Magnificat (44 page)

“Gossip in the servants’ quarters?” he inquired. “Even here, in the shadow of Saint Peter’s?”

“You’re the one who has always insisted that we observe good conduct where servants are concerned. I’ve taken your lesson to heart.” She thought of Hastings and Sanderson, still back in Hong Kong, and wished she had been allowed to bring them with her. Both of them were well-aware of the relationship between Dame Leonie and Sir Arthur and both had been reliably discreet.

Arthur chuckled. “A truce for the housekeeper. All right.” He tossed back his head and stared up at the plasterwork on the ceiling. “About 1905, I’d reckon.”

“A little earlier,” she said, her words tight with tension.

“Beautiful.” For once there was no snide undertone to the compliment. “Can you imagine what it would cost to have someone do a job like that today? You’d need the wealth of Croesus.”

Luisa came through the archway from the dining room. She carried a tray with glasses and cocktail ingredients. When she put this down, she said, “I’ll bring sandwiches and cheese directly, Madame.” She glanced over at Sir Arthur. “I’ve taken the liberty of bringing several mixers. Please select the one you prefer.”

Arthur made a gesture intended to dismiss Luisa. “You can choose something for me, my dear,” he said to Leonie.

But Luisa stood her ground. She looked directly at Dame Leonie. “Is that all, Madame?”

Gratefully Leonie said, “For the moment, I think so, yes. Make sure you bring a plate of savory pastries with the cheeses. Thank you.”

Once the housekeeper was gone, Arthur cocked his head. “How do you manage with her?”

“I have the use of a butler when it’s required, and a cook when I’m entertaining. Life here is quite simple, Arthur, though I imagine you won’t believe it. There are few occasions for me to entertain, and very rarely lavishly. Most of the major functions I attend are under the auspices of the Vatican; I don’t need an extensive staff.” She moved forward in her chair. “What can I mix for you? I see Luisa has provided two kinds of gin.”

“You’ve trained her very well,” said Arthur, not abandoning his expansive pose. “The Bombay, if you please, and what is that vile-looking pink juice?”

“Guava,” said Leonie, determinably affable. “If that’s satisfactory?”

“Go ahead,” he said negligently. “I suppose you’re having some of that ghastly sherry you pretend to like?”

“Campari-and-soda,” she said. “I’ve developed a taste for it.” The glass she selected for him was narrow and tall. She put a small scoop of ice in it, then measured out a generous amount of gin—more than she usually served her guests for cocktails—and topped it off with guava nectar. Using one of the three long silver spoons Luisa had provided, she stirred the concoction and handed it over.

“Very well done,” he said, sneering as he took an experi-mental sip. “I should think you’re regarded as a liberal hostess?”

She did not deign to answer this. “Aside from the matter of the Church permitting divorce—and I can’t believe you came all the way from…wherever you were to find out about that. A telephone call would have been sufficient.”

“But then I would not have had the pleasure of your company.” He took a long drink this time and did not bother to set the glass down.

“So there’s something more.” She had no intention of saying that aloud, but once it was out she was relieved she had spoken. She poured out her Campari and reached for the soda. More than anything else at that moment she hoped her hands would not shake. She had no intention of giving him that satisfaction.

“Not exactly,” said Arthur, his eyes flicking over her face and then away. “I ought to have said something about your new post. I’ve been most remiss. I hadn’t realized how important your new position is—it’s been difficult to take it seriously you know. But that’s an oversight, and one I intend to remedy. It’s only fitting that I show a little support.”

She stopped the retort that sprang to her lips. “But why?”

He let his breath out slowly and took a long drink. “You’re very much in the news, my dear. Hardly a week goes by when there is no mention of you on the evening reports. I read that article about you in
Elle
. I must say I was surprised that the Pope countenanced it, but—” He hitched his head up. “Five pages of that magazine. It’s impressive. They give less to fashion designers. They made the comment that I had not been seen in your company of late. It seemed to me that it would be sensible to put in an appearance.”

“What do you mean?” asked Leonie, shocked out of her composure.

“I’ve come to lend you my visibility.” His smile was back in place. “That ought to put paid to those articles about your relationship with the Pope.”

“What articles are you talking about?” Leonie had got to her feet, her Campari-and-soda untasted.

“Oh, the ones in the underground press, for the most part. They’re speculative, and ill-founded, but they can do damage, in their way.” He finished his drink and leaned forward to make himself another.

“What are they saying?” demanded Leonie, knowing that she was being unwise to talk to Arthur this way.

“The usual sort of rot. You’re her lover, that sort of thing.” He put in a larger portion of gin than Leonie had given him. “I know that’s nothing more than sensationalism, and it could be stopped with a single writ. But more to the point, a few of them have made reference to me, and those innuendos cannot be stopped with a piece of paper.” He took a long sip. “So I think it is probably best, my dear, if I remain here a month or two, until the newsmedia—”

“No,” said Leonie, wondering where she had found the strength to defy him.

He looked at her. “I won’t be much of a bother, and you have my word that I’ll confine my adventures to places I know. There won’t be any occasion for questions to be asked that can’t be easily answered. All you need do is tell me when to get into the dinner jacket, and the rest of the time, you’ll be on your own. I’ll take care—”

“I said no, Arthur,” Leonie told him.

In the dining room archway Luisa paused, tray in hand. “Madame?” she asked, not knowing if she should intrude on what was clearly a difficult time.

Leonie turned to her housekeeper. “Oh. Yes. Please bring that in. We’ll be able to manage for ourselves then.”

“If that’s what you’d like,” said Luisa dubiously. She placed this tray beside the first, gave a quick, curious look at Dame Leonie, then went quickly out of the room.

“It must be difficult for her, leaving us alone; Italians do so love family disputes.” Arthur put his glass down and reached for one of the round crackers on the tray with the cheese. “I’ll repeat what I’ve said before: you must have trained her very well.”

“She’s a sensible woman who knows how to do her job,” said Leonie.

“Then she’ll be very useful to us, won’t she.” He smeared cheese on the cracker.

“Stop that,” said Leonie. “You aren’t going to be staying here and you are not going to take advantage of my servants. Period.”

“Don’t be absurd, Leonie, of course I am.” He popped the cracker in his mouth and chewed vigorously. “And you’re going to be overjoyed to have me.”

“No, I’m not,” said Leonie, sitting down once again. “I am not going to have you in my house.” She smoothed her skirt and looked directly at Arthur. “I’ve been willing to accept your absence for months and years at a stretch. But I am not going to permit you to come into my home and take up this ludicrous pretense of a marriage again. If you make the attempt, I promise you, I’ll speak to the newsmedia myself.”

Arthur shook his head. “And throw all this away? You know you won’t do it. I know you better than that. No matter what you say right now, you give yourself the night to think about it, and you’ll come around. You’ll know what’s best to do.” He selected another cracker and spread it with a different cheese. “Which room will be mine. I know we ought to share one, but I suppose that would be too distasteful to both of us.”

“You are not going to stay here. None of the rooms are for your use.” She had her rising temper under better control now and she was able to say this conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather or soccer scores.

He shook his head. “You talk it over with the Pope before you tell me what to do.” He showed his teeth again. “You decide after you have a word or two with her. Because I can make things bloody uncomfortable for you, and for her.”

“You are welcome to try,” said Leonie, suddenly feeling very much in control of this dreadful conversation. “I would prefer scandal to having to live under the same roof with you again.” Strange, she thought in a cool, still part of her mind, that all of Willie’s loving assurances could not bring her to take this step but Arthur’s contempt could.

He picked up his drink. “I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes day after tomorrow,” he said as he lifted his glass in toast to her. “Be it on your head, my dear.”

“And welcome,” she responded, inwardly pleased that she actually meant it.

* * *

Marc-Luc, Cardinal Gemme was thinner and considerably less polished looking than when he had left the Vatican six weeks before. His handsome features were blurred with fatigue and his dark suit was in need of pressing. He regarded the Cardinals gathered in the Pope’s office. “I suppose you’ve all read the report?”

“I’m afraid I don’t like the look of it,” said Cardinal Fiorivi.

“Nor do I.” He looked back at the Pope. “I’m afraid, Holiness, that the riots aren’t going to stop just because we want them to,” he said, and then addressed the other twenty Cardinals gathered in the Pope’s office. “Getting our people to listen—” He flung up his hands.

“Did you bring the other reports I asked for?” Pope An seemed unflustered by the distressing news. “I will need to have a better understanding of what problems are most pressing if I am to continue the reforms.”

Cardinal Gemme rounded on her. “Didn’t you hear me, Holiness? We’re already responsible for a number of deaths and untold amounts of destruction.”

“Yes, I heard you. And that suggests to me that these reforms are long overdue,” said Pope An, looking at each of the Cardinals in turn. “If wrongs and misbehavior had been corrected at the time it was required, there would be no cause for riots now. For I have been told that many of those rioting are those who profited from previous conditions and stand to lose some of their privilege from the order I am attempting to restore to the Church.”

This drove Cardinal Gemme to the brink of his patience. “Holiness,” he declared in exasperation, “no one seeks reforms more than I do. I am on record for years as supporting necessary reforms in the Church. No one is more committed to the abolition of Church abuses.”

“I can see that,” said Pope An, a faint smile in her eyes.

“But I don’t think that trying to do it all at once is the answer. We have too many people, too many groups to consider.” He fingered the crucifix tie-tack on his silk burgundy tie. “It may appear simple to you, Holiness. You need only mandate a thing and it is done. But you are—”

She cut him off. “Cardinal Gemme, you told me when I first came here that changes were needed desperately and quickly. You assured me you would support reforms that brought the Church back to the service of its worshippers. Yet now you tell me that you do not believe we should make these reforms.” She leaned back in her chair. “Cardinal Gemme, your Jesus did not promise earthly tranquility, but tranquility of soul.”

“But Your Holiness—” Cardinal Gemme protested.

“Who complains, Cardinal Gemme, and of what?” She watched him. “Those who have amassed fortunes at the expense of their fellow-citizens, and have done it in the name of religion? Are they the ones we hear most clearly because they are able to purchase the ear of the Church? What do the priests working with the poor have to say, or did you speak with them?”

“Holiness, that’s not fair. I’ve been seeing representatives of all groups and each one has complaints.” He looked at the other Cardinals. “Hasn’t this happened to all of you, as well?”

“I have received a growing flood of letters,” said Cardinal Lepescu. “Every Catholic is worried that his faith will leave him because of what the Vatican has been doing.”

“His faith?” said Pope An gently. “Cardinal Lepescu, what do the women say? What do the wives and mothers request? What have your nuns told you? Or are they too busy studying to become priests to address childish fears to one who has usurped the position of their fathers?”

Several of the men gasped, and Cardinal Damovich crossed himself.

“How do you mean, usurped the position of their fathers?” Cardinal Gemme did his best not to appear outraged.

“I speak very clearly,” said Pope An. “Priests even take that name. Their title is Father. We call monks Brother and nuns Sister, but consider—priests are called Father, and are given the power of reaching God on behalf of the man. And woman. This is most inappropriate.”

“Oh, no,” muttered Cardinal Damovich.

Pope An gave him a gentle smile. “Not yet, Eminence. But it would be best, you know, if we did not further confuse ourselves with titles that serve to confound the Catholics of the world. And do not tell me no such confusion exists, for you know that is not the case.”

Cardinal van Hooven spoke up. “She’s right, Eminences. There are Catholics in the world who remain perpetual emotional children because they are certain that to do otherwise is heretical.”

This was more than Cardinal Gemme could bear. “Holiness,” he said firmly, “I can’t impress upon you sternly enough that we are quickly reaching a crisis. It may not have been your intention to do this, but I wish you to believe that if you decide to make any other significant changes in the Church, you place the Church in gravest danger.”

“I believe you are being as truthful as you know how to be,” said Pope An. “And I have great respect for you. I admire your candor and your devotion, but I fear it is not your place to decide what I will and will not do. Those decisions are my own, and only my own. I will have to answer for everything I do, and therefore I must exercise my authority as best I can and as I see fit.” She motioned to one of the chairs. “Please. Sit down. I will arrange to confer with you tomorrow, when we can discuss at length all the particulars you have brought up in these reports.”