Gabriel's Promise (Gabriel's Inferno)

by Sylvain Reynard

  Gabriel had barely been able to coax Julia downstairs to the restaurant for dinner.

  After dinner, the hotel staff had built a roaring fire in their suite.

  Julia found the scent and warmth of the flames comforting. She’d even troubled the concierge to send out for graham crackers, marshmallows, and bars of chocolate, and had made s’mores, much to Gabriel’s amusement.

  He was indulging each and every whim, however, and had been doing so since they left their home. He had no idea how she was going to react to what he was about to tell her. So he waited until after Julia had made and consumed far more s’mores than was healthy, and fed several to him, as well, in an effort to create as relaxed an environment as possible.

  He had a small bottle of Scotch from the minibar at the ready.

  Now he was stretched out on the floor next to Clare, who was safely out of reach of the fire’s heat. She was resting on her back on a special mat for babies, which was decorated with a jungle scene. A fabric-covered arch curved above her, from which were suspended lights, a mirror, and some toys.

  But Clare only had eyes for her father, and her little head was turned toward him.

  “Why hello, Clare.” Gabriel spoke in his equivalent of baby talk. (Which is to say he spoke normally.)

  Clare moved her arms and legs and smiled back.

  “That’s my girl.” Gabriel smiled even more widely, chattering at the baby. Clare moved her chubby fists and gurgled.

  Julia took great joy in Gabriel’s excitement. “She’s very particular about who she shares her smiles with.”

  “Of course she is. You save your smiles for Daddy.” He took Clare’s hand and she latched on to one of his fingers, squeezing. “Rachel called earlier. She said you aren’t answering your cell.”

  Julia adjusted her bathrobe. “I switched it off. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “I explained to her what happened and I called Richard, who was understandably concerned. Rachel was calling to let us know they found an apartment in Charlestown.”

  “Charlestown?” Julia repeated, surprised.

  “They’re in a brand-new apartment building on an up-and-coming street. It’s just temporary, while they look for a condo.”

  “I’ll call Rachel tomorrow. You were going to tell me about your meeting with the security company.”

  “Nicholas Cassirer arranged for the man who designed his family’s security system in Switzerland to take a look at our house. I met him and his associate this afternoon.”

  “And?” Julia prompted. Gabriel was rehearsing information she already knew, which meant he was stalling.

  “I’m sorry about what happened last night,” he observed mournfully. “I’ve already taken the Holiday painting to be reframed. I worry that lending our illustrations to the Uffizi has drawn far more attention to us than I realized.”

  Julia shifted by the fire. She was the one who had wanted to share the illustrations with the world. But she hadn’t expected someone to break into their home because of it.

  “Nicholas’s family were robbed several years go. The intruders took a few priceless pieces, including a Renoir.”

  Julia frowned. “It was in the news. Someone was killed.”

  “Yes.” Gabriel covered his eyes for a moment. “The security consultant was very thorough. He looked at our existing system, walked around the property, and surveyed the perimeter. He went through the entire house.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He wondered why the intruder didn’t take anything, since all the valuable artwork is on the ground floor.”

  “Maybe he was going to take something but wanted to check upstairs first.” Julia shivered. Her gaze moved to Clare.

  “It’s possible. If you were him, what would you take?”

  “I don’t know.” Julia paused, going through the house in her mind. “There’s the statue of Venus. It’s valuable, but it’s small. There’s the Greek and Roman pottery. I’d probably take Tom Thomson’s Sketch for ‘The Jack Pine.’ The finished version is in the National Gallery of Canada. Our house is easier to break into than that.”

  “The intruder moved Cézanne’s The Barque of Dante. I found it leaning against the wall. He must have taken it down to examine the back and the frame.”

  “That’s probably the most valuable piece. Why didn’t he steal it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The original by Delacroix is eight times larger and it’s in the Louvre. Again, our house is easier to break into.”

  “And Cézanne’s version could be hidden under a coat.”

  “Maybe he left it against the wall and intended to come back for it. But we surprised him.”

  “Maybe.” Gabriel didn’t sound convinced. “I sent an inventory to Nicholas. He hasn’t gotten back to me, but I expect he’ll flag that piece as the most desirable.”

  “Right. So what did the security specialist say?” Julia wrapped her arms around her waist, steeling herself for the answer.

  “He was very thorough,” Gabriel said slowly. “But he pointed out that we are exposed on Foster Place. We have a fence at the back but not the front. Our side door is steps from the street, so anyone can walk up. He can upgrade our security system to something state-of-the-art, but we’re vulnerable in that location.”

  The color of Julia’s face lightened several shades. “What did he suggest?”

  “He suggested we move.”

  It took a moment for Julia to process the suggestion. “Move? Sell the house and move? Are you joking?”

  “No, he suggested we move to a house with a proper wall in a gated community.”

  “Where?”

  “Newton. Chestnut Hill.” Gabriel observed Julia’s face.

  “Those properties are millions of dollars,” she whispered.

  Gabriel shrugged, in true Gabrielite fashion.

  “Living in a compound would be like living in a cage. I want to live in a neighborhood, where we know our neighbors and I can take Clare for walks down the street.”

  Gabriel moved so he could roll onto his side and still keep an eye on Clare. “You won’t be taking walks for some time. It isn’t safe.”

  “That’s assuming someone is trying to hurt me and Clare. The robber was only interested in artwork.”

  Gabriel pressed his lips together.

  Julia’s gaze focused on his eyes. “Uncle Jack said Simon was living it up in Switzerland and his old fraternity buddy gave up stalking us. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “There is one thing,” Gabriel hedged. He retrieved his cell phone from the coffee table and scrolled through the photos to the last one. “Here.”

  Julia took the phone and glanced at the screen. “What am I looking at?”

  “I think it’s a memento mori object. I had the concierge overnight it to Dottor Vitali at the Uffizi.”

  Julia examined the image more closely. “Why?”

  “I found it in the house, on the floor in our room.”

  Julia handed the phone back to Gabriel. “The robber must have dropped it. Maybe it was a piece he stole from someone else.”

  “Perhaps. Once I hear from Vitali, I’ll ask Nicholas to put me in touch with his contact at Interpol. I sent them the image from the sketch artist, as well.”

  “You withheld evidence.”

  Gabriel scowled. “I’m not withholding anything. I simply wanted to find out if we could trace the piece to an owner.”

  “Or a theft.”

  Gabriel put the cell phone back on the coffee table. “That’s why I want to know more about the piece itself and its history.

  “Simon is still in Switzerland and he’s being watched. Jack’s friend has been keeping an eye on us but isn’t watching the house twenty-four hours a day. However, Jack told me the man has
taken this situation personally and is now conducting his own investigation.

  “I’m inclined to agree with Nicholas that the thief was a professional and might be from Europe. He cursed me in Italian.”

  “The entire North End of Boston can curse you in Italian.”

  Gabriel lifted his eyebrows.

  “Well, maybe not the entire North End,” she relented. “But quite a few of its inhabitants.”

  Gabriel returned to sit by Clare and picked up the toy bunny he’d bought at Barneys. Clare grinned and waved her arms and legs.

  “What happened to Paul’s bunny?” Julia asked.

  Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “It’s around.”

  “You didn’t throw it out, did you?”

  “No.” Gabriel sighed. “The baby likes it.”

  “Do you want to move?”

  Gabriel turned his head to look at Julia. “No. I liked the house when we bought it and I love it now that we’ve renovated it and made it our home.

  “My priority is to keep you and Clare safe. If there is a chance of another break-in, I’d prefer you and Clare were somewhere else. That means we need to move, at least in the short term.”

  Julia looked away.

  Gabriel had touched a nerve with his last remarks. She was afraid to return to the house, although she didn’t want to say so aloud. She wondered if she’d be able to fall asleep in her own room again. Certainly, she couldn’t imagine placing Clare in the nursery. Clare would have to sleep in their room with them.

  “Do we have to decide tonight?” Julia stared into the flames.

  Gabriel gave Clare the bunny. “No. We don’t have to decide anything tonight.”

  “What about the security specialist?”

  “He’s at our service. I think we’d be wise to have him upgrade the security system whether we move or not.”

  Julia met Gabriel’s gaze. “We were supposed to leave for Selinsgrove tomorrow. We were supposed to pick Katherine up at the airport.”

  “Rachel and Aaron are picking up Katherine. I promise we’ll be in Selinsgrove on Christmas Eve.”

  “It’s Clare’s first Christmas.”

  “It will be a good one, I promise.”

  Julia looked back at the fire.

  “If the house is empty for a couple of weeks, perhaps the intruder will make his move,” Gabriel pointed out.

  “With a new security system? If he’s a professional, he’ll notice the upgrade.”

  “Hopefully, it will deter him.” Gabriel’s tone grew harsh. “And if it doesn’t, he will get caught. If it were just me, I’d go after the thief myself. But I’m not leaving you and I’m not putting you or the baby at risk.”

  “You’d go after him?”

  “Yes.”

  Julia began massaging her temples with her fingers. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

  Gabriel got to his feet and carefully maneuvered her so he was sitting in the chair and she was nestled in his lap.

  She buried her face in his neck. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

  Gabriel held her tightly. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

  “You didn’t fail me. You did what you could and fought off the intruder, and in your pajamas, no less.”

  Gabriel’s expression remained grave. “I’ll tell the security specialist to start upgrading the system tomorrow. Then we can focus on Christmas. I haven’t finished my shopping.”

  “I thought you finished it weeks ago.”

  “Maybe.” He stroked the arches of her eyebrows and gently caressed her cheeks.

  Clare began to cry and Julia quickly picked her up.

  “Sssshhhh,” Julia hushed. “Everything will be okay.”

  Gabriel observed his wife and child and prayed she was right.

  Chapter Fifty

  Christmas Eve

  Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania

  Gabriel sat in an armchair in the master bedroom, holding his laptop. The screen of the computer glowed blue in the darkened room. In the opposite corner, a whimsical night light projected pink stars on the ceiling, above Clare’s playpen.

  The two people he loved most in the world were sleeping. Exhaustion had taken its toll on Julianne, and she slept soundly now, too. Only Gabriel had difficulty sleeping.

  Kurt, Nicholas’s contact, had delivered a warning to Simon. Reportedly, the warning was clear, concise, and persuasive. Kurt doubted Simon would approach the Emersons again, either directly or indirectly, but he continued his surveillance, just in case.

  Nicholas had surveyed the inventory Gabriel had sent him and agreed that the Cézanne and the Thomson were the two works most likely to attract interest from collectors. Nicholas seemed to think that art heists, even in private homes, were more common than one thought.

  He’d discussed the memento mori with his contact at Interpol and shared both the photograph of the object and the sketch artist’s image of the perpetrator. Unfortunately, the object didn’t appear in Interpol’s database of stolen art.

  Using facial recognition software, the sketch was compared with images in Interpol’s criminal database. There wasn’t a match.

  Thus, Gabriel was dealing with a professional art thief who had yet to capture the attention of Interpol and who had left behind what might be a museum-quality sculpted object that hadn’t been reported stolen. It was all very puzzling, even for Professor Emerson. And the more he puzzled over the invasion of his home, the more distracted he became.

  He hadn’t expected to work on his Sage Lectures during the Christmas holidays, but he’d been reading Dante and his commentators on a daily basis. Since the break-in, Gabriel had found it difficult to concentrate.

  The words on his computer screen taunted him,

  “Nel ciel che più de la sua luce prende

  fu’ io, e vidi cose che ridire

  é sa né può chi di là sù discende;

  “perché appressando sé al suo disire,

  nostro intelletto si profonda tanto,

  che dietro la memoria non può ire.

  “Within that heaven which most his light receives

  Was I, and things beheld which to repeat

  Nor knows, nor can, who from above descends;

  “Because in drawing near to its desire

  Our intellect ingulphs itself so far,

  That after it the memory cannot go.”

  So Dante wrote in the first canto of Paradiso, imagining Beatrice at his side. So Gabriel, in attempting to pen a lecture fit for a world audience, was struggling.

  When Dante was scolded by Beatrice near the end of Purgatorio, the narrative shifted. Theology structured the entire Divine Comedy but it became, perhaps, far more confrontational when presenting the purpose of humankind and the nature of God and his governance.

  In Purgatorio, Beatrice told Dante that his desire for her was supposed to direct him to the highest good, which was God. So what was at one point a story of romantic, courtly love became a story of the love one should have for God. And as the relationship between Dante and God was transformed, so the relationship between Dante and Beatrice was transformed. Or so Gabriel thought.

  Gabriel knew his interpretation could be textually and historically supported. But he wondered how the audience in Scotland would respond. Despite his cross-appointment in the Department of Religion at Boston University, Gabriel was not a theologian. And unlike Dante, he was hesitant to venture into such subjects.

  But here he was, awake on Christmas Eve, pondering the vagaries of love, devotion, and salvation, all while those he loved most lay fast asleep.

  Whatever promises Dante had made to Beatrice, he’d fallen short of those commitments after her death. Gabriel, too, had made promises; first, to his wife, and second, to his child.

  Ho
w could he leave them in Massachusetts while he moved to Scotland? Someone had invaded their home, touched their things, and potentially left behind a threat. He could no more leave his wife and child unprotected than he could willingly tear out his heart.

  In a flash, his fingers flew across the keyboard,

  Dear University Council Members of the University of Edinburgh,

  While I am grateful for your generous invitation for me to deliver the Sage Lectures in 2014, I regret I must decline. If there would be a possibility to reschedule the lectures to a later date, I would be most grateful.

  I apologize for declining at this juncture and under these circumstances. However, I find my home and my family under threat and so I cannot in good conscience relocate to Scotland for the 2013–2014 academic year.

  With much regret,

  Professor Gabriel O. Emerson, PhD

  Department of Romance Studies

  Department of Religion

  Boston University

  Gabriel sat back in his chair and reread the email. Then he closed his computer.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Christmas morning

  Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania

  Gabriel had been busy.

  In true, Santa-like fashion, he’d stuffed the stockings that were hung with care from the mantel and placed carefully wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree.

  (No, he hadn’t wrapped the gifts himself. He’d done what every self-respecting husband did at Christmas; he’d had the associates at the various stores wrap gifts for him.)

  Now he was lighting a fire in the fireplace.

  “I thought Father Christmas wore red.”

  Gabriel cursed, his hand clutching his heart.

  A warmhearted chuckle emanated from the armchair near the window. A wrinkled hand reached out and switched on a nearby lamp. “Happy Christmas.”

  “Happy Christmas, Katherine.” Gabriel drew a deep breath as his heart began beating normally. She’d given him quite a shock and ever since the break-in, he’d found himself jumpier than usual.