“Will you have some wine, Sweeney?”
It was odd to have an adult call me Sweeney rather than Katherine or Kate. But then Mr. di Rienzi only knew of me through his daughter, and Angelica wouldn’t have called me anything else.
“Yes, please.” I had changed into a white cotton shirt and chinos, faded but clean. At first I was afraid this would seem too casual, but now in the friendly darkness, the brisk air softened by the faint smell of Angelica’s perfume rising from her sweater, it all seemed just right. “Thank you very much.”
We drank a bottle of chardonnay, and ate warm crusty bread and fried potatoes drizzled with golden olive oil and fresh rosemary, and chicken and arugula brightened with pimiento. Mr. di Rienzi did not grill me about what had happened at school. When I asked after Angelica, he said that she was visiting her cousins in Florence, at the University there. He would join her for the Christmas holidays, but she would probably remain even after he returned to New York, to begin classes in the spring term.
“It is so beautiful there in the spring, it would be a shame for her to have gone all that way and then miss it. But already I miss her so terribly, it is painful for me to talk of her. I hope you understand.”
He stared at me with huge eyes pale and luminous as Angelica’s own. There was a faint flicker in them, a gentle threat that might almost have been amusement; but I knew better.
“Yes,” I said. “I understand.”
So we spoke of other things. He gently but insistently drew me out to talk about my family, where my father had gone to school, how my parents had met, how many older siblings I had and what their careers were. We finished the bottle of wine, toasting the slow dark coursing of the Hudson with our last glass. For dessert he brought out a little orange-enameled tin of biscòtti wrapped in colored tissue, and showed me how to twist the discarded papers and loose them above a candle flame, so that they danced and spun and finally flared into ash. He would not let me help with the dishes—
“No, leave them. I have my own ways of taking care of them; it gives me some-thing to do in my retirement. Now, I think it is getting too cold out here for you. Let’s go inside to my study. Will you join me for a Sambuca?”
I was very impressed by all of this. In my family we did not eat outside or have wine at meals. We never ate after seven in the evening, and we certainly never had cordials after dinner. It was the first time I had Sambuca, and the sweet licorice taste reminded me of drinking Pernod with Oliver. Mr. di Rienzi served it in a tiny glass, like a lily blown of crystal, igniting it for an instant to send blue flame rippling across the surface.
“Very nice,” he said. “It takes the chill off the liqueur, and dissipates some of the volatile spirits. So you will not have a headache in the morning.” We were in his study, a small book-lined room. He smiled, motioning for me to sit in an enormous chair upholstered in slippery oxblood leather. “Now then—
“I understand that there were some very unfortunate things that happened to you, and to some of my daughter’s other friends at school this semester. Now, I don’t want to hear any more about it—it was quite unpleasant, hearing about it once from Angelica—so you don’t need to tell me or try to explain. I certainly do not blame you for any of it, Sweeney,” he went on in a gentler tone. “It is very, very common for young people to find themselves in—difficult circumstances—especially, perhaps, young people from good families. Coming from a sheltered background, being on your own for the first time, all that sudden freedom! Though I will say, I told Balthazar Warnick I think the University should have been much more circumspect in its dealings with the students, especially as regards that retreat. In my day we had parietals. It just would not have been permitted for young ladies and gentlemen to be unchaperoned for the weekend. But anyway,” he sighed, and went on.
“Anyway, Angelica has spoken very, very highly of you. Of how fond she is of you, and how much fun you had together. I know that young people today do things I don’t approve of, very dangerous things, and I don’t care to know what you may or may not have done with my daughter. But I do feel, in light of what has happened to your young friend Oliver, that you, Sweeney, have experienced quite enough punishment for one school term.
“I can’t do anything about your grades. I’m afraid they will follow you, and I hope serve as a reminder to you of what can happen if you don’t tread the straight and narrow path. But I have spoken to Balthazar Warnick and asked him to adjust the terms of your departure from the Divine.
“He has agreed to remand your suspension, under the condition that you submit a formal request to withdraw from the University and transfer to another school. At my request he has not mailed notice of your dismissal to your parents. It seemed to me that if they have successfully raised all those children, it would be an unnecessary heartbreak for them to deal with the academic failure of their youngest daughter.
“I know from Angelica that you are an exceptionally bright young lady, Sweeney, and have a wonderful future ahead of you. Now, there are several excellent schools in the D.C. area, and I know people at all of them. But the Dean of Students at George Washington University is an old friend of mine. They have a very fine Anthropology Department—slanted toward physical anthropology and archaeology, but very highly regarded. Now, if you would like, I would be very happy to contact Dr. Cohen and speak to him about your case. Your grades are shaky, but I’m sure it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. Certainly the fact that you were accepted at the Divine will make a difference. And I know, of course, that you will throw yourself into your studies, and someday make us all proud with some marvelous discovery!”
He threw his arms open, laughing, and smiled at me.
What could I say? Of course it was a bribe, an effort to buy my silence; but I had no doubts but that the Benandanti could have ensured my silence as easily as they had arranged for Magda Kurtz’s, and perhaps Oliver’s.
No, it was truly a kind gesture that Mr. di Rienzi was making, and a very generous one: it meant that I was still under Angelica’s protection, though perhaps for only a very little while longer.
“It’s—that would be wonderful,” I said. “Really. I’m overwhelmed—I can never thank you enough.”
Mr. di Rienzi looked pleased. “Well then—a toast to your new life!” He refilled my glass, and said, “Now I know you’re aware that GW doesn’t have the same cachet as the University of the Archangels and Saint John the Divine. But it’s a very good school, and I think that there you’ll have a chance to shine, Sweeney. There are advantages to being a big fish in a little pond, although GW is a challenging place, don’t get me wrong about that. It’s in the heart of downtown, you can walk into Georgetown, I believe, and in a year or so there’ll be a subway stop right there. And of course the wonderful hospital affiliated with their medical school—”
I winced at the word hospital, but he didn’t notice.
“—although there is limited dormitory space, but if you wanted to live on campus, I’m sure arrangements could be made.”
I thanked him again and told him I’d figure something out. All this largesse was starting to make me feel uneasy and a little prickly. Unworthy of such kindness, and perhaps liable to start acting unworthy. I decided I’d better go to bed. I got to my feet, thanking him, and hoped I didn’t sound like I’d had too much to drink.