The Angel of Milan (15 page)

             
I studied her for a few seconds from the passenger seat. Even with the sun bright in her face, this woman was impeccable. I decided to fake looking out the driver’s side window at the piazza as we passed, but was really studying Alessandra’s face to determine how much makeup she was wearing. Suddenly, a realization hit me like a hammer. Alessandra was not wearing makeup. This woman was no teenager, but somehow the coloration and texture of her skin was that of a child.

             
“The piazza is very beautiful, is it not, Adama? The white marble is so pure the tourists often think, at first, that it is painted. I am always amused when they discover that it is not,” she said, with that smirk again. I turned away immediately, unable to hide my surprise and embarrassment. I was sure Alessandra knew exactly what I had been studying.

             
The car sped through the streets, making its way north to the Autostrada. The ride was fast, pushing me deep into the leather seat
through turns and acceleration. Once on the Autosrada, Alessandra pushed the car’s performance to the limit, moving between traffic lanes to maintain her speed. If she kept this up, we would be to Como in no time. That is, if she didn’t kill us both first.

             
“Don’t you think we will arrive a bit early for lunch at this rate?” I thought the comment might get her to slow down a little. An answer did not come quickly, but the smirk on Alessandra’s face did. The effect was what she wanted, causing me to wish that I had not asked the question.

             
“Yes, I’m sure we will be early. That will give us a little time to get to know each other,” she said in a sultry voice. I couldn’t decide if she was playing with me or opening a door that I did not want to enter.

             
Alessandra exited at Como, and continued north on via Torno, suddenly turning into a narrow road that led down to the lake. At its end stood a large multi-story villa built into the rock face, directly on the water. Entering the court, we parked next to several other cars. I did not expect the beauty of the place, let alone what awaited me when we walked around the terrace to the waterside of the home. We were still several stories above the water, where aged stone steps lead to another terrace below us before ending at a huge patio facing a dock where a large yacht was tied. Above were at least three more floors that were topped by a round portico of white stone. I found myself standing still just to take it all in. My concentration was broken by her small laugh.

             
“It is magnificent, isn’t it? Come now, you can see it all later after lunch. I am sure Victorio will want to show it off. For now, walk with me into the north garden to talk.”

             
“Maybe we should go in and not keep the host waiting?” I did not want to place myself in a position where one or both of us would be humiliated.

             
“Oh, Victorio has not arrived yet, I can assure you. He had some business to attend to in the city this morning and is not expected until 1:30. That gives us nearly an hour before he arrives,” she said playfully, as she took my hand and led me to the north steps into the garden.

     I surprised myself when I did not pull my own hand away. Holding hands with a woman was not prudent, but this time I did not resist. However, I needed to put a stop to this before it went any further. I gently slid my hand from hers. 

             
“Alessandra, do you make a habit of seducing priests?”

     “Not usually, Adama. Although, I will confess that there have been such occasions.”

             
This was not going right. The woman was not backing off, and I will admit that keeping my distance was becoming more difficult. I doubled my resolve.

             
“I do not want this to go further than it should, Alessandra,” I said, with as much conviction as I could muster. As I said it, I had doubts myself. Even her voice was compelling. 

             
“Good. In that case, we can really get to know one another without the interference of carnality. Besides, I would not want to risk your well-being on any account.”

             
My well being?
I had no idea what she could have meant by that, but I was not going to pursue it.

             
“Now, take my hand again, and walk with me.”

             
“Very well, provided we have an understanding.”

             
“Of course we do,” she said, with a small laugh that was a delight to the ear. I wondered if this was some sort of test prepared by Del Cielo to gauge my worth. 

             
The garden was as beautiful as the rest of the place. The path was of ground stone, perfectly bordered between the tall, lush green planting, and bright flowers that seemed to come from everywhere. She led me to a bench beneath what almost looked like a tropical tree, with branches hanging low, forming an umbrella over the bench.

             
“Do you find it beautiful?” she asked.

             
“Yes, I do. Somehow I did not expect a woman like you to take such enjoyment from a garden. I envisioned you more of the indoor type.”

             
She was laughing again, a sound of almost music, mixed with the breeze through the leaves of the tree.

             
“The garden, yes, it is what I enjoy most. I have always had an affinity towards such beauty, but what of you, Adama? What is it that causes your heart to beat? From what do you draw breath?”

             
The question took me by surprise. I had never thought of life in those terms. I had my responsibilities, my hunger for knowledge, and a commitment to the conclave. However, I knew I did not draw my life from any of them.

             
“I do not know, exactly. Something moves me forward, but to put a name to it is beyond my capability.” I laughed at myself momentarily. “I will have to meditate on that image when I have time. You have peaked my inner curiosity.”

             
“There it is, Adama—your breath is your curiosity. Lose it and you will surely die.”

             
At first I thought she was just being playful again, but no, she was serious. I couldn’t help but think she was looking inside of me. During the entire time, she never let go of my hand. I had forgotten how comforting it is to touch and be touched by another. I hadn’t held someone’s hand for that long since I was a child.

             
“What of you, and Victorio Del Cielo? Are you his lover?” I watched her face as I had watched Dinard’s, to catch the lie if there was one. She waited a long time before answering.

             
“Not in the sense you are thinking of, but yes, I am his lover, and he mine.”

             
Well, there was an uncertain answer. I was tempted to pursue it, but realized it would be pointless. She had given the answer she was willing to give, and no amount of prodding was going to reveal more.

             
The air coming off the lake filtered through the garden foliage to create a sweet, cool fragrance. I breathed deeply, turning toward her. She was looking out over the lake, turned away from me. This gave me the opportunity to study her in secret. The jumpsuit she wore left nothing to the imagination as it clung to the perfection of her body. I could not take my eyes away. I waited for the guilt that always accompanied the lust of my eyes, but it did not materialize. To my own surprise, I realized that there was no lust, only a true appreciation of the grace and beauty of her perfect form.

             
“Adama, do you know me better now?” she said, without turning around.

             
“Yes, I believe I do.” The words had seemed to flow from my mouth all by themselves.

             
“It is time. Victorio has arrived, and will be waiting for us,” came her reply, turning to me with a warm smile.

     “Come.”

             
She held my hand the first few steps toward the house, and then easily slid her hand free of mine. Where had the time gone? We had the better part of an hour in the garden only moments ago. I wondered how long I had stared at her.   

             
Entering the house, I was struck with wonder at the exquisite furnishing and art that graced the walls. It was different from anything I had ever seen or felt before. Unlike the grand mansions I had previously visited, I did not get the feeling of entering a museum, as was almost always the case. There was nothing dead in here. The rooms were for life and the living, filled with fresh air and alive with a fragrance of the lake hilltops. Even the Vatican, with all its grandeur and elegance, was not as compelling as this home.

             
“Adama, please wait here,” she said quietly. I watched that perfect form disappear through tall double doors at the end of the room. In a moment, she returned with a pleasant smile.

             
“Please come with me, Adama. The drawing room is this way.”

             
I followed her back through the double doors and through a wide, wood-paneled foyer to a second set of double doors. She knocked softly, and entered with me in tow. Standing behind a large, ornate table that served as a desk, the silhouette of an extremely tall man was outlined against two-story casement windows overlooking the gardens.

             
“Victorio, may I introduce you to Padre Adama.”

             
“Thank you,” came the reply from a deep, resonating voice. That will be all, Alessandra.” Without another word, she slipped back through the double doors, silently closing them. I was unable to make out his face with the bright background light of the windows.

             
“Welcome to my home, Father Adama,” he said, walking out from behind the table towards me. As he approached, he seemed to diminish, and not be as tall as I had first imagined.
Maybe it was an illusion from the tall windows
, I thought. He was still a big man, at least a few inches taller than I. When he moved away from the window light, I could see a smiling face and a hand extended to welcome me. His black hair was moderately long, with a soft wave that held it in place. The skin tone was olive, suggesting southern Mediterranean if it were not for the deep blue eyes. I returned his smile and offered my hand in response. I received a firm and assuring grip, as he gestured with his other hand toward two leather chairs that faced each other over a small marble dining table.

             
“Thank you, Signor Del Cielo, I am very pleased to meet you.”

             
“Oh no, please call me Victorio. May I also call you Adama?”

             
“Yes, of course.”

             
Well, that was it. I was on a first name basis with Burtuchi’s Grigori. I had a fleeting thought of making fun of the old man’s suspicions the next time I saw him, but I quickly dismissed it, knowing such behavior was ill-advised. Burtuchi could be more dangerous than any Grigori.

             
“I am so glad you have accepted my request. I wasn’t sure you would be so accommodating to an unsolicited invitation.”

             
“I will admit to being hesitant,” I said, pleasantly, “but after entering your home, I am so glad I did accept. These rooms are magnificent.” Which, of course, they were. Just the same, it seemed wise to show appreciation. There is a proverb I will paraphrase which says, ‘It is an easy thing to lose your head while dining at the king’s table.’ That aside, the man seemed pleasant enough to me, and I saw no wings concealed under the Armani jacket he wore.