The Angel of Milan (19 page)

             
“Come,” she said, taking my hand. “It gets even more exciting when you step onboard.”

             
She pulled me almost running up a short gangplank and motioned for me to help her pull it aboard, even though it seemed she was most capable of doing it herself.

             
“Stay on the main deck, and throw off those lines when I shout.”

             
With that, she was up two flights of curved stairs to the bridge. The engines came on line in moments and the shout of “cast off” followed at once. With the lines off, the vessel came to life.

             
“Adama, come up! Come up!”

             
She operated the yacht the same way she drove a car. I lost my balance and fell into the stair rail as she backed out, swinging the nose hard to the open lake. I had to grab the rail to stop from being thrown backwards as she pushed the throttles forward with purpose. As soon as I reached the bridge, she placed my one hand on the wheel and the other on the throttles.

             
I had never driven anything this big before, but I was having the time of my life. In front of me,
             
coming up fast, were ferry boats crossing the lake in different directions, and a number of small private pleasure boats. I weaved through the smaller boats, receiving angry arm gestures and words unintelligible over the engines. Before me now was the open lake, miles of it, and I wanted to cover it all. I pushed the throttles as far forward as they would go. The yacht surged forward again, lifting itself higher in the water as she reached her plain.

             
I looked to Alessandram standing next to me with the wind blowing her silken hair straight back from that perfect face. Michael Angelo would have wanted to preserve her image in marble, but even he could not have captured such beauty.

             
The open lake provided a sense of freedom that I had not known. The scenery pasted on either side revealed the twists and turns of mountain roads and small restaurants in villages donning their route. The shoreline held the larger resorts and the town of Como itself with its terracotta roofs and church steeples reaching skyward.

             
I turned in a long sweeping arch, coming closer to the shoreline. I was now able to see the people, cars, and buses that gave life to the panoramic view. I was mesmerized with the combination of sun and wind in my face, complementing the beauty all around me. I
couldn’t tell you how long the elation went on before I felt two hands on my shoulders and her lips in my ear.

             
“I’m going to change. Head towards that point jutting out into the lake, about ten kilometers ahead. There is a cove just beyond,” she said, darting to the stairs and leaving me alone on the bridge.

             
She returned as we reached the point, just in time to ease the controls away from me, and smoothly maneuver the vessel into the cove, dropping anchor. She had changed into a bathing suit the likes of which I had never seen before. It revealed her almost entirely, only serving to accent the smooth curves of her body. Her perfection was transmitted to my hand as I touched her shoulder, running my hand down her back—a softness covering an unyielding form. She had released my carnal nature entirely.

             
“There is a suit for you in the main salon. Come, this way.” After pointing me in the right direction, she said she would wait for me on the swim platform aft. A quick change later, I was enjoying the cold water of the lake with the most captivating creature I had ever imagined. I had never felt so much alive in my entire life. I watched her body move through the water as if in a dance of ease and grace. When we came together, I lost all awareness of my world. 

             
We made love in an exquisite bedroom cabin for what seemed an eternity. After, I laid on the bed in exhaustion, not wanting the moment to pass. I was content. She was next to me, touching each scar on my body, her fingers expressing a sorrow for each one.

     “Adama, will you forgive me for what I have done?”

 
  “Whatever do you mean?”’
             

     “Being here with me, can you forgive me?”
             
“There is nothing to forgive. I am here with you because I wanted to be.”

             
“I know that, but I drew you to myself from the first moment I saw your reflection in the store window. Your resistance was most noble, and that made me even more determined.”

             
“Whatever you did, I am glad you did it. Now no more of this. Come over here…”

             
I meant every word I said to her, and I mean it to this day. I have no regrets.

             
The shower was unlike anything I expected on a boat, and was adequately large for two. We dressed and found our way to the galley, where she took cold crab salad and a chilled bottle of wine from the refrigerator. A more pleasant meal I never had with anyone before or since. Finally, without a word, she stood and walked out to the rear sun deck, and I followed, taking the wine bottle and glasses. Her mood had seemed to change to a more meditative state. Was she feeling regret?

             
“Victorio told you that he was content to leave the Atonement Lot where it is for the time being. Do you think he knows who actually has it?”

             
“He didn’t say that, but yes, I think he does. At least that was what I guessed.”

             
Her face grew dark, and her natural smile was gone. It was as if a curtain drew across her. She looked afraid.

             
“What is wrong? What have I said to worry you so?”

             
She said nothing for a long moment. I felt my heart drop as the carefree joy of the morning was snatched away from me. I couldn’t help but think,
Oh no, not yet, I am not done with the elation.
I was not ready to let go. When she finally spoke, the light was gone from her eyes; those deep pools of dark blue had faded and lost their brightness.

             
“He must not have the Atonement Lot, Adama. It will destroy him!”

             
I remembered Burtuchi saying something like that when giving me his instructions. What were they both talking about? What part did Del Cielo have in this to begin with?

             
“Alessandra, what are you hiding? What don’t I know about Victorio Del Cielo and the Atonement Lot?”

             
“He will bring his world crashing down on his own head if he obtains it. All that he is will be gone forever. He is so close…a little while longer, and it would have been over.”

             
“You are talking in riddles. I cannot help you if you don’t tell me what is going on.”

             
“I have said too much already. Just trust me when I tell you that Victorio must never obtain the Seal. Come now, we must go.”

             
I watched her bound up the two flights of stairs to the bridge without effort. By the time I picked up the wine bottle and glasses to bring inside, both the engines and the anchor motor were engaged. I took a deep breath and resolved that she would tell me no more. We seemed to get back to the patio dock faster than I expected. It is funny how going back always seems faster than going toward some place.

             
With my collar back in place, she dropped me back at the rectory. I resisted the temptation to kiss her before exiting the car. I stood there looking at her for a moment, and she turned to me, reciprocating my affection. In that moment that her eyes focused on mine, I knew where I had seen that face before, and I felt a chill run through my body. I went to step forward to get back in the car, but my hand never reached the door handle before the car roared from the curb.

             
Entering the doorway, I shuddered, remembering where I had seen her face. Who was this? Or more appropriately,
what
was this that I had brought to myself in the bedroom cabin?

             
The house keeper was dusting in the reception area when I entered. The old witch looked at me and made the sign of the cross, whispering something under her breath again. I was only able to hear a few words, but those had something to do with burning in hell.
Vicious old snake
, I thought.  

             
I went straight to the cellar records room. The place was just as dank and dark as it had been the other night when I came here with a snoot full of wine. I headed to the back to find the 1948 file cabinet and the St. Andrew School folder. The folder was there, but the news clipping was gone. I felt another shudder, but quickly caught myself. Dinard, he had taken the news clipping. He must have. His child-like enthusiasm for this dangerous game made me nervous. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were starting a scrap book. I’d kill him.

             
I knew Dinard would be out until at least three o’clock. I would have to wait, damn him. I returned to my quarters, and changed into fresh clothes before going downstairs to wait for him. I knew he had taken it, or rather, I hoped he had taken it. The old snake was still lurking about glaring at me and signing the cross, a ritual she repeated whenever she saw me from that time forward. I had too much time to think and it made me edgy.

             
Burtuchi always accused me of having a photographic memory, but as I had tried to explain to him many times, it was actually the ability for total recall. It was not infallible. I had to see the picture again; maybe I had mistaken the figure I saw. The image was very small in the background. Maybe it was my own desire to find something that made me see her in that image. If the woman I had seen in the picture was indeed Alessandra, then she was anything but a natural woman. I shuddered again. If that were true, then what the hell had I been holding so close to me? Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe the wine had affected by perception.

             
It was after three now, and Dinard had not show up yet. My patience was at an end, and I started pacing around the place like a cat. Had I missed him? Did he slip in the alley door to the kitchen? I hit the kitchen doorway at almost a trot. There he was in all his glory, coffee and a pastry in each hand.

             
“Good afternoon, Adama,” he bellowed from the far end of the room. “Is something wrong?”

             
I suppose from the look on my face he saw that I was not at ease. I forced my countenance into a pleasant smile. 
             

             
“Ciao, Father Dinard. Is it possible to speak with you a moment?”

             
“Of course,” he replied, walking towards me. I did all I could not to grab him by his fat cheeks when I asked the question in as sweet a tone as I could muster. 

             
“Father, did you take the newspaper clipping out of the folder downstairs?”

             
“Oh yes, I thought it would be best to remove it from the damp cellar and keep it safe in my quarters.”