Book of Dreams

by Bunn, Davis

  The newscaster turned to the camera and said, “For those of you just tuning in, my guest tonight is Antonio d’Alba, chairman of the EU’s new financial commission.” The newscaster turned back to Antonio and lifted a collection of broadsheets. “In anticipation of your appointment and this conversation, articles are appearing tomorrow in the world’s financial dailies. The banks’ spokespeople have treated you rather harshly.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Shall I share some of what they have to say?” He slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “This from the Frankfurter Allgemeine, and I quote: ‘D’Alba has become utterly disconnected from the pressures of modern financial trading. He has hidden himself away for over three years, using his appointment to the Vatican as a monastic retreat. He is out of touch, and as a result, dangerous to our still-fragile economic recovery.’ The Corriere della Sera claims that you are a menace to the European banking industry in a time of great risk and devastating losses. The Paris Figaro suggests you have been made mentally unstable by the loss of your wife. Our own Financial Times claims that you are driven by a personal vendetta and intend nothing less than the dismantlement of our vital financial institutions.” He lowered the sheaf of newsprint. “Do you have any response to these accusations?”

  “The gloves have come off,” Antonio replied. If he was fazed by the attacks, he did not show it. “They are fighting with all the power at their disposal to halt reform.”

  “What are your plans?”

  For the first time, Antonio faced the camera. To Elena, it looked as though he stared straight at her. The power of his gaze was a physical pressure.

  “That is simple enough,” Antonio replied. “I intend to hold these financial institutions accountable for the damage they have wreaked, and make sure it never happens again.”

  “Even if that means the breakup of the largest banks?”

  Antonio continued to grip her with an energy directed at the camera. “I have answered your question.”

  Their farewells after the interview carried an undercurrent of emotions Elena could not name, much less isolate. Angie Cassels, the ambassador’s aide, revealed an infectious smile. Elena watched as the young woman embraced Antonio and said how his words had made the fear vanish. Whatever happened, she said, she knew her decision to join the ambassador had been the right one. She was glad she had faced down her fears this time. After Angie left with the ambassador and his wife, Elena said, “I wish I had said that.”

  “Anch’io,” Antonio’s aide murmured. “I as well.”

  Elena went on, “You did a marvelous job.”

  Antonio did not share their elation. “I hope you feel as positive when you see what our opponents do with my remarks.”

  “I will feel the same way for the rest of my life.”

  Antonio said to his aides, “Excuse us a moment.”

  “Certamente.” His senior aide was named Leonardo and was not a handsome man. But his smile held a transformative force. His accent was strong enough to suggest he translated his words directly from the Italian. “I feel as Angie, signora. Thank you for the inclusion in your group. This work, it is vital.”

  Antonio drew her behind a trio of potted palms. The evening rush was in full swing. People flowed toward the exits in a steady current of footfalls and weary chatter. Antonio said, “I found you behind the cameras. I could not see anyone else but you.”

  There was no reason why such simple words should fill her with another wave of utterly conflicting sensations. No way she could feel her face burn and her body shiver at the same time. “You were magnificent.”

  “I will tell you what is magnificent. This ability of yours to draw me into focus. To push away all the things for which I have no answers. To help me not be afraid of tomorrow.”

  Elena started to say that it was not her at work. But the air felt trapped inside her chest again. His dark gaze was that strong.

  Antonio said, “I must go back to Brussels. We are booked on the Eurostar. I do not know when I can return. Two days, perhaps three. The banks will try to stack the commission with cronies. They will do their utmost to neuter all of us who seek to do our job. I must do all I can to stop this.”

  She had so much she wanted to say. But all she could manage was, “I will miss you.”

  His dark eyes opened far enough for her to fall into and never come out. “Such beautiful words, ones I never thought I would hear again.” He leaned close and kissed her cheek. She smelled his scent and shivered again. “I will call you.”

  Elena walked over and joined Miriam by the glass doors leading to the gathering night. Her oldest friend was smiling slightly. But all she said was, “Well, well.”

  29

  They walked back to where Charles waited by the car. Elena tried to make light of the introduction. “Charles is my night man. Charles, this is my friend Miriam.”

  “Ma’am.”

  Miriam allowed herself to be helped into the rear seat. “I could grow used to this.”

  Elena waited until the door was closed and Charles was walking to the driver’s side. “I wish I could say the same.”

  “A bit hard to take in, I suppose.”

  “I’ve never even had a maid.”

  “You always were one for your privacy.” Miriam reached over and took hold of Elena’s hand. “Just remember there is a difference between your life and your role in these events. This is a permanent change only if you choose to make it so.”

  They stopped at the market for a selection of ready-made salads and a whole roast chicken. When they pulled up in front of Miriam’s home, the old woman leaned forward and said, “Charles, you are welcome to join us for dinner.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m obliged to remain on patrol.”

  “What, all night?”

  “Comes with the profession, ma’am.” He waited while Elena retrieved the book of dreams from the car’s trunk, then carried their parcels up to the front door. When Miriam unlocked the door, he gave the interior a swift check, deposited the bags in the kitchen, and returned to the front hall. “You ladies have a pleasant evening.”

  When the door was shut and locked, Miriam asked, “What happens if it rains?”

  “I have no idea. That was the longest conversation Charles and I have ever had.”

  Over dinner they talked in the easy manner of old friends. The only interruption came when Charles tapped on the kitchen door and returned his empty plate. They moved to the rear sunroom and turned off all the lights, so as to watch London capture another night. Now and then Charles walked around the back garden, a silent silhouette that vanished as swiftly as he emerged. Miriam spoke of her granddaughter’s visit that summer, and Elena volunteered to show her around Oxford for a day. Miriam’s daughter was married for the third time, to an industrialist in Philadelphia. She and Miriam did not get along. The granddaughter had worshipped Miriam as a child, but now at eighteen she tended to paint all adults with the same cynical brush.

  They were silent as Charles cut another shadow through the blanket of city lights. Then Miriam asked, “How do you feel?”

  “Conflicted. But less so than yesterday.” Elena listened to a nightjar’s mournful tune, up and down a three-note scale. “They are trying to accomplish something important. But I worry that I have nothing else to give this team. I am afraid my job is done, and this whole thing is a mistake.”

  “You play a vital role. Of that I have no doubt. None whatsoever.”

  Her calm certainty did much to lighten Elena’s burden. “Thank you.”

  “Something came to me while we were praying in the ambassador’s office. It was quite a remarkable experience, almost as though it had been planted in my heart by another’s hand.” Miriam searched the pocket of her jacket and offered Elena a slip of paper. “It was meant for you.”

  Elena read aloud, “Proverbs Twenty-Five, Verse Two. ‘It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings.’”<
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  Miriam’s features were painted in glowing strokes by the city’s illumination. “Your team is about to be struck from all sides. They will soon become too busy to search for God’s word. That is your task. To reach for the unseen. To read the hidden script. To speak to the heart of the matter. To remind them of the eternal quest.”

  Elena shivered.

  “You will face great challenges of your own. The noise will grow almost impossibly loud. Hold your focus tightly upon the true north. You will find your passage home.”

  Elena wanted to say that she wished she shared Miriam’s confidence. But the words belittled the message, and the giver. She did not speak and was glad for her silence. Elena shared the night with her dearest friend for a time, then said, “I’m very tired.”

  “Good night, my dear one. Sleep well.”

  “Are you coming up?”

  “Not just yet.”

  Elena rose and leaned over to kiss Miriam’s cheek. The skin was as frail and worn as the vellum page. “Thank you.”

  Elena was almost at the door when Miriam called to her. When she turned back, Miriam asked, “Do you regret my having given you the book of dreams?”

  “Not for an instant.” Of this, at least, she was certain. “Not even in the darkest of my hours.”

  Miriam’s sigh was sweet and long. “If I had to wait seventy-two years for God to speak through me, I am glad it was today.”

  Elena woke with dawn’s first faint light. Afterward, it seemed to her that she sensed the change before her feet touched the carpet. The sensation was like a shift in the weather, a fragrance of coming change.

  The door to Miriam’s bedroom was open, the bed still made. Elena walked to the stairs and called down softly, “Miriam?”

  A hush blanketed the house. Elena felt the silence gnaw at her. She walked down the stairs and started into the kitchen, then saw the profile silhouetted against the gray dawn.

  Before she hurried down the hallway’s creaking wooden floor, she knew. Before she passed through the doorway and came around the coffee table. She knew.

  Miriam remained seated in her favorite chair. She gazed out over the city she had loved and would never see again.

  30

  TUESDAY

  An ambulance arrived and declared Miriam gone. The medical technician put the cause down as heart attack. Charles remained after Gerald, her day man, arrived with Nigel Harries in tow. The three men handled everything with a steadying calm. Elena leaned against Nigel as they carried her dearest friend away.

  She then went upstairs and showered and dressed. The tears returned and demolished her makeup. Elena had not realized she had put any on. She scrubbed her face and went downstairs. She refused to glance down the hall and through the doorway to the sunroom. She knew how it would look. The room was positioned so that it caught the morning sun. It would glow with an ethereal light, as though heaven itself shared mysteries with anyone fortunate enough to sit and cherish the day’s softest hour. It was a room of joy and calm and revelation. It had suited Miriam perfectly.

  Elena left the house with Nigel. Gerald would remain to deal with any authority that might stop by. During the drive, her cell phone rang. Elena checked the readout, then had to clear her eyes before she could read the number. She saw it was Antonio and turned the phone off. She would make it through this day by dealing with one thing at a time.

  When she arrived at the embassy, Sandra Harwood was waiting for her at the bulletproof hut. The ambassador’s wife hugged her and shepherded her upstairs. Sandra did not protest that Elena shouldn’t have come. All she said was, “Nigel called each of us. Antonio phoned me when he could not reach you. He wants to have a word.”

  “I can’t talk with him right now.”

  “I understand. I’ll let him know you’ll be in touch later.” When they arrived upstairs, Sandra released her to the consolation of the others, took out her cell phone, and stepped away.

  Elena set the book on the table and opened it to the same image as the previous day. She sat alongside the others. Nigel joined them on the speakerphone. As did Antonio and his aides. Thankfully, Antonio said nothing. Tears came and went. Elena did not care. Apparently nor did anyone else.

  After a time, she said, “As Miriam told you yesterday, she had never seen this image before. A nine-year-old child accepted responsibility from her beloved great-grandmother, who was dying. The books carried a tradition and a duty that stretched back into the shadowed recesses of time. But if there were any instructions that came with the task, Miriam did not receive them. Perhaps her great-grandmother intended to give them later, after Miriam had grown up. Perhaps there were none to begin with. We shall never know.”

  Elena turned the page back to the first image. “Miriam studied this image for seventy-two years, as long as she had the book. She never turned the page. If it had been me, I would have gone through the entire book and started over. But that was not her way. She assumed if God wanted to speak with her, he would have used this first image. Her entire life, she has looked at these books as a sign of her own failure. She did not ever receive a message from God, not until …”

  Elena extracted a damp handkerchief from her pocket. She carefully wiped her eyes so as to see the image. “In Miriam’s mind, she failed to live up to the duty laid upon her by her great-grandmother. As a result, Miriam never truly valued the gifts she did possess. Her faculty to heal troubled hearts and minds. Her wisdom as a counselor. Her gift as a teacher. Her ability to inspire others. The deep and abiding love she held for her departed husband and her child and her granddaughter. Her insight and astuteness and understanding.”

  She stopped then. Elena knew there was more she needed to say. But the words simply would not come.

  “I understand what you are saying,” Angie, the ambassador’s assistant, said. “We all have gifts.”

  Sandra Harwood said, “We do not see the world with God’s eyes.”

  “We must lift our gazes beyond the obstacles,” Lawrence softly agreed.

  Nigel Harries added, “And focus our attention beyond the human horizon.”

  Sandra said, “We must give thanks for the task and the challenge set before us.”

  Lawrence said, “Hold fast to the course.”

  Antonio’s voice emerged from the speakerphone. “Do what is set before us, and accept that God is leading us.”

  Angie Cassels said, “Trust that his wisdom and guidance will always see us through.”

  There was a silence then, until Elena said, “Let’s join hands and pray.”

  During the journey to Oxford, Elena made two quick calls, first to Miriam’s daughter and then the granddaughter. Elena wanted them both to hear the news directly from her. As expected, Miriam’s daughter was only too glad to leave all the arrangements to Elena.

  Elena then called her mother. It was a longer call, and much harder. As soon as she was done, Elena turned her phone back off. She had collected another three calls from Antonio. But Elena was afraid she would start weeping and not be able to stop. Antonio would just have to wait.

  She told Fiona what had happened only after she had finished with the day’s four patients. Fiona promised to spread the word. They all knew Miriam. The director had considered her a friend as well as a colleague. Elena stopped by the market for food she had no interest in eating. She went home and forced herself to down a few bites of salad. She then walked out to the garden bench. The sun was setting over Oxford. Rain clouds paraded in from the south, casting wet ribbons over the countryside. Elena took a long look and spent a few moments thinking of departed loved ones.

  Then she turned on her phone and called Antonio.

  31

  WEDNESDAY, THURSDAY, FRIDAY

  Things are threatening to unravel.”

  Lawrence Harwood’s words echoed around the empty office. Elena’s speakerphone sat on a small coffee table in the middle of the room. She was as alone as she had ever been in her entire life.

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bsp; Lawrence went on, “The Senate Finance Committee will vote on the legislation next week. We’re certain of passage. The public demands that Congress do something about the banks and their freewheeling methods. The law has support from both sides of the aisle. So the banks are using their allies in Congress to push for appointments who will neuter the commission.”

  Wednesday morning, Elena had returned to the embassy for their dawn meeting, then accompanied Lawrence and his wife to the airport. On the way, Sandra had spoken about a mutual friend, Shirley Wainwright, whose husband had been appointed to the position Lawrence now held. Teddy Wainwright had suffered a heart attack while traveling to meet with the same Washington power brokers who had now summoned Lawrence. Sandra Harwood’s voice had trembled slightly as she said that Shirley wanted to get in touch with Elena.

  Thursday morning Elena completed arrangements for Miriam’s funeral, then walked to High Street and purchased a speakerphone. With Fiona’s help she arranged for a daily conference connection and had everything in place when the group called at one. Lawrence and Sandra were in their Washington hotel, Nigel was off somewhere doing security things, Angie Cassels was prepping for Lawrence’s first meeting with the Senate Finance Committee, Antonio and his aides were in a Brussels limo en route to their lunch meeting. Everyone was frantically busy except Elena. The phone sat on a card table in the middle of the upstairs room. Beside it rested the open book. The image remained dormant. Miriam’s absence was everywhere she looked.

  Friday morning Elena met with Brian Farringdon, supposedly to discuss the funeral, which he had agreed to lead. But in truth it was mainly so she could grieve. He listened as only a pastor could, prayed with her, hugged her, and sent her out feeling genuinely prepared for the day ahead. Elena had then returned to her new office and welcomed the others as they came online. Elena had opened with a passage from First Corinthians, then read the brief message she had prepared the previous evening. In the silence that followed, tension radiated from her speakerphone.