Текст книги "Gabriel's Inferno"
Автор книги: Sylvain Reynard
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 37 страниц)
His living room furniture looked as if it had been chosen from Res-toration Hardware, and ranged from a large chocolate brown leather sofa with nail-head detailing, to two matching leather club chairs, to a red velvet, wing-backed chair that was angled next to the fireplace.
Julia looked at the lovely red chair and its matching ottoman with more than a little envy. It would be the perfect place to sit on a rainy day while sipping a cup of tea and reading a favorite book. Not that she would ever have that opportunity.
The fireplace had a gas insert, and Gabriel had suspended a flat plasma screen television over the mantle as if it were a painting. Various pieces of art, oil paintings, and sculpture adorned the walls and some of the furniture. He had museum quality pieces of Roman glass and Greek pottery interspersed with reproductions of famous sculptures, including the Venus de Miloand Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne. In fact, thought Julia, he had entirely too many sculptures, all of them female nudes.
But there were no personal photographs. Julia considered it a good deal more than strange that there were black and white pictures of Paris, Rome, London, Florence, Venice, and Oxford, but no photos of the Clarks, not even of Grace.
In the next room, near the large and formal dining table, stood an ebony sideboard. Julia took in its richness and expanse appreciatively. It was bare except for a large crystal vase and an ornate silver tray that held various decanters containing amber-colored liquids, an ice chest, and old-fashioned crystal glasses. Silver ice tongs completed the vignette, angled across a stack of small, square white linen napkins with the initials G. O. E.embroidered on them. Julia giggled to herself when she envisioned what those napkins would look like if Gabriel’s last name had been, say, Davidson.
In short, Professor Emerson’s apartment was aesthetically pleasing, tastefully decorated, scrupulously clean, intentionally masculine, and very, very cold. Julia wondered briefly if he ever brought women home to this frigid space, then she tried very hard not to imagine what he would do to them when he brought them here. Perhaps he had a room for such purposes so that they wouldn’t soil his precious things…She ran a hand across the cold, black granite countertop in the kitchen and shivered.
Rachel immediately preheated the oven and washed her hands. “Gabriel, why don’t you give Julia the grand tour while I start dinner.”
Julia clutched her knapsack to her chest, unwilling to put so offensive an item on his furniture. Gabriel took it out of her hands and placed it on the floor under a smal table. She smiled at him in appreciation, and he found himself smiling back at her.
He didn’t want to give Miss Mitchell a tour of his condo. And he certainly wasn’t about to show her his bedroom and the black-and-white photos that adorned those walls. But with Rachel there to remind him of his obligations as a (reluctantly) gracious host, he didn’t see a way out of giving a tour of the guest rooms.
So that is how he came to be standing in his study, which had been a third bedroom, but which he had converted into a comfortable working library by installing dark wood bookshelves from floor to ceiling. Julia gaped at all the books – titles new and rare and mostly hard-covered in Italian, Latin, French, English, and German. The room, like the rest of his condo, was intentionally masculine. The same ice-blue curtains, the same dark hardwood, with an antique Persian rug centered in the room.
Gabriel stood behind his ornate and rather large oak desk. “Do you like it?” He gestured to his library.
“Very much,” said Julia. “It’s beautiful.”
She reached out to stroke the velvet of the red wing-back, the mate to the chair she had admired by the fireplace. But she didn’t think he’d like that. Professor Emerson was the sort to object to his things being handled, and so she stopped herself just in time. He’d probably snap at her for soiling it with her grubby little fingers.
“That’s my favorite chair. It’s quite comfortable, if you’d like to try it.”
Julia smiled as if he’d given her a present and eagerly sat in it, pulling her legs under herself and curling up like a kitten.
Gabriel could swear that he heard her purring. He smiled at the sight of her, momentarily relaxed and almost happy over such a trivial event. On a whim, he decided to show her one of his most valuable things.
“Here’s something for you to see.” He waved her over, and she came to stand in front of his desk.
He opened a drawer and withdrew two sets of white cotton gloves.
“Put these on.” He handed her a pair, which she accepted mutely, copying his movements as he pulled them over his long fingers.
“This is one of my most precious possessions,” he explained, withdrawing a large wooden box from a now unlocked drawer. He placed the box on his desk, and for one horrible moment Julia was afraid of what she might find inside.
A shrunken head? Perhaps from a former graduate student?
He opened the box and withdrew what looked like a book. Opening it, it became evident that it was a series of stiff paper sleeves accordioned together, each labeled in Italian. He leafed through it carefully until he found the sleeve he wanted, then he removed something, cradling it in both hands.
Julia gasped at the sight of it.
Gabriel smiled with pride. “Do you recognize it?”
“Of course! But this…this can’t be the original?”
He chuckled softly. “Sadly, no. That would be beyond the reach of my small fortune. The originals date from the fifteenth century. These are reproductions, from the sixteenth century.”
He held in his hand a copy of a famous illustration of Dante and Beatrice and the fixed stars of Paradise, the original having been drawn in pen and ink by Sandro Botticelli. The illustration was about fifteen inches by twenty inches and even though it was only ink on parchment, the detail was breathtaking.
“How did you get this? I didn’t know there were any copies.”
“Not only are they copies, they were probably done by a former student of Botticelli’s. But this set is complete. Botticelli prepared one hundred illustrations of The Divine Comedy, but only ninety-two of them survived. I have the full complement.”
Julia’s eyes grew wide and round, shining in excitement. “You’re kidding.”
Gabriel laughed. “No, I’m not.”
“I went to see the originals when they were on loan to the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. The Vatican has eight, I think, and the rest are owned by a museum in Berlin.”
“Quite. I thought you’d appreciate them.”
“But I’ve never seen the remaining eight.”
“No one has. Let me show you.”
Time flew as Gabriel showed Julia his treasures, and she was very quiet in her admiration until Rachel’s voice called to them from the hall.
“Gabriel, get Julia a drink, would you? And stop boring her with your antique crap!”
He rolled his eyes, and Julia giggled.
“How did you get them? Why aren’t they in a museum?” she asked as she watched him store his illustrations in their respective sleeves.
He pressed his lips together. “They aren’t in a museum because I refuse to give them up. And no one knows I have them but my lawyer, my insurance agent, and now you.”
He set his jaw as if he was shutting down all further discussion, so Julia decided not to press him.
It was probable that the illustrations had been stolen from a museum and that Gabriel had purchased them on the black market. That would explain his reticence in revealing their existence to the world. Julia shivered when she realized that she had seen what less than half a dozen people in the world had seen. And they were so breathtakingly beautiful – a true masterpiece.
“Gabriel…” Rachel stood in the doorway, scolding him.
“Fine, fine. What would you like to drink, Miss Mitchel?” They exited the study, and he walked to the wine refrigerator in the kitchen.
“Gabriel!”
“Julianne?”
She started at the unfamiliar name as it dropped from his lips. Rachel noticed her strange reaction and disappeared into a cabinet searching for her brother’s pots and pans.
“Anything would be fine, thank you Prof – Gabriel.” Julia closed her eyes at the pleasure of finally being able to pronounce his name to him.
Then she settled herself on one of the elegant stools at the breakfast bar.
Gabriel removed a bottle of Chianti and set it on the counter. “I’ll let it come up to room temperature,” he explained to no one in particular.
He excused himself and disappeared, presumably to change into more casual clothes.
“Julia,” Rachel hissed, putting a pile of vegetables into one side of the double sink. “What’s going on with you and Gabriel?”
“You need to ask him that.”
“I plan on it. But why is he acting so weird? And why didn’t you just tell him who you were?”
Julia looked as if she was about to burst into tears. “I thought he’d remember me. But he doesn’t.” Her voice shook, and she looked down into her lap.
Rachel was puzzled by her friend’s words and by her overly emotional response and immediately flew to her side to press her into a hug. “Don’t you worry. I’m here now, and I’ll straighten him out. He has a heart, somewhere, underneath everything else. I know, I saw it once. Now help me wash some vegetables. The lamb is already in the oven.”
When Gabriel returned, he eagerly opened the wine, smiling to himself wickedly. He was in for a treat, and he knew it. He knew how Julianne looked when she tasted wine, and now he would have a repeat of her erotic performance from the other night. He felt himself twitch more than once in anticipation and wished that he had a video camera secretly placed in his condo somewhere. It would probably be too obvious to pull his camera out and take snapshots of her.
He showed her the bottle first, noting with approval the impressed expression that passed across her face when she read the label. He’d brought this special vintage back from Tuscany, and it would have pained him to waste it on an undiscerning palate. He poured a little into her glass and stood back, watching, and trying very hard not to grin.
Just as before, Julia swirled the wine slowly. She examined it in the halogen light. She closed her eyes and sniffed. Then she wrapped her kissable lips around the rim of the goblet and tasted it slowly, holding the wine in her mouth for a moment or two before swallowing.
Gabriel sighed, watching her as the wine traveled down her long and elegant throat.
When Julia opened her eyes, she saw Gabriel swaying slightly in front of her, his blue eyes darkened, his breath somewhat affected, and the front of his charcoal gray trousers…She frowned at him. Hard. “Are you all right?”
He passed a hand over his eyes and willed himself into submission.
“Yes. Sorry.” He poured a large glass for her and one for himself and began to sip it sensuously, watching her intently over the rim of his glass.
“You’re probably starving, Gabriel. I know what a beast you turn into when you’re hungry.” Rachel spoke over her shoulder as she stirred some kind of sauce on the stove.
“What are we having with the lamb?” He was watching Julia like a hawk as she brought her wineglass up to her luscious mouth once again and took a large swallow.
Rachel placed a box on the breakfast bar. “Couscous!”
Julia spat out her wine, drenching Gabriel and his white shirt. In shock at her sudden expectoration, she dropped the wineglass, dousing herself and his hardwood floor in the process. The crystal goblet shattered on impact at the foot of her barstool.
Gabriel began shaking the wine droplets off of his expensive dress shirt and cursed. Loudly. Julia dropped to her knees and swiftly tried to pick up the scattered glass shards with her bare hands.
“Stop,” he said quietly, peering down at her over the edge of the breakfast bar.
Julia continued her desperate mission, tears escaping her eyes.
“Stop,”he said more loudly, walking around the counter.
She transferred some of the glass shards to her other hand and tried picking up the remainder piece by piece, crawling on the floor pathetically like a wounded puppy that was dragging a broken paw.
“Stop! For God’s sake, woman, stop. You’ll shred yourself to ribbons.”
Gabriel towered menacingly, his anger descending on her from on high like the wrath of God.
He pulled her to her feet by her shoulders and forced her to dump the glass from her hands into a bowl on the countertop, before guiding her down the hall and into the guest washroom.
“Sit,” he ordered.
Julia sat on the top of the closed toilet and heaved a subdued but shuddering sob.
“Hold out your hands.”
Her hands were stained with red wine and some small trickles of blood.
A few crystals of glass sparkled on her palm amongst the cuts. Gabriel cursed a few times and shook his head as he opened the medicine cabinet. “You don’t listen very well, do you?”
Julia blinked at her tears, sorry that she couldn’t wipe them away with her hands.
“And you don’t do what you’re told.” He looked over at her and abruptly stopped.
He didn’t know why he stopped, and if you had asked him why afterward, he would have shrugged and given you no explanation. But once he stopped what he was doing and saw the poor little creature that was huddled in a corner crying, he felt…something. Something other than annoyance or anger or guilt or sexual arousal. He felt compassionfor her. And he felt sorry that he’d made her cry.
He leaned over and began to wipe her tears away very tenderly with his fingertips. He noticed the hum that came from her mouth as soon as he touched her, and he noticed once again that her skin felt very familiar. And when he’d wiped away her tears, he cupped her pale face in his hands, tilting her chin upward…then retreated quickly and began cleaning her wounds.
“Thank you,” she murmured, noting the care with which he removed the glass from her hands. He used tweezers, meticulously searching out even the smallest fragment from her skin.
“Don’t mention it.”
When all the glass had been removed, he poured iodine onto some cotton balls.
“This is going to sting.”
He watched as she steeled herself for his touch, and he winced slightly.
He did not relish the thought of hurting her. And she was so soft and so fragile. It took him a full minute and a half to work up the courage to put the iodine on her cuts, and all the time she was sitting there, wide-eyed and biting her lip, waiting for him to just do it already.
“There,” he said gruffly, as he wiped away the last of the blood. “You’re all better.”
“I’m sorry I broke your glass. I know it was crystal.” Her soft voice interrupted his reverie as he returned his first-aid implements to the medicine cabinet.
He waved a hand at her. “I have dozens. There’s a crystal shop downstairs. I’ll pick up another if I need it.”
“I’d like to replace it.”
“You couldn’t afford it.” The words escaped his mouth without him realizing it. He watched in horror as Julia’s face first reddened then grew pale. Her head went down, of course, and she started chewing at the inside of her cheek.
“Miss Mitchell, I wouldn’t dream of taking your money. It would violate the rules of hospitality.”
And we couldn’t have that,thought Julia.
“But I’ve stained your shirt. Please let me pay for the dry cleaning.”
Gabriel stared down at his lovely but obviously ruined white shirt and cursed inside his head. He’d liked this shirt. Paulina had bought it for him in London. And there was no way Julia’s spittle mingled with Chianti would ever come out.
“I have several of these as well,” he lied smoothly. “And I’m sure the stains will come out. Rachel will help me.”
Julia raked her upper teeth across her lower lip back and forth and back and forth.
Gabriel saw the movement, and it made him rather queasy, like a kind of seasickness, but her lips were so red and inviting he couldn’t look away.
It was a bit like watching a car wreck while standing on the deck of a ship.
He leaned over and patted the back of her hand. “Accidents happen.
They’re no one’s fault.” He smiled and was rewarded with a very pretty smile in return as she released her lower lip.
Look at her. She does blossom under kindness. Just like a rose, opening her petals.
“Is she all right?” Rachel asked, suddenly appearing beside them.
Gabriel withdrew his hand quickly and sighed. “Yes. But apparently Julianne hates couscous.” He winked at her slyly and watched as the flush spread from her cheeks and over the surface of her porcelain skin. She truly was a brown-eyed angel.
“That’s fine. I’ll make rice pilaf instead.” Rachel disappeared, and Gabriel followed, leaving Julia to stop her heart from trying to escape out of her chest.
While Rachel packed away the disdained grains into the refrigerator, Gabriel went to his bedroom to change his soiled shirt, depositing it with more than a little regret in the garbage. Then he joined his sister in the kitchen to clean up the broken glass and wine from the floor.
“There are a couple of things I need to tell you about Julia,” she began, speaking over her shoulder.
Gabriel walked the glass shards to the garbage bin. “I’d rather not hear it.”
“What’s wrong with you? She’s my friend, for crying out loud!”
“And she’s mystudent. I shouldn’t know anything about her personal life. Her friendship with you already presents a conflict of interest that I was unaware of.”
Rachel squared her shoulders and shook her head stubbornly, her gray eyes darkening. “You know what? I don’t care! I love her a lot and Mom did, too. So you remember that the next time you’re tempted to shout at her.
“She’s been broken, you jackass. That’s why she hasn’t kept in touch with me this past year. And now she’s finallycrawled out of her shell, a shell I might add, that I thought she would neverleave, and you’re forcing her back into it with your…your arrogance and condescension! So drop the Mr. Rochester-Mr. Darcy-Heathcliff British stuck-uppity bullshit and treat her like the treasure she is! Or I’m coming back here and putting a pump in your ass!”
Gabriel straightened his spine and cast her a withering stare. “By
‘pump,’ I take it you’re referring to a lady’s shoe?”
She didn’t back down. Or flinch. In fact, she grew taller. And almost menacing.
“Fine, Rachel.”
“Good. It’s hard for me to believe that you didn’t recognize her name, after all the times I told you about how much she loved Dante. I mean, how many Dante enthusiasts from Selinsgrove do you know?”
He leaned over to her and placed a kiss across her furrowed brow.
“Go easy on me, Rach. I try not to think about anything connected with Selinsgrove if I can help it.”
Her anger melted at his words, and she hugged her brother tightly.
“I know.”
A few hours and another bottle of expensive Chianti later, Julia stood up to leave. “Thanks for dinner. I should be getting home.”
“We’ll drive you,” Rachel volunteered, disappearing to find her coat.
Gabriel frowned and excused himself to go after her.
“It’s all right. I can walk. It’s not far,” Julia called to the siblings.
“No way. It’s dark out, and I don’t care how safe Toronto is. Besides, it’s raining,” Rachel shouted before finding herself engaged in a heated discussion with Gabriel.
Julia walked toward the door so that she wouldn’t have to hear him say that he didn’t want to drive her home. But the siblings reappeared shortly, and the three of them walked down the hall to the elevator. Just as the elevator was arriving, Rachel’s cell phone rang.
“It’s Aaron.” She hugged Julia tightly. “I’ve been trying to get hold of him all day, and he’s been in meetings. Let’s go to lunch. No need to worry, big brother, I have your spare key!”
Rachel strol ed back to the apartment, leaving a scowling Gabriel and an uncomfortable Julia to take the elevator down to the garage.
“Were you ever going to tell me who you are?” His voice was slightly accusing.
Julia shook her head and hugged her ridiculous knapsack more tightly.
He looked at her book bag and decided then and there that it had to go. If he had to see that hideous thing one more time, he was going to lose it. And Paul had touched it, which meant that it was polluted. She’d have to throw it away.
Gabriel led her to his parking space, and she immediately walked to the passenger’s side of the Jaguar.
He pressed a button and the Range Rover next to the Jaguar chirped.
“Um, let’s take this one instead. The four-wheel drive is better in the rain. I don’t like taking the Jaguar out in weather like this if I don’t have to.”
Julia tried to hide her look of surprise at Gabriel’s embarrassment of riches, especial y when he opened her door and helped her in. As she settled herself in her seat, she wondered if he’d felt the connection that passed between them when he touched her arm. Of course, he had.
“You let me make an ass out of myself.” He scowled as he drove out of the garage.
You did that all by yourself, thank you.Julia’s unspoken thought shim-mered between them, and she briefly wondered how good The Professor was at reading non-verbal cues.
“I would have treated you differently. I would have treated you better, if I’d known.”
“Would you? Really? And found some other student to rip apart? If that’s the case, I’m glad your anger was directed at me. Then you couldn’t take it out on anyone else.”
Gabriel gave her a cold look. “This doesn’t change anything. I’m glad you’re Rachel’s friend, but you’re still my student, which means we need to be professional, Miss Mitchell. And you will be careful how you speak to me now and in the future.”
“Yes, Professor Emerson.”
He searched her face for any sign of sarcasm but saw none. Her shoulders were hunched, and her head was down. He’d made his little rose wither.
Any blossoming had now been completely undone.
Your little rose? What the hell, Emerson!
“Rachel is very glad you’re here. Did you know that she was engaged?”
Julia shook her head. “Was? Not anymore?”
“Aaron Webster asked her to marry him, and she said yes, but that was before Grace…” He exhaled slowly. “Rachel doesn’t feel like planning a wedding now, so she’s called it off. That’s why she’s here.”
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry. Poor Rachel.” She exhaled slowly. “Poor Aaron!
I loved him.”
Gabriel frowned. “They’re still together. Aaron loves her, obviously, and agreed she needed some time away. There was a lot of…fighting at my parents’ house when I was home. She came to see me to get away. Which is laughable, really, since I’m the black sheep of the family and she’s the favorite.”
Julia nodded as if she understood.
“I have a problem with anger, Miss Mitchell. I have a bad temper. I have trouble controlling it, and when I lose my temper I can be very destructive.”
Her eyes widened at his declaration, and her mouth opened slightly, but she did not speak.
“It would be…inadvisable for me to lose my temper around someone like you. It would be very damaging, for both of us.” His declaration was so honest and so frightening, the words burned into her like fire.
“Wrath is one of the seven deadly sins,” she remarked, turning away from him to gaze out the window, trying to alleviate the burning sensation in her middle.
He laughed bitterly. “Remarkably, I have all seven; don’t bother counting. Pride, envy, wrath, sloth, avarice, gluttony, lust. ”
She lifted an eyebrow but did not turn around. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“I don’t expect you to understand. You’re only a magnet for mishap, Miss Mitchell, while I am a magnet for sin.”
Now she turned to face him. He smiled at her with a look of resignation, and she offered him a sympathetic look in return.
“Sin isn’t something that is attracted to a human being, Professor. It’s the other way round.”
“Not in my experience. Sin seems to find me even when I’m not looking for it. And I’m not very good at resisting temptation.”
He glanced at her, then returned his eyes to the road.
“Your friendship with Rachel explains why you sent gardenias. And why you signed the card the way you did.”
“I’m sorry about Grace. I loved her too.”
He looked into her eyes. They were kind and open, yet he saw traces of sadness and incalculable loss.
“I realize that now,” he admitted.
“You have satellite radio?” She gestured to the console as he switched on the radio and pressed one of the preset buttons.
“Yes. I usually listen to one of the jazz stations, but it depends on my mood.”
Julia reached out a tentative finger to the radio but withdrew her hand.
Gabriel smiled at her reticence, remembering the way she purred when he gave her permission to curl up in his favorite chair. He wanted to make her purr again.
“It’s all right. You can choose something.”
She ran through the pre-sets, smiling at his choices, which included the French cbc station and bbc News, until she came to the last one, which was labeled Nine Inch Nails.
“There’s an entire station devoted to them?” She sounded incredulous.
“Yes.” Gabriel squirmed a little, as if she had uncovered an embarrassing secret.
“And you like them?”
“When I’m in a particular mood.”
Julia pressed the button for the jazz station.
Gabriel felt rather than observed her visceral reaction. He did not understand it but decided not to probe it.
Julia hated Nine Inch Nails. She changed the station whenever they came on the radio. If a song of theirs was playing somewhere, she left the room or the building. The sounds of their music and especially Trent Reznor’s voice creeped her the hell out, although she never told anyone why.
She first heard them in a club back in Philadelphia. She was dancing with him,and hewas grinding all over her. She hadn’t minded at first; that’s how healways was, but then that song came on, and as soon as the music began, Julia felt mildly ill. It was the strange sequence in the opening bars, then it was the voice, then it was the lyrics about fucking like an animal, and the look on his face as hebrought his forehead to hers and whispered it to her, staring straight into her soul.
Whatever Julia’s religious beliefs and her half-hearted attempts to pray to lesser gods and deities, at that moment she’d believed that she heard the voice of the Devil. Lucifer himself held her in his arms and whispered to her. And the very idea, coupled with his words, frightened her.
Julia had wrenched herself from himand fled to the ladies’ washroom, looking at the pale and shaking girl in the mirror, wondering what the hell had just happened. She did not know why hehad spoken to her like that or why hehad chosen that moment to confess. Nevertheless, she knew himwell enough to know that the repeated lyric was a confession of his deepest and perhaps darkest intentions and not just a mindless repetition.
But Julia didn’t want to be fucked like an animal; she wanted to be loved. She would have foresworn sex forever if she thought it would guarantee her the kind of love that was the stuff of poetry and myth. That was the kind of affection she craved desperately but didn’t actually believe that she deserved. She wanted to be someone’s muse – to be worshipped and adored, body and soul. She wanted to play Beatrice to a dashing and noble Dante and to inhabit Paradise with him forever. And to live a life that would rival the beauty of Botticelli’s illustrations.
And that is why at the age of twenty-three, Julia Mitchell was still a virgin, with the photograph of the man who ruined her for others tucked in the back of her underwear drawer. For the past six years, she’d slept with his picture under her pillow. No man had ever come close to comparing to him; no feelings of affection had ever approximated the love and devotion he inspired in her. Their entire relationship was based on a single night, a night she relived in her memories over and over again…
