Mysterious Ways

by Julia Talbot

  Then he called his graduate advisor at the University. Another prelate, this one an Irishman with the unlikely name of Father Columbarnus. Jacob felt rather guilty when the Father answered his call with surprise and enthusiasm, asking him how the project was going. Jacob related that he'd made real progress, but wasn't sure if there was actually a thesis length paper in it. Then he requested a meeting with his steering committee. Columbarnus cheerfully agreed, and told Jacob he'd call back when he'd contacted the other two members of the committee. Jacob's thanks were sincere, and he felt even more guilty than before.

  The next call was to a friend who worked as a drone in the massive Vatican libraries. Now that he had the information he needed from Cecilia and Marco, he had a specific thing to look for. His friend thought he was nuts, but with the promise of being introduced to one of those Rossis (his friend didn't care which) and an invitation to go out to lunch someplace outrageously expensive, he said he'd look into it.

  That only left one appointment to make, and Jacob really couldn't do anything about it until he had the rest of his ducks in a row. So he went to find Terri instead. She wasn't in her office, and she wasn't down in the vault with the collections. Some gut instinct told Jacob where to look for her next, and sure enough, Jacob found her in Vanni's office. Ostensibly they were working on a budget, but from the guilty looks they turned on him when he walked in, he figured they were talking about more than the cost of tapestry restoration.

  Surveying their flushed faces and general disarray, Jacob laughed out loud. “Don't you ever think of anything else?” he asked Vanni. He got an unrepentant grin in return, and an unladylike snort from Teresa.

  “What do you want, Jacob?”

  “I need to talk to you, actually,” he told Terri. “But if you're busy I can catch up with you later.”

  “No, we were done.” Terri stood up and smoothed her skirt along her thighs. “Come on, we'll go to my office.”

  With a last look at Vanni, Terri led him out and down the hall to her office. They settled in, and she looked at him inquiringly. “So, what is it you need? I haven't had time to get all of the information Marco asked for yet.”

  “I know. That wasn't what I wanted to talk about.” Jacob studied Terri for a minute, so intently that she actually squirmed.

  “What?”

  “How many collections do you oversee here?”

  “Several. Why?” Terri reached into a box on her desk and pulled out a cigarette. It occurred to Jacob that he'd never seen her smoke before, but then, he'd never really spent a lot of time with her. Which brought the guilt back full force. Terri was a professional, a peer, and he should have consulted with her more often. It was no wonder she had occasionally withheld information. He waited until she had lit up and exhaled before he continued.

  “Well, I just wondered. It seemed like you had more to do than just the Venetti collection.”

  “Yes. That's actually the least of it. A collection this size takes constant work. Not to mention constant valuation updates for insurance purposes.”

  Keeping his voice deliberately casual, Jacob asked,” So how willing do you think the family would be to hire you an assistant?”

  Terri sat back in her chair and looked at him in amazement. Then a slow dawning smile crossed her face and lit up her eyes. “You already have a job, Jacob. Priest extraordinaire.” Her tone was definitely teasing.

  He couldn't help but smile back. “Yeah, well I may be out of a job soon. But I'll still be one of the world's foremost experts on Venetti. And I'm pretty good with most Renaissance masters. My credentials as far as general restoration are excellent.”

  Grinning widely now, Terri nodded. “I might even put in a good word for you. Are you serious, Jacob? You think you might want to stay?”

  “Yeah, I think I might.”

  “Then I'll talk to the big wigs.”

  Unexpectedly touched by her quick acceptance, Jacob just sat there and grinned. He was a goof. But he was happy, so why shouldn't he sit there and grin? “Thanks, Teresa. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. So, shacking up with the twins?”

  He hadn't lost the propensity to blush like crazy. “I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead. I told them I would stay, but I have no idea where we're going. I just know I'd like to stick around and work on the collections here. I mean, if I can't have the Vatican, I'll have the next best thing.”

  Still chuckling at his discomfiture about the twins, Terri nodded. “No shit. You realize that if you hire on you'll be working on the Rossi-Miggliozzi combined collection. Eight houses in seven different cities, all crammed with art and artifact. Plus they're acquiring new stuff all the time.”

  “Stop, you'll make me dizzy.” Jacob shook his head. “That's a lot of stuff.”

  “Yeah, but it's good work if you can get it.”

  “I'd like to try.”

  “Then I'll get the wheels turning.” She paused, as if weighing what she was going to say next. Then she shrugged. “I'll look forward to working with you instead of against you.”

  Feeling the urge to be goofy again, Jacob stood. “Me too. I'll let you get back to work.”

  When he left Terri's office, Jacob was much more upbeat, a hopeful spirit overcoming the lingering guilt he was feeling. The surge of optimism carried him through a few hours in his workroom, documenting sources and typing up a coherent proposal from his notes. Or rather, proposals. One for his steering committee, one for the Rossis, and one for his eventual meeting with Father Fermozzi. That would be the tough one, and he wanted to be prepared.

  By the time he emerged, blinking, from his workroom it was late afternoon. He'd missed lunch. His stomach hated him for it. So he went looking for something in the kitchen. Breathing a sigh of relief that no one was having sex in there, Jacob built himself a nice sandwich and talked with the housekeeper for a bit. This house was an amazing little world, Jacob decided. He remembered thinking, when he first came, that the servants were treated like so much furniture. Now, having seen them in motion, he knew they were more like a part of the family in their own way. Oh, they worked their tails off, no doubt about that, but the family didn't seem to have the sort of snobbish separation policy that Jacob had mentally associated with people who had a household staff.

  There were messages waiting for him when he got back to his room. Father Bertolli had called, saying it would be best if they met the next day. Father Columbarnus had set his steering committee meeting for then as well. And his archivist friend had called back with the information he needed. Jacob was stunned. It really was that simple. For a few minutes he just sat there in silence. Then with a whoop he was off, running towards Marco's office to tell him what he'd found out.

  Marco's first impulse was to call the solicitor working on the reinstatement of Venetti and give him the information. Jacob managed to slow him down. First, he said, he needed copies of the evidence. Then he wanted a shot at getting it all worked out. And he hated to do it, but he asked Marco not to tell Cecilia. That would be difficult, he knew, but right now it was important. Marco argued. Jacob won, much to his own amazement.

  So it was all arranged. He had everything he needed now, and he still had time to get through to Fermozzi's office to make an appointment. He scored one for the day after next, and thanked the secretary kindly for the time. That was about when the nervousness set in. What the Hell was he doing? Jacob knew he was doing the right thing, but contemplating how he was going about it set him reeling. He obviously needed to stop thinking about it. If he didn't he'd never do it. He went looking for the twins, but they were gone. So he went back to his workroom and set out to do something mindless. He worked on the portrait of Alicia.

  It still had a remarkable effect on him, but he was able to work with it now. It didn't mesmerize him as it had. He wondered if maybe knowing more about the situation made it harder to lose himself in it. Or maybe it was just guilt because Cecilia was pregnant and it felt wrong to lu
st after her look-alike, he thought with a smile. Either way, it was a relief to be able to work on it without an insistent hard on. The delicate egg tempera took on a glow with his careful cleaning, and he was in a much better frame of mind by the time he went to dinner. And the rest of the night proved just as relaxing.

  Chapter 10

  It felt odd, the next morning, to don the black and white trappings of the priesthood. Which saddened him, but he knew there would be a lot of moments like that. He put the collar on, and shrugged into his jacket, then gathered himself for his meeting with Father Bertolli.

  The church was just as lovely and serene as it had been before, and that made him happy. There was none of the fleeting wrongness that he had felt before, and he thanked God for it. The first thing he did was ask Father Bertolli to hear his confession. If the Father was surprised it didn't show, and he graciously waved Jacob toward the confessional. Jacob told him everything, leaving nothing out except the goriest details, like the fact that he was with not just one man, but two, who were also twins. That he would keep to himself. Still, Jacob's respect for Bertolli as a priest grew even more that day, because the man counseled him without prejudice, without judging.

  His sins were many, he knew, and they required serious penance. Jacob knew too that some of them would not be forgiven as long as he still practiced them. But it was nice to feel human that way. The need for forgiveness was still there, would always be there, but the need to hide behind it was gone.

  When they were done. Father Bertolli invited him to walk in the garden, to discuss the other business Jacob had come here with. “You are serious about this?” Bertolli asked.

  “Yes.” And he was. As serious as he could be.

  “I'm sorry to hear you say it.”

  “I'm not.” Jacob watched the neighborhood cats come running up to wind around Bertolli's feet, looking for tuna. “I think I need to do it. Sounds corny, but it's like completing the cycle.”

  Bertolli's eyes twinkled at him. “Si. That does sound, what did you say? Corny.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, if I can't talk you out of it then there's a lot of information I must pass on to you.” Bertolli filled Jacob in on everything he needed to know to do what he wanted to do. Jacob was unbelievably grateful to him for his help, and said as much. Father Bertolli told him not to be ridiculous, that Jacob was his friend. And if all went as planned, Jacob would be one of his parishioners. They embraced as Jacob left, a strong friendly hug, and Jacob went on to his next meeting feeling like he had accomplished a great deal.

  The meeting with his steering committee was harder, because Jacob had to lie. Or at least, he couldn't tell them everything yet. What he did tell them was that he wasn't sure if he had enough information to work with to do a true thesis length paper on Venetti. He also told them he needed a bit of time off. His assistant position could easily be filled before the new term started, and he had no outstanding projects besides the Venetti. He wanted to continue work on that, Jacob said, but that would not require any effort on the part of the Church or the University because the Miggliozzis had offered him a place to stay for as long as he needed, and as much grant money as it took.

  They were disappointed in him. He could tell that, but Father Columbarnus just gently herded everyone into agreeing, saying it would be all right. That he would have the paperwork drawn up, that they would find another grad student to take his grading. Someone else he had taken for granted, and Jacob wasn't proud of that at all. Still, this would pave the way for his leaving permanently, if that was what it came down to.

  The day was a roller coaster emotionally. When he went back to the palazzo after his steering committee conclave all he wanted to do was collapse. Which he didn't get to do because Damien and Gianni pounced on him at the door. They dragged him off to the pool, ignoring his protests, telling him it would be refreshing. It was, but that owed little to the water. He felt like an overcooked noodle when they were done with him, and Jacob reflected that out of all of the things he had to wrestle with right now, this part was both the easiest and the hardest to reconcile.

  Twins for God's sake. Guy twins at that. When Jacob went for sin, he went all the way. They really were impossible to resist, though. Gianni was a water baby, Jacob thought as he watched from his reclining position at the side of the pool. He swam like a dolphin. Or maybe a winged sea lion. Damien wasn't as fond of it, but he made a good show. Jacob might have joined in their play if he had any muscles left at all, but he didn't. So he watched them. The simple joy they took in everyday activities made him happy. Complicated or no, he was in for as long as he could ride it.

  He arrived at Father Fermozzi's office promptly at ten o'clock the next morning. Armed with a satchel full of photocopies, and several other papers, Jacob sat down to wait as he was announced. And wait he did. Ten minutes would have been accidental. Fifteen impolite. Half an hour was just petty, and it firmed Jacob's resolve to stop being nice. When Fermozzi finally let Jacob into his smoke filled office, Jacob was ready to eat nails.

  They exchanged the usual pleasantries, and Jacob was about to get down to the point when Fermozzi beat him to it. “So, Father Ellory,” he said, “what can I do for you? I did not expect to see you here again.”

  “I'm sure you didn't. But I came to talk to you about the Venetti again. And to make a bargain with you.”

  “A bargain?” Fermozzi looked only mildly interested. “I have sold the painting for the Church, Father. I can hardly make a better deal now.”

  “That's not the kind of bargain I mean. I didn't know before, Father Fermozzi, but I am given to understand that the sale of Vatican collections is not your usual thing.”

  Looking a little more intrigued, Fermozzi shrugged. “Generally, no, it is not.”

  “So why this one?”

  An eloquent shrug. “I was asked to.”

  Jacob nodded. “Right. But why?”

  “What are you trying to get at, Father Ellory?”

  “I just want to know what a Vatican lawyer is doing acting as an art expert.”

  Now Fermozzi was smiling a tight little smile. “I never told you I was an art expert. I was merely handling a transaction.”

  “No, you never told me that. But you told the Miggliozzis that, sir.”

  There was a pause, then Fermozzi asked, “What do you want?”

  Jacob pulled his sheaf of papers out of his briefcase. “I think you're probably aware that Marco Miggliozzi has petitioned for Matteo Venetti to be pardoned and reinstated as a member of the Roman Catholic Church.”

  Blinking a little, Fermozzi agreed. “Yes. But what has that got to do with me?”

  “Everything, I think, Father. You are the one who denied the request.”

  “I may not be an art expert. But evaluating evidence is something I do very well, young man. And they had no evidence that the charge against Venetti was false.”

  Tilting his head to one side, Jacob studied the man. “And besides he was, as you said before, a monster.”

  “One only has to look at his paintings to know that,” Fermozzi said. He tapped out one cigarette and immediately lit another. “I still fail to see...”

  “I want to submit the request again,” Jacob cut in.

  “That's hardly something I can do anything about.”

  “Actually you can. According to church records you have submitted at least three requests in the last year to Bishop Azaria, and they've been processed almost immediately. I thought I would just cut through the red tape and come straight to you.”

  Red-faced, Fermozzi viciously stubbed out his cigarette. “There is no evidence to suggest that Venetti needs pardoning.”

  Pulling out one particular sheet in his folder, Jacob handed it over to Fermozzi. It was a color photocopy of a letter of supplication to the church. Written in Latin, the handwriting stiff and beautifully old fashioned. Dated only six months before Venetti's death. “The Miggliozzis may not have had the proof, but I'
m not one of them am I? As of right now, I'm a priest with full access to the archives. This page is a written record that a few months before his trial began, Venetti applied for sanctuary from the church. He wanted to become a monk. The man was willing to give up everything to repent his sins and do good work for God. The Bishop di Salvillo turned him down. Apparently the good Bishop had a real hatred for Rossis. So any man who had slept with one would not be allowed into a monastery.”

  Fermozzi stared at the papers in his hand, then stared at Jacob. “Yes, well, it still does not absolve him of suicide.”

  “Well, that's true. But you can do that.” Jacob steadied his nerves and firmed his voice. “If you choose to you can have it all wiped clean on the basis of this new evidence. And I'm prepared to offer you a deal to do so.”

  “Ah your bargain, si? Go on.”

  With a deep breath, Jacob forged ahead. “I'm sure you know I'm writing a thesis on Venetti. The Miggliozzi family has offered me quite a bit of money to go one step further and write the story up for publication in book form. A friend of mine recently told me that Italians love their infamous sons. And Venetti is the subject of much talk in school history.”

  He thought Fermozzi turning a bit pale was a good sign. The man was silent, so Jacob continued. “I told them that I would. I'm willing to be bribed out of it, though. Your word, in writing, that Matteo Venetti receives a full pardon, and I don't go forward with it. As a matter of fact, I'll drop the Venetti thesis altogether.”

  “Unbelievable. You're threatening me.” Fermozzi stood and looked down over his glasses at Jacob. “Out. I want you to leave.”

  Staying where he was, Jacob pointed to the papers clutched in Fermozzi's hand. “You can keep those by the way. The Miggliozzi lawyer, Marco Miggliozzi and Alessio Rossi all have a copy. I understand why this may not seem like much to you. The Church has weathered much worse. But it would just be easier on all of us if you pardon him.”

  Reaching for another cigarette, Fermozzi sank back into his chair. “If I do this, you quit your work with the Venetti paintings altogether?”