To my surprise, Prescott swung it out as if it were hinged to the wall and he was opening the cover of a book. Underneath was another keypad. Once again he pressed buttons for the code, though this time I wasn’t fast enough to see what it was. With a click the bookcase slid to one side, revealing a door behind it. Another click and the door slid open. Just as with the tasting room, motion sensor lights in the room brightened.

“After you,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

For a second time I calmed my nerves, wondering if he might lock me in this secret room until I remembered the location of a priceless cache of Madeira, which he claimed had been in my family for three generations. But he followed me in, just as he had done before, and the door slid shut behind us with another smooth click.

The room was windowless, just like the tasting room, but this time I felt claustrophobic. Where were we? It seemed like a private shrine or a place that was sacred to Prescott. Sacred … and secretive.

The walls were painted a luminous green. Cream-colored pilasters with painted veins made to look like marble were spaced along the walls every few feet, their gilded capitals gleaming in the glow of underlights. The black-and-white marble-tiled floor looked like a giant checkerboard. The most prominent item was an antique carved desk, which sat on top of three steps as if on an altar. On the desk three candles in a silver candelabra were placed next to a large open book. I walked up for a closer look. A Bible with an old-fashioned silver compass and carpenter’s square lying across it was open to the Song of Solomon from the Psalms. Love poems. The most sensuous verses in the entire Bible.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—for your love is more delightful than wine.

There was something familiar about the compass and square, placed as they were on the Bible. It took a minute before I remembered what it was: these were the symbols of a Freemason. On either side of the desk were two identical heraldic flags of red crosses on white shields. A crusader’s cross. The shield of the Knights Templar.

I looked around the room. A life-sized oil painting of George Washington wearing an apron decorated with Masonic symbols hung on one wall. On the opposite wall an antique wall clock in the shape of a triangle ticked slowly. On either side were swords with beautifully decorated hilts. Masonic symbols again. A leather apron with another compass, carpenter’s square, and the letter G stitched with beautifully colored beads hung in an alcove. On either side of it were two columns, each with a globe where the capital would be: a black globe seemed to represent the heavens; the other was earth.