. The thin wisps of lace were practically see-through.

The grim line of his mouth softened, even lifted a little at the corners, a faint gleam of humor easing the harshness.

You should have thought of that. He made no move to leave.

Will you at least turn around. Please? Desperately self-conscious, Percy pleaded, her eyes wide with embarrassment. If she could just grab her clothes?

Looking down at her, he relented. She reminded him of some poor, lost waif, her hair slicked back and her nose turning slightly blue. Wait here. There wasn’t much else she could do. I’ll get you a towel. As he turned away, his anger dissipated. At least, he thought grimly, she wasn’t the annoyingly persistent Madeline who regularly pestered him.

Percy was shivering even more now. What a beginning. She had intended to be so in control, so mature, ready to blind him with erudition and detailed lists of her studies. Instead, she had ended up as a complete fool. A presumptuous, intrusive fool. She gulped. She had better try to gain back some advantage; otherwise, she might be fired before she even began. When she could don her clothes, she would let him have a taste of her own displeasure: castigate him for his lateness. Surely he would understand, for he hardly looked to be the sort of person who would enjoy being kept waiting!

The man returned with a large, fluffy towel and held it for her by the steps. His expression was just as uncompromising, but that decided twinkle gleamed again. His eyes widened in appreciation as she climbed out, trying to cover herself with her hands. Waif he might have thought her, but hardly with that body.

Grabbing the towel and her clothes, Percy retreated to the studio, giving him a haughty glare as she passed. She closed the sliding door behind her and hurriedly dressed. Finding her purse and using her comb and lipstick, she tried to make herself more presentable: the poised Miss J. Percy Brown.

When she returned to the patio, the man was lazily stretched out on a chair. His eyes narrowed as she walked toward him. Yes, she was certainly no waif.

Well, what have you got to say for yourself? Autocratically, he demanded.

Immediately, she crumbled. Yet why should she succumb to his intimidation? She was the injured party. Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin.

I have been waiting, Mr. er… Carlater, she mumbled the name slightly, remembering how none of her family had been quite sure how to pronounce it.

He interrupted her. Caulder will do. Forget the mister.

Oh dear, they all had misread the spelling. No wonder they had not been able to find out anything about him. Startled into silence, she struggled to begin again. His expression was so uncompromising.

Still, he waited.

Er… Caulder. It seemed strange, using only a last name. What did the M.M. stand for anyway? You said to be here by two o’clock. Clearing her throat, she tried to accused him. That was better. She was on the right track now.

When? Again that raised eyebrow. His voice was sharp with obvious disbelief.

In your letter. You said to be here by two o’clock today. Deflated again, she felt like some recalcitrant school girl as he looked her up and down.

What letter? The series of staccato questions were unnerving. Bewildered, she tried again.

The letter offering me the job: the research job. I answered your ad. Don’t you remember? Dear heavens. There must be some mistake, yet surely he must be the one who had written. The name was correct, though her family hadn’t deciphered it properly, and the directions had brought her to the right place.

His expression changed. A twist at the corner of his mouth could almost have meant a smile. The eyebrow had risen again, but there was another staccato question.

Your name is…?

Percy Brown. She remembered how she had written J. Percy Brown over the resume, clearly and boldly, in script, too, with her script pen. Surely he must remember it since it was what he had written on the envelope containing the letter he had sent offering her the job.

Percy? Surely Percy is a man’s name?

Well, yes, but my family has always called me that. My father, who’s an engineer, chose my first name, Jane, which I don’t like and never use. Normally Percy kept the explanation to herself; but she bumbled on. My mother, who writes about Greek mythology, chose my second name, Persephone. She thought that Jane Brown was much too ordinary for her daughter. In some embarrassment, she paused. My brother shortened it to Percy.

Suddenly, his smile widened, then he chuckled, and finally, laughed.

What a kettle of fish! So you are a girl! You’re the one who can cook a terrific omelet! He laughed louder. Percy’s face grew pink. Then she became angry. What right did he have to taunt her? The misunderstanding didn’t excuse the fact that Caulder had not been there to meet her.

My full name was on my resume, which I presumed you had read; and it never occurred to me that it would matter whether I am male or female. You asked me to be here at two, and I was. I’ve driven almost a thousand miles. Her voice trailed away. She found tears prickling the back of her eyes and she turned her back. Her dignity was in shreds.

She heard him move out of his chair, but she didn’t see a momentary expression of exasperation return to his face, she looked so small and defenseless. His voice softened.

In fact, my cousin is the one you are to meet, and he doesn’t live here. I expect his map was vague, rather like him. He mustn’t have read your resume very carefully, was just glad to find someone who had studied medieval architecture, and could cook! He lives at the bottom of the hill, soon after my road begins. I suppose you didn’t notice how the gravel lane continues.

Oh dear. No, she hadn’t. She had been so relieved to see a proper road that it had never occurred to her the directions of ‘straight on’ had meant exactly that. She tried to mumble some sort of apology.

Well, I expect we can soon put it right; I’ll phone him to let him know you are here. Where’s your luggage? You’d better come into the house. Where’s your car? You said you drove.

Yes, unfortunately it conked out coming up the last part of the hill. Didn’t you see it?

No. I’ve been playing golf at our course, and I came back in my golf cart; there’s a short cut across the edge of the mountain. Look, I’ll take you inside the main house and show you the bathroom. I expect you’d like to shower. I’ll bring in your luggage if you’ll give me your keys.

Turning from the pool, Caulder led the way. Percy followed, trying to digest her stupid mistake. She hoped she still had a job, and that the cousin didn’t fire her for incompetence before she even started.

They entered by the back door into the kitchen. She just had time to notice the latest appliances, sparkling bright paint, and inlaid Italian tiling before she was whisked through to a high-ceilinged great room. Thoroughly masculine, comfortable leather armchairs and sofas scattered with deep bronze cushions told her that this was a man’s world. The only softening touch was the huge, stone fireplace in front of which stood an urn filled with leaves and branches. Who had put them there, she wondered? Hardly something a man would do.

Crossing to the far side, Caulder opened a door and signaled for her to enter.

This is the guest wing. There’s a bathroom beyond the bedroom; everything you need should be there. Take your time. I’m going to have a shower, too, but I’ll get your luggage first. Then I have some work to do. After that, we’ll talk, and decide what we’re going to do with you. Neither of us has any females living around the place.

Percy heart sank. Did that mean the fact that she was a girl would prevent her from getting the job?

She told him which case to fetch, and he promised to bring it to the bedroom. Closing the door, briskly, he walked away. Worriedly, she heaved a sigh. Such a miserable beginning to what she had hoped would be her new life.

Collapsing on a window seat, Percy gazed at the scene spread before her. The sun, a great, blood-red orb was sinking on the far horizon. Wisps of cloud dwindled against the vivid streaks of gold slashed across the cobalt sky. Tiny, twinkling lights began to appear in the valley.

But the day wasn’t all bad with a sunset like this, and such a glorious view. Perhaps she could persuade cousin M. M. Caulder to keep to his promise to employ her after all.

Chapter Two

Perfumed soap bubbles; rich, expensive shampoo, much more costly than what she usually could afford; lovely, thick, fluffy towels. Oh, heaven, she thought. Eschewing the shower, she filled the bath to the brim and sank into the blissful warmth. Scented steam wafted above her easing the strain of the long drive, and the turbulence of the last half hour. The pool had been wonderful, but this was even better.

Yet time was passing. Reluctantly, she finished and climbed out of the tub. Wrapping herself in one of the cozy towels, she sat at the dressing table to dry her hair with the blow dryer someone had thoughtfully provided. A woman, surely. The great room might show little signs of a woman’s touch, apart from the urn of leaves, but obviously Caulder had female visitors from time to time. The guest suite’s décor was of delicate peaches and cream, with frilled, lime green throw pillows scattered on the overstuffed couch and the queen size bed. Definitely fussily feminine, Percy thought. Far too much so for her taste. Certainly not put together by a man, though she had to admit she appreciated the comfort.

Just inside the door of the bedroom was her case as Caulder had promised. She had not heard a knock, so she must have been in the bath room when he brought it in. Taking out trim, white slacks and an emerald-green top, Percy looked regretfully at the comfortable shorts and jeans she hoped she would be able to wear, but she felt she had better observe some sort of formality. At least, she could look a little dignified; less like her somewhat scatterbrained mother who, if she could, would have her in airy, gossamer fabrics like the Persephone of myth.

She tied a harmonizing green scarf around her hair and set off to do battle. She didn’t realize how the small spark of anger, which still burned, darkened her eyes to match.

Squaring her shoulders, Percy opened the door into the great room and looked for her host. The urn of leaves was gone and a fire had been lit in the huge stone hearth, for even though the day had been warm, mountain evenings can be cool at this time of the year. A single standard lamp had been switched on by one of the deep armchairs. It added a soft glow to the flickering flames and created a pool of light midst the evening darkness. A curl of smoke, from a cigar lying in an ashtray on a side table, drifted high into the rafters. The faintly acrid smell, mingled with the clean scent of cedar, somehow soothed her worry.

Surely in such peace and tranquility, Caulder’s irritation would have dissipated. She moved toward the fire.

The sounds of a closing door and footsteps startled her.

Good evening. Caulder paused just beyond the light. She couldn’t see his face. He, too, was startled.

Again he