“But why? Why don’t you like him?”
“Do you like him?”
Theo sighed and fingered one of the roses, stroking its velvety petals. “Yes, I do. I wasn’t sure about him when I first met him at the start of school. He gave me the creeps those first few days. But since then he’s been very nice and not at all creepy. Some of it is just his manner, I guess, and I’m used to it now. Yes, I do like him.”
“Do you trust him?” Grant persisted, taking her by the shoulders.
“What has he done to make me not trust him? Grant, what is it with you and him? He’s never seemed hostile to you. At least not till the other night. I still don’t understand what that was about, either.” She shook her head.
“Can we make a bargain? I’ll keep out of Julian’s way if you’ll promise to be careful around him.” He looked earnestly into her face.
“Careful of what?”
“Just careful.” He pulled her closer. “Please?”
“Grant—”
He bent his head and kissed her neck. She closed her eyes as her arms crept up of their own accord to hold him. “I missed you yesterday,” he murmured in her ear. “All I could think about was how you’d looked in your toga that night. And what it would have been like to unwrap you and—”
There was a faint cheer from somewhere. Theo opened her eyes and saw a row of faces peering over the edges of the window ledge.
“We have an audience,” she said, pulling away.
“Let’s give ’em a good show, then.” Grant pulled her back and kissed her on the lips. The cheers grew louder.
He pulled back and smiled with satisfaction. “You’re blushing, you know.”
…
Despite her rapprochement with Grant it was Tuesday before Theo felt comfortable resuming her usual study spot in the Great Room. She did not want to run into Julian, knowing what he must have seen the night of the symposium, embarrassed at the image she and Grant must have presented. But when he passed her in the hallway later on Monday morning he was his usual affable self. After a few more chance encounters with him she began to relax.
In fact, no one referred to the symposium. She had expected to hear some rumor of Marlowe and his band of merry women getting their wrists slapped for running roughshod over the campus, but not a whisper of it came to her. Theo concluded that what Dr. Waterman had said about the blind eye of the campus police must be true. It seemed odd, but not odd enough to waste time thinking about.
A few days after the symposium Theo blew into the graduate student lounge for coffee with Grant. A northeast storm was beating the last of the campus’s leaves into a pulp, making the brick walkways treacherously slimy. Theo had run all the way from her room, dodging the chilly rain and slippery patches, but warmed by her news.
“Umbrellas have been around for several thousand years, but I don’t suppose you own one,” Grant scolded, helping her remove her dripping jacket.
“I do, smarty-pants, but in this wind I wouldn’t much longer. Oh, good. You ordered,” she said as their coffee arrived. She held her cup in her hands to warm them and smiled out at the rain streaming over the window next to her.
“All right, what is it? You look fit to burst,” he said, looking at her over the rim of his cup.
“Pooh. I’m happy, that’s all. My mom just called. She wanted to know if you had any plans for Thanksgiving.” She put down her cup and took his hand. “It’s a bit of a drive, but if we left right after my last class Tuesday we could be in Philly by nine, barring traffic. We can think up some new Latin insults for my Dad on the way down, and if he’s not feeling too shy we can get him to do Cicero’s In Catilinam after he’s had a little wine. It’s his favorite oration.”
Grant stared down at their joined hands. Theo cleared her throat. “That is, uh, if you didn’t have any other plans for Thanksgiving break,” she continued in a small voice.
He had never mentioned family. He must be going back to them, wherever they were. She should have thought about that. But when Mom had suggested she invite him home for Thanksgiving, it had seemed like such a wonderful idea. “Of course, I should have known you’d want to go home to your own—”
“No, that’s not it. I’m sorry, Theo. I’d already arranged to go to New Hampshire over the holiday. Olivia needs me to take care of a few things, and there’s some work for my project that I need to do up there.” He looked embarrassed.
“Porcupines not learning their lines?” she said before she could stop herself. “Or is it the moose again? Or—” She made herself stop. Get hold of yourself, girl! He had told her, point-blank, that Olivia was merely a friend and colleague. Why couldn’t she just accept his word and stop torturing herself like this?
Grant leaned forward and took her hands again. “Or do I need to go keep my girlfriend happy? No, Theo. You’re the only woman who has any claim on my heart. Some day you’ll meet Olivia, and then you’ll understand. But I have responsibilities at Eleusinian that I can’t shirk. I’d planned all along to go up there some time this fall but I haven’t been able to tear myself away. And now I have to pay for it by disappointing you.” He glared down at his coffee and muttered, “Damn!”
Theo squeezed his hands. “Grant? Did you really want to come?”
“Yes!” he snapped, then continued in a quieter tone, “I would have loved to see your father declaiming, ‘O tempora! O mores!’”
“It is quite a sight.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to concentrate on those papers over Thanksgiving instead.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s not your fault. I should have thought before I blurted it out like that. It’s just that—that I’m going to miss you.”
Grant looked back down at his cup. “I’ll miss you too—my love.”
…
The memory of that whispered “my love” carried Theo through Thanksgiving and her parents’ disappointment at not meeting Grant. She did manage to get one of her final papers written over the holiday, which was a relief; the end of the semester always seemed a lot closer on the Monday after Thanksgiving than it did the Wednesday before.
But when she arrived to teach her class that Monday morning, eager to see Grant after nearly a week apart, he wasn’t there. Dr. Waterman took his Monday Latin class for him. Theo moped alone in the Great Room that afternoon until Julian stopped to chat with her and invited her to his office to try a new bottle of wine he had brought back from his cellar in Rhode Island. She went, feeling defiant; if Grant couldn’t make it back from the Institute when he was supposed to, she didn’t see why she couldn’t have a friendly talk with Julian about her paper on Greek influences in Etruria.
The chat went on til nearly seven, so it only seemed sensible to accept Julian’s invitation to dinner at a little Greek restaurant just off-campus, where the owner himself, evidently an old friend of Julian’s, served them.
Once or twice Theo could hear Grant’s voice plead “be careful around him” in her mind. But Julian couldn’t have been nicer. He ordered their meal, then explained each item, comparing their preparations to what was known of ancient cuisine while chatting intermittently to the owner in flawless modern Greek.
When intense dark coffee in tiny cups and ouzo were finally brought, Theo had forgotten everything unpleasant. Julian’s turquoise eyes were warm and friendly as they rested on her, the ouzo and coffee danced sensuous tangos on her tongue, and though she couldn’t forget about Grant’s being late, she had put aside her unhappy thoughts of him, at least for now.
Julian sipped his coffee. “I notice that Grant Proctor isn’t back yet.”
Damn. Why did he have to bring that up now? “I think he’s due back tomorrow. At least, Dr. Waterman said he’d be here in time for his class Wednesday.”
“It’s a long drive from Eleusinian. Five or six hours, anyway. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it were already snowing up there. Still, it’s very beautiful, and quite com
fortable for such a remote place.”
“You’ve been there?” Theo couldn’t help asking.
“Years ago, for a brief visit. When Olivia went up there. You’ve heard Grant mention Olivia Weaver, I’m sure.”
“Once or twice,” she said neutrally.
“Olivia taught here before she went up there. Does Grant enjoy being at Eleusinian with her? I suppose he must, if he couldn’t tear himself away. Ah, well. That’s Olivia for you. She has that effect. Poor Paul was devastated when she left us.”
Theo took a sip of coffee, hoping her hand didn’t shake too badly. “Was he?”
“Oh, yes. Inconsolable. But Olivia seems to have gotten over him now that Grant’s there. Quite well, from what one hears. Academia is a small world, you know. Rumors do circulate—here, Dmitri. Another ouzo for us both, please. Are you all right, my dear? You look a little pale. Another ouzo will fix that.”
…
When she finally did see Grant, it was late on Wednesday. She had poked her head around his door Wednesday morning after class, but he was busy explaining reflexive pronouns once again to a very earnest and inarticulate math major and did not see her. He didn’t meet her for their usual lunch together in the lounge or for coffee in the afternoon, and her mood plummeted; not even Marlowe’s delivering an invitation to the department’s Saturnalia party at the end of the term could make her smile. It wasn’t until nearly eight that night that he wandered into the Great Room, where Theo was working on a paper.
“Theo!” he said as he tossed his coat onto the table, which was covered with her books and laptop. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you all day.” He pulled a chair next to her and pecked her on the cheek.
She reached over and retrieved one of her books from under his coat. “Have you?”
“Well, of course. I missed you—”
“How’s Olivia?” The steadiness of her voice amazed her.
“She’s fine. I told her all about you, and she can’t wait to meet you. How was your dad? Did he do any orations? I kept thinking about that, and what fun it would have been to meet him.”
“No, he didn’t. But he made some suggestions on my rhetoric paper.”
“You’ll have to let me read it.” He leaned toward her again, his eyes serious. “I mean it, Theo. I really missed you. I didn’t know it would be so bad.”
“Did you take care of everything up at Eleusinian?” she asked, not looking at him.
“Mostly, I think. I’ll have to go back up at Christmas break to start on my project, but took care of everything else. Theo, stop typing for a minute and look at me. What are you working on that’s so absorbing?”
“My paper for Dr. Forge-Smythe’s class. Julian gave me a few ideas for my topic over dinner the other night, and I’m finding lots of interesting references, thanks to him.”
He was frowning. “You had dinner with Julian?”
“Yes, I did. Why not?” Her hands were frigid, poised over her keyboard, but she would not move them.
He took one and pulled her around in her seat. “Please look at me for a minute?” He took her chin in his hand and looked into her face. It was impossible to maintain her distance when he did things like that. She felt some of the ice in her midsection melt under his steady gaze.
“Okay,” she relented. “I missed you too. I was disappointed not to see you Monday, and a little hurt, I guess.” Or a lot. Julian’s conversation about Olivia had raised up the insecurities she thought she’d mostly laid to rest. But he should know, shouldn’t he?
“But I’m here now,” he began, then stopped. “You look different,” he said with a frown, turning her face from side to side. “You didn’t cut your hair or anything over Thanksgiving, did you?”
“I haven’t done anything to myself, except perhaps catch up on sleep a little.”
“Well, something’s different about you.” He sat back in his chair and looked at her, frowning. “Sometimes I’d almost swear—” He shook his head. “Anyway, it was so beautiful up there, the snow and ice and stillness. I kept wishing you were there to see it. And—” He hesitated, then said, almost in a rush, “I read another modern novel.”
That was such a non sequitur that Theo was forced to smile. But something in his voice made her glance up at him again. He was looking at her with an odd intensity, almost as if he’d never seen her before. And with something else, too—an uncertainty that made her put aside her pique and turn to him. “Which modern novel did you read?” she asked gently.
“Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. You said you liked that one best next to Persuasion. So I read it.” Again there was that strange note in his voice.
“Did you like it?”
“Yes, of course. But that wasn’t important. It—he—helped me make a decision.”
“He?”
“Mr. Darcy.”
“Ah.” Again Theo wanted to smile, but Grant’s face wouldn’t let her. “What decision did he help you make?”
He stared down at his hands, clasped loosely between his knees. “I can’t tell you—not yet. I don’t even know if it’s possible, but I’m damned well going to try.” He swallowed. “Darcy fell in love with Elizabeth. But he couldn’t actually win her until he gave up Pemberley.”
“Darcy didn’t give up Pemberley.”
“No, not in the real sense. But he had to give up the old Darcy—everything that he’d always been, everything he’d always lived by—and become a different man before he could truly love her. That’s what I mean by Pemberley. He gave that up, but gained so much.” He looked up at her, and Theo drew in her breath. There was such longing in his eyes, and an enormous sadness, but also determination and hope. “I have to give up Pemberley too, I’ve decided. It’s as scary as hell to even think about. I wish Austen had spent more time in Darcy’s head, showing how he came through remaking himself, because I’m terrified. But I want my Elizabeth more than anything else I’ve ever wanted. Anything.” He reached up and touched her cheek, then slid off his chair to his knees and wrapped his arms around her.
Theo held him close, blinking back tears. Here she’d been nursing a silly grudge, and he’d been— “Oh, Grant. I—I don’t want you to have to give anything up for me,” she whispered into his hair.
“But I do want to. It’s the only way I’ll truly win you.” He drew back a little to look into her face, and now he was smiling, the sadness replaced by joy. “Trust me, dearest, loveliest Theo.” He kissed her, a lingering, tender kiss, then stood up. “You go back to your papers. I need to start figuring out how to get rid of Pemberley.”
…
“You’re getting frazzled, my dear. I’ve watched you reread that paragraph for the last five minutes. Come on up to my office for a moment. Dr. d’Amboise is prescribing some rest and medication.”
Theo looked up from her book to Julian, who stood over her at her table in the Great Room. “But it’s my last paper. I’m almost done with it,” she croaked. She had to be. Exams started in three days and she had to start reviewing.
“Fine. Take a break now so you can edit it tomorrow with a fresh mind.” He pulled her chair away from the table and took her hand. “But for now, come along, Miss Fairchild. My word is law here, you know.”
Theo smiled. “As you command.”
“That’s much better.”
In his office he handed her a glass of wine. “Just a small one. Enough to unkink the knots in your neck. You were trying to rub it while you stared at that paragraph.”
“Was I?” Theo took a sip, closed her eyes, and sighed as it trickled down her throat. She did need a break. It was so easy to get drawn into the words on the page and forget everything else.
“Which class is it for?” Julian asked, coming around behind her. “Hold still.” He set his glass on the desk next to hers and gently pushed her head down, then began to knead the muscles of her neck with strong, sure fingers.
At his first touch Theo jumped—there were rules about contac
t between students and faculty, after all—but it just felt so good. “Roman Religion and Philosophy. I’m writing about the concept of divinity through Roman history. Oh jeez, that’s wonderful,” she managed to answer.
“Of course it feels good. Tell me, what is your view of the divine? Does it coincide with the Romans’?” His hands were in her hair, massaging her scalp. The tension in her forehead and temples melted away.
I know what I think is divine right now, she wanted to say but didn’t. “For the Romans there were different levels of divinity, because their religion—mmm, yeah—was so full of borrowings from other people. I’m not sure there was an absolute. I have to admire their—their, uh, pragmatism, though. I think their chief embodiment of the eternal was Rome itself.”
“Turn your head a little—there. Isn’t that better? They still call Rome the eternal city, so I suppose in a way they were right.” Julian’s hands worked their way down her neck and onto her shoulders. “The Greek concept of divinity was something else again. We talked about the gods once before, didn’t we?”
Theo made herself focus on his words, not his hands. “The Romans borrowed a lot of their religious concepts from the Greeks. If it worked for them, they appropriated it and made it their own.”
“I’ve often thought about that.” He gave her shoulders a final squeeze and waved away her thanks as he moved back to his chair. “You look better already. Now, where was I? Ah, utility and the divine. Think about this for a moment, my dear. Picture the Roman Empire, expanding out of Italy and spreading across much of the known world, encompassing dozens of cultures and societies within its borders, taking in ideas as well as trade goods and taxes. Isis and Mithras and other gods imported from other lands became popular as time went by, and took their places by the old gods.
“But what happened to those old gods who were pushed aside when they were no longer wanted or needed? What happened to the millions of prayers and sacrifices that were made in their names? If one were fanciful, one could feel sorry for those old gods, called into being by human need and then cast aside by human inconstancy. A melancholy fate, don’t you think?”
By Jove Page 10
