"How?"
"You have designs for each of the eleven Venetian families?"
"Yes."
"Why not place the face for each family at the top of each of the eleven sides. Underneath, you could copy a selection of those eleven faces but in different combinations per side. That would make each side unique, while enabling you to repeat only eleven designs. That would cut your origination costs, especially if you buy the automated stone carving machine you told me about.
"You could go one step further and repeat the family face at the top and at the bottom. The one at the top will be far too high to inspect. Repeated at the bottom, the quality of each panel design will be obvious to all."
Eleni stood still. Another feature she liked about Stephane. He didn't talk when it was unnecessary.
His idea was neat. It reduced cost, though it would force her to acquire the stone carver. But the time reduction was significant and it satisfied her desire for individuality on each side.
She nodded.
"It's ingenious. I like the repetition of each family face at the top and bottom and for the reason you gave. In turn that provides me more freedom. Stand behind me. Let's put this on the big screen and model how it might look."
An hour later, she had a revision. They assessed it. Stephane noticed that they had repeated two faces, which prevented each face from being unique. Another hour flew by before he took over and moved into Photoshop mode.
Then they were done. They congratulated each other. They'd finished the Kampanarió's exterior design, at least in conceptual terms.
"Eleni, I'm not sure how to tell you. I came to say I'm heading back to France tomorrow. My mother's health has deteriorated. My father needs support. My sister is too far away, in New Zealand."
Shock was written all over her face. And dismay. She uttered the first thought that occurred.
"What about the 100 Tonne competition?"
"I'll keep training. I'll try to come back for it. But no promises. It's not in my control."
Other thoughts crashed in on her. Dismay turned to consternation and then disillusion.
Before she could control herself, she listened to her most overbearing and resentful voice berating him, much as she'd done before and which she'd sworn to herself never to repeat. Yet she was helpless. She couldn't contain herself.
Stephane turned on his heel. He walked out.
Now she was bereft. Of competitor, assistant, audience, adviser and much-anticipated lover.
Nicosia (Cyprus)
Davide awaited Nikos. It was to be their final meeting for several weeks. While he would probably need to return to Nicosia, they'd set no date. He would, however, continue some distance participation – working with Inma to develop ways to persuade the faithful to confess more often.
Involvement in religious matters bothered Davide. It wasn't in his nature. Working on the secular aspects was fine. Coercing believers to confess in order they pay more was oppression rather than sanctity.
He would visit Rome on his way back to Spain to discuss this with his old friend, Father José Antonio. Now retired in a comfortable grace and favour apartment, courtesy of his Catholic Church, he enjoyed a splendid terrace overlooking Rome. A few days there would relax Davide's nerves. José Antonio, infinitely practical as an ex-parish priest, would introduce common sense.
He looked up.
Kjersti? At Reception?
It couldn't be.
Then he recalled the Trek. She planned to complete it?
"Kjersti?"
Kjersti swivelled. At first, she couldn't place Davide. Recognition kicked in.
"Why are you here?"
"I could ask the same of you. Me? I'm just leaving. We finished the Trek and I'm heading... home."
Just in time, Kjersti caught her tongue. She could so easily have mentioned flying to Valencia and staying with Ana. She intuited this might not be appropriate.
"That's a pity. I'm heading back to Spain tomorrow, via Rome to see an old friend who retired last year."
"Lucky you. I love Rome, though not Romans. Forgive me, I must pay. Also, I think there's someone looking for you."
Kjersti indicated behind Davide. While she handed over a credit card, he saw Father Spanos waiting.
"Nikos. Right on time. It's good to see you. Shall we go and have a coffee over there? I'll just say goodbye to my friend here and then join you."
Nikos did as instructed. Davide returned to Kjersti. They wished each other safe travels and Davide rejoined Nikos.
"Tell me. What did His Beatitude agree, if anything?"
"Everything."
"Really? You surprise me. He had no objections or reservations?"
"None. He has fallen for the SinCard. I know that's not a very holy way of describing it, but I think he envies the consistent income stream the Pope receives from your HolyPhone."
"That's ambitious. The Pope's audience is hundreds of millions. How big is the Church of Cyprus?"
"There are a little over a million people in Cyprus, of whom about 700,000 are Greek Cypriots. But you must add a diaspora of another 300,000. Most are in the UK, but there are significant clusters in the USA, Canada and Australia. A million, give or take."
"That doesn't seem a lot. And Nea Hagia Sophia can't be cheap."
"You are right on both grounds. Nevertheless, His Beatitude is optimistic. Between you and me, he is on the verge of selling the SinCard as a franchise to the highest bidder. This would be for a period of up to a decade. The monies received will pay back the loans taken out for his new Basilica. In due course, he or his successor will repeat the exercise. And so on."
"You mean he hopes to find a franchise buyer who will pay a lump sum up front. I assume the franchisee will take on all the selling and marketing burden?"
"You are perceptive. That's what he hopes. The buyer will incur all the expenses to sell and operate the SinCards, including your idea of using smartphones for priests to decrease the SinCard balances. The more the franchisee succeeds, the more money he will make."
"But selling a franchise for a one-off payment will limit the Church's income."
"Not necessarily. His Beatitude is cunning. He plans to retain a substantial percentage of gross SinCard sales throughout the franchise period.
"You see? No, you don't. As Archbishop, he is the de facto chief executive of a large money spinning operation already. On behalf of the Church, he supervises long-term investing in hotels, banks, entertainment and many other ordinary facets of life."
"You astonish me!"
"It's true, and easy to check. Just look at the local press. Anyhow, my master's vision borrows from UEFA."
"The football people?"
"The very same."
"I don't get it. Where's the similarity?"
"I told you. He thinks long. If the franchisee builds up the sin income in round one, bidding for round two in ten years will be competitive. Maybe that second round will last only five years. Then the process will repeat, each time becoming more valuable. At least that's his reasoning."
"It all sounds very mercenary."
Nikos's face buckled. He recoiled in profound discomfort.
Davide rushed to reassure. "I apologise. I didn't mean to judge or offend."
"Not to worry. You do and you don't. If I'm honest to myself, you are correct. He is mercenary as well as vain. Not that you can ever say I said as much. But it's true and it worsens every day."
"How so?"
Davide couldn't stop himself. Its improbability, its unholiness, riveted.
"In the monastery, his prime mission was to ensure it lasted. He sought money wherever he could, mainly by charging through the nose for special ceremonies like funeral and remembrance rites. His spiritual mission came second.
"Since his elevation to Archbishop, he has become ever more venal. It's never for himself per se. It's always for the 'good of the Church', or so he claims. I'm no longer sure."
"Why not?"
"Let me offer one example. I thought he wanted to create Nea Hagia Sophia as a celebration of Christianity over the Muslims. Embarrassing enough. But, I argued to myself, this is why we have a calling, a mission. Now he focuses on the Basilica's dedication and, most important of all, his role and place in that dedication. Small of stature, he aspires to ever greater heights of indulgence and self-importance."
Davide choked. Nikos noticed. Again, Davide felt obliged to apologise.
"Don't worry," Nikos reassured. "It's my frustration emerging. But not with you. Anyhow, the main point is we are to proceed with the SinCards as per your and my design. His Beatitude does want that additional assistance, about how to encourage increased confessions. So what do we need to do before you depart?"
Nicosia (Cyprus)
Though she didn't want to, Eleni made her way to Tower 25 and ascended to her uncle's floor. She had an inkling of what he wished to discuss, though certainty was never a safe state to assume with Archbishop Ioannis.
Father Spanos greeted her with enthusiasm. Too much enthusiasm, she felt. Yet, in the madhouse that was the headquarters of her uncle's Church of Cyprus, she found him an oasis of quiet sensibility. She appreciated he fancied her, which was not a suitable state for a man in the Orthodox priesthood. He could admire from afar. That was fine with her. She enjoyed it. If he harboured anything more, she wouldn't oblige.
He ushered her into her uncle's study-cum-office. She made false obeisance, which kept him happy. She was sure he didn't believe in her piety.
"How can I help, Uncle?"
His Beatitude frowned. He relished the subservience of 'Your Beatitude'. The only two people he permitted to offer less were his brother and niece, and only in private. He repressed his irritation.
"We want to talk about the ambon and solea, the iconostasis and the synthronon. Have you finished their design?"
"Not about the altar?"
"No, not about the altar. May we remind you that we propose to select and re-use one from the Archiepiscopal Museum, a twelfth-century masterpiece."
"That horror you pointed out? You insist?"
"We do."
Eleni's own irritation rose. She shouldn't let him get to her. But discussing the elevated platform from where they read the scriptures did not interest her. The solea was the connecting walkway to the iconostasis, the chancel screen which would hold traditional icons as the dividing line between the sacred and profane, the altar and worshippers.
Behind the altar was a semi-circular, mini-auditorium built into the apse, the synthronon. In the centre of this, at the top, would be the archbishop's throne. She had guessed this last might be on his mind.
As usual, he did not come directly to the point. For an hour she re-explored with her uncle what she believed to be the original layout inside Hagia Sophia, the one which the Emperor Justinian would recognise. They assessed which icons to choose and how high the iconostasis should be.
Slowly and surely, he worked round to what was uppermost in his worries. Visibility. His visibility. When seated on his throne, at the top and back of the synthronon hemisphere. He insisted he must be in sight of the congregation and not concealed by the iconostasis.
At last his underlying preoccupation emerged. The steps up the synthronon were many and would need to be steep if they were to attain sufficient height for the world to relish his clerical majesty. He was old and decrepit, as others who followed him would be. He feared he might not be able to ascend his throne. To be carried there would be an indignity. Could she contrive a solution? Perhaps an elevating throne?
Inside she chortled. Now she'd heard it all.
Yet his suggestion wasn't a bad one from an architectural viewpoint, though she wondered at the liturgical implications. He'd have to disappear inside the synthronon to reappear. Maybe that was what he wanted? After all, he was the supreme arbiter of the Church's liturgy, his fellow bishops permitting.
"You would like to walk beneath the rear of the synthronon to a throne, sit on it and press a button whereby the throne would elevate and slot into position at the top of the synthronon?"
She said it in mock jest. He took her words at face value.
"Precisely. We wouldn't have to climb any steps. We wouldn't be out of breath."
"You could appear as if by magic..."
"We wouldn't put it like that, my niece. But you capture the substance of our fears. Can you solve it?"
Eleni considered. There was no need for great complexity. A standard hydraulic push elevator would work. Remove the cage and install a suitable throne on the floor. This could rise between unseen guide rails beneath the synthronon before the throne appeared and slotted into place.
Should she suggest a seatbelt? Probably not. Her uncle might take it the wrong way. What did she care if he or a successor fell out? At least that would be invisible to the masses. Yet, a seated Archbishop would reduce the risks.
She explained. He delighted in her ingenuity. His appearance from nowhere appealed to his theatrical side.
"The biggest difficulty will be hollowing out the synthronon to create a passageway."
"Could your colleague play wonders like he did for our bell tower?"
"You mean Stephane?"
"Yes. We revisit often those images he printed from your computer."
"He won't, I'm afraid."
"Why not?"
"He's returned to France. His mother is unwell and his father needs support."
"We are sorry to hear that. Will he be coming back?"
"I'm not sure."
"Do you want him to? I do. For you."
"What do you mean?"
"I've watched you beside him. You change. If I may say it, you improve. You like him?"
This was a question Eleni was unprepared for. Her uncle's reputation wasn't for personal perspicacity. Yet here he was almost offering sympathy. What an obscene irony! Not least after the way she'd behaved before Stephane departed. She could only blame herself. There was no other candidate.
Her misery, her silence, ran on. Ioannis, custodian of the souls of Cyprus, was incapable of rising to the occasion. He retreated to safer ground.
"There is another matter on which we would like your input. The dedication."
Distracted, as he'd prayed for, Eleni's swollen eyes returned to his face.
"Dedication?"
"We want you to work with Nikos to research and design for us the Basilica's dedication ceremony. It must impress. The Church of Cyprus must demonstrate to its Greek, Russian and its other Orthodox autocephalous peers that it is truly an equal. "
"With you at the centre?"
"We wouldn't put it quite like that. But overall, yes."
"Why with Father Spanos?"
"Is that what you call him? Nikos is easier. We only use Father Spanos when we are cross with him, which is rare. He understands the rituals. He can dig deep into the theology if necessary. We want you to supply the theatrical verve."
Eleni wasn't cheered by the prospect of teaming up with Father Spanos. His attentions fostered apprehension. Conversely, adding 'stage designer and choreographer' to her curriculum vitae would do her reputation no harm.
Chapter Nine
Nicosia (Cyprus)
Father Nikos found His Beatitude on the terrace, as expected. With each passing week, the Archbishop spent more time there, staring in reverential admiration at his monument in progress.
It was several weeks since Davide had departed. Progress on the production of the SinCards was well under way. Davide had arranged delivery of a small selection of different adaptors for smartphones to read trial SinCards. Nikos led the experimentation to prove they worked. He was enjoying the hands-on exposure to technology. He knew he would miss this aspect when the franchisee assumed responsibility. Returning to Archiepiscopal business would be dull. He was content to be His Beatitude's secret technology weaponeer.
Advanced negotiations continued with Christodoulou about the amount he, or his loan con
sortium, should pay for the SinCard franchise. His Beatitude was determined to drive a hard, if covert, bargain. Once complete, the funding for his Basilica would lock into place and the Church would have an early start on repaying the loans already incurred. His Beatitude was almost happy on this front, not least because it ensured he could keep the Church's other investments separate.
The underground car park was a related asset. Eleni's original suggestion to her uncle, when formulating Nea Hagia Sophia, had drawn his instant push-back – until she explored the ramifications. Five hundred parking spaces in the Old Town would attract a regular income. He might even lease selected spaces for one or two-year periods to the highest bidders.
His Beatitude's opposition had transformed. Upfront payments for leases brought enthusiastic support. Best of all, unsolicited demand was accelerating, though none had gone on sale. Any auction should prove lucrative.
As for Nea Hagia Sophia itself, Nikos couldn't believe the progress. Six months earlier, the four main piers and complementary steel work had been barely visible. Today, His Beatitude feasted on the sight of the CLT wood walls filling in all the spaces except the dome. Vasilia had reported that she expected work on the latter to commence soon. Attachment of the soft yellow sandstone to the CLT exterior was under way. Progress, from an external observer's viewpoint, was magnificent, which explained why His Beatitude devoted so much time devouring progress.
Inside the Basilica, headway was slower. Eleni had explained the desirability of making the Basilica weatherproof before adding the marble columns and interior facings.
His Beatitude didn't dispute her sequencing, although he never ceased grumbling. He deposited his impatience on Nikos's head on a regular basis, though this was tempered to a small degree for Nikos by working with Eleni to elaborate the dedication ceremony. His Beatitude adored participating in the design of this. He'd charged Nikos and Eleni with introducing whatever historical precedents might make the occasion more resplendent.
This was the fun element for Nikos. Working with Eleni. She wasn't easy and gave him not a single cause for complaint or encouragement. Precise and considerate was not how most described her in polite company. It was how he found her.
Resurrection (The Corruption Series Book 4) Page 21