"And what about the fact he mightn't come home after he's a priest? Did that ever occur to you? He won't be given huge chunks of leave the way he was in the seminary, so if he decides to remain in Rome you may well have to take yourself there if you ever want to see him at all. Go to Rome, Meggie!" "I can't. If you knew how frightened I am! It's not pride, or Ralph scoring one over on me, or any of the things I say it is to stop people asking me questions. Lord knows, I miss both my men so much I'd crawl on my knees to see them if I thought for a minute they wanted me. Oh, Dane would be glad to see me, but Ralph? He's forgotten I ever existed. I'm frightened, I tell you. I know in my bones that if I go to Rome something will happen. So I'm not going."
"What could happen, for pity's sake?"
"I don't know . . . . If I did, I'd have something to battle. A feeling, how can I battle a feeling? Because that's all it is. A premonition. As if the gods are gathering.
Anne laughed. "You're becoming a real old woman, Meggie. Stop!" "I can't, I can't! And I am an old woman."
"Nonsense, you're just in brisk middle age. Well and truly young enough to hop on that plane."
"Oh, leave me alone!" said Meggie savagely, and picked up her book.
Occasionally a crowd with a purpose converges upon Rome. Not tourism, the voyeuristic sampling of past glories in present relics; not the filling in of a little slice of time between A and B, with Rome a point on the line between those two places. This is a crowd with a single uniting emotion; it bursts with pride, for it is coming to see its son, nephew, cousin, friend ordained a priest in the great basilica which is the most venerated church in the world. Its members put up in humble pensiones, luxury hotels, the homes of friends or relatives. But they are totally united, at peace with each other and with the world. They do the rounds dutifully; the Vatican Museum with the Sistine Chapel at its end like a prize for endurance; the Forum, the Colosseum, the Appian Way, the Spanish Steps, the greedy Trevi Fountain, the son et lumiere. Waiting for the day, filling in time. They will be accorded the special privilege of a private audience with the Holy Father, and for them Rome will find nothing too good.
This time it wasn't Dane waiting on the platform to meet Justine, as it had been every other time; he was in retreat. Instead, Rainer Moerling Hartheim prowled the dirty paving like some great animal. He didn't greet her with a kiss, he never did; he just put an arm about her shoulders and squeezed. "Rather like a bear," said Justine.
"A bear?"
"I used to think when I first met you that you were some sort of missing link, but I've finally decided you're more of a bear than a gorilla. It was an unkind comparison, the gorilla."
"And bears are kind?"
"Well, perhaps they do one to death just as quickly, but they're more cuddly." She linked her arm through his and matched his stride, for she was almost as tall as he. "How's Dane? Did you see him before he went into retreat? I could kill Clyde, not letting me go sooner."
"Dane is as always."
"You haven't been leading him astray?"
"Me? Certainly not. You look very nice, Herzchen."
"I'm on my very best behavior, and I bought out every couturier in London. Do you like my new short skirt? They call it the mini."
"Walk ahead of me, and I'll tell you."
The hem of the full silk skirt was about midthigh; it swirled as she turned and came back to him. "What do you think, Rain? Is it scandalous? I noticed no one in Paris is wearing this length yet."
"It proves a point, Herzchen-that with legs as good as yours, to wear a skirt one millimeter longer is scandalous. I'm sure the Romans will agree with me."
"Which means my arse will be black and blue in an hour instead of a day. Damn them! Though do you know something, Rain?" "What?"
"I've never been pinched by a priest. All these years I've been flipping in and out of the Vatican with nary a pinch to my credit. So I thought maybe if I wore a miniskirt, I might be the undoing of some poor prelate yet." "You might be my undoing." He smiled.
"No, really? In orange? I thought you hated me in orange, when I've got orange hair."
"It inflames the senses, such a busy color."
"You're teasing me," she said, disgusted, climbing into his Mercedes limousine, which had a German pennant fluttering from its bonnet talisman. "When did you get the little flag?"
"When I got my new post in the government."
"No wonder I rated a mention in the News of the World! Did you see it?" "You know I never read rags, Justine."
"Well, nor do I; someone showed it to me," she said, then pitched her voice higher and endowed it with a shabby-genteel, fraightfully naice accent. "What up-and-coming carrot-topped Australian actress is cementing very cordial relations with what member of the West German cabinet?" "They can't be aware how long we've known each other," he said tranquilly, stretching out his legs and ****** himself comfortable. Justine ran her eyes over his clothes with approval; very casual, very Italian. He was rather in the European fashion swim himself, daring to wear one of the fishing-net shirts which enabled Italian males to demonstrate the hairiness of their chests.
"You should never wear a suit and collar and tie," she said suddenly. "No? Why not?"
"Machismo is definitely your style-you know, what you've got on now, the gold medallion and chain on the hairy chest. A suit makes you look as if your waistline is bulging, when it really isn't at all."
For a moment he gazed at her in surprise, then the expression in his eyes became alert, in what she called his "concentrated thinking look." "A first," he said.
"What's a first?"
"In the seven years I've known you, you've never before commented upon my appearance except perhaps to disparage it."
"Oh, dear, haven't I?" she asked, looking a little ashamed. "Heavens, I've thought of it often enough, and never disparagingly." For some reason she added hastily, "I mean, about things like the way you look in a suit."
