"No, of course not," said Stoltz. "But after we spoke about the mural he was asking all sorts of questions about that episode-which I thought rather strange. For a mathematician." He shrugged, took another sip of wine. "Oh, and especially the scandal that transpired after they found the diary, when-"
"Ah," Gudrun said, stepping back to them and interrupting Stoltz, "Eric, please, don't bore poor Benjamin to death." She turned to Benjamin. "I'm sorry, you get any one of us started, we forget other people don't share our… obsessions." Gudrun put her hand on Benjamin's forearm. "I think they're about to start serving. Shall we find a table?"
Benjamin glanced around for Wolfe, didn't see him, and let himself be led to a nearby table with four empty seats.
While wineglasses were being filled and plates set down, Benjamin thought about what he'd learned from Stoltz. What struck him as strangest of all was that Jeremy, after residency at the Foundation for several months and probably passing through the manse's foyer on a daily basis, should suddenly take an interest in the mural. In all the time he'd known Jeremy at Harvard, never once had he expressed an interest in art. He'd always imagined that to Jeremy art, being unquantifiable, didn't really exist; not in the certain way of numbers and patterns.
Benjamin realized Gudrun was introducing the others at the table.
"And this is Dr. Morton Cavendish," she was saying, pointing with her wineglass to an older gentleman with full white hair and beard. "Our resident expert on international relations."
Cavendish frowned. "Don't let her mislead you, Mr. Wainwright. Gudrun isn't taking proper credit. Her white paper on the Middle East… well, it wouldn't be inaccurate to say it helped point this administration in the right direction." He saluted her.
"Really, Dr. Cavendish." Gudrun smiled, but Benjamin noticed she did not demur.
"Yes, a remarkably successful invasion, as invasions go," said Wolfe, rejoining the group. He was greeted by stares and silence. He scanned their faces, smiled. "I'm sorry, is that word out of season now?"
"You can't possibly suggest," began Cavendish, "that we should have done nothing and let our enemies-"
"Please, Morton," Gudrun said, smiling sweetly at Wolfe, "let Mr. Wolfe finish."
Wolfe bowed slightly to Gudrun. "What would you say regarding enemies, Ms. Soderbergh? Thanks to our doing something, do we now have fewer? And does this splendid little war make the next big one less likely?"
"I'm more interested in what happens before a conflict begins," she said steadily. "Napoleon said a battle is won or lost before it ever starts. That's when victories are made."
"And those victories," said Wolfe, looking very pointedly at Gudrun, "they're made here?"
She didn't flinch. "Those in power have always recognized the value of innovative thinkers to advise them."
"To think the unthinkable?" asked Wolfe, quite calmly. "Like Kahn?"
"Kahn?" asked Benjamin, struggling to understand the tension between Wolfe and Gudrun-and, he realized with some embarrassment, trying to find a way to reenter the conversation, perhaps to get Gudrun to turn those luminous eyes toward him again.
"Herman Kahn," replied Cavendish. "Wrote on nuclear war theory. Practically invented it."
"Or invented the notion that it was 'thinkable,' " amended Wolfe, still looking at Gudrun.
"Wasn't he merely being realistic?" said Gudrun. She leaned toward Wolfe, the cynicism of earlier replaced by what appeared to be sincere commitment. "Most people don't really know why they believe as they do. They require… call it direction. Or purpose. And history has taught us that purpose is usually found in the face of one's enemies."
"Then I alter my question slightly," said Wolfe, now looking quite serious himself. "Those enemies, are they made here?"
Before Gudrun could respond there came a tapping of a fork on a wineglass from the head table. Arthur Terrill was standing and attempting to get everyone's attention. Finally, when the murmur of conversation and clatter of silverware had died down, he spoke.
"While I have you all gathered together like this, I believe it's an excellent time to acknowledge the supreme effort of one of our own. All of you know him, but I think few of you appreciate how absolutely vital his efforts are to the survival of the Foundation and its mission. I'm speaking of course of Mr. George Montrose."
Arthur turned toward Montrose, and there was a round of applause. Terrill continued.
"Without his work in the lobbies of the Capitol, every bit as important as the work that goes on in the laboratories and studies here on campus, we wouldn't have the luxury to pursue our precious researches. Here's to George Montrose." He raised his glass to a chorus of "Here, here" and "Good work, George."
Everyone at the table drank, Wolfe draining his glass. Then Montrose stood and began to speak, beginning with something about the "unsung heroes here in the wilds of Massachusetts," and there was general laughter… but at that moment Gudrun leaned in closer to Benjamin and spoke in low tones.
"I can't stand these speeches. I'm going outside for a smoke. Mind keeping me company?" She placed her hand on his shoulder in a gesture he couldn't quite define. Friendly? Flirtatious? Maybe he was drunker than he thought.
Benjamin's first impulse was to look to Wolfe, but Wolfe was engaged in an intense whispered dialogue with Cavendish.
"Wouldn't it be rude, to leave in the middle of…?" and he waved his hand toward Montrose and the head table.
"They'll assume we're off to be naughty," Gudrun said, and before Benjamin could reply she'd lifted his hand and led him, winding through tables, out the doors, across the foyer, and into the empty quad outside.
CHAPTER 11
Once outside, Gudrun immediately extracted a cigarette and lighter from her purse, lit up, and inhaled with undisguised relief. Then she looked up at the night sky. The chilled air made Benjamin pull his jacket closed.
"Amazing out here, isn't it?" she said. "Away from the city lights. They're so much… clearer. But then, so many things are."
He looked upward, if for no other reason than to prevent himself from staring at her face shining in the starlight-and noticing the way that same starlight emphasized the contours of her breasts above the low-cut neckline of her dress.
She threw the cigarette to the stone pathway, ground it out beneath the toe of a black high-heeled shoe, looked back to him. Smiled that radiant, rapacious smile.
"We never really got a chance to have our chat at dinner, did we. Look, I have some very nice brandy in my room-what say I bring it to yours, mine is an absolute mess, and I'll answer any… inquiries you might have had for me."
When he hesitated, she placed her hand on his arm, and said, "I'll be nice, I promise."
"Enjoying the night air?" said Edward Stoltz loudly, approaching them from the dining hall.
Gudrun said, "Saying good night. So I will. Good night, Edward." She turned to Benjamin. "Mr. Wainwright." And, her high heels clicking on the cobblestones, she walked off down the path and into the manse.
"A remarkable woman," said Stoltz. "Not my type, of course."
Benjamin nodded, said nothing. He was about to say good night himself when he remembered their earlier conversation that had been cut off.
"Dr. Stoltz, you mentioned there was some sort of… scandal after they discovered this diary?"
"Scandal with a capital S," said Stoltz, smiling wickedly. "Seems the painter of that mural we were discussing, Cecil Bayne? Seems he was having an affair with one of the fellows here. A Warren Ginsburg. An historian, like you, I believe."
At first Benjamin was so surprised to hear that Stoltz knew he was an historian that the name of Bayne's lover didn't strike him. Then he realized it sounded familiar.
" Warren Ginsburg," repeated Benjamin.
Now Stoltz's eyes went wide in surprise. "You know of him?"
"Well… as you say, he was an historian, so…" He let his voice trail off, then added, "But an affair, even a homosexual one… that was a scandal?"