Tristram looked up from the ring into Pendergast’s face. “I would like very much to learn about her, Father.”
There was a discreet cough. Pendergast looked up to see Proctor standing in the doorway, a silver salver in one upraised hand, two glasses of sherry balanced upon it. As Pendergast rose, the chauffeur stepped forward, offering one of the glasses to the FBI agent and the other to Constance.
“Thank you, Proctor,” Pendergast said. “Most kind.”
“Not at all, sir,” came the measured response. “Mrs. Trask has asked me to tell you that dinner will be laid on at eight o’clock.”
Pendergast inclined his head.
As Proctor began to pass from the library into the great rotunda that served as the mansion’s reception area, the chauffeur paused to look back over his shoulder. Pendergast had returned to his writing table in the far corner, staring rather moodily into the fire. Constance was shuffling a deck of cards and was speaking in low tones to Tristram, who was sitting across from her, listening attentively.
When Constance had been released from Mount Mercy about three weeks earlier, she’d been reserved and distant with the young man, Pendergast’s son. Now, Proctor noticed, she was warming to him—at least somewhat. The fire, the candlelight, threw a mellow light over the rows of old books, the exquisite furnishings, and the three inhabitants. There was a sense of—if not peace exactly—something like equanimity in the room. Calmness and composure. Proctor was not generally given to such reflections, but the sight did, indeed, strike him almost like a family tableau.
An Addams Family tableau, he corrected himself as he exited the library, a faint smile on his lips.
Pendergast watched as the chauffeur vanished. He turned back to the letter and picked up the fountain pen. It scratched over the paper for perhaps another two minutes. Pendergast rested it on the green baize of the writing table and picked up the piece of paper to read from the beginning.
My dear Viola,
I am writing you for several reasons. First, to apologize for the reception I gave you at our last meeting. You went to a great deal of trouble on my behalf, and my behavior toward you at the time was execrable. I make no excuse, save to tell you—which you no doubt already know—that I was not myself.
I would also like to thank you for saving my life. I do not exaggerate. When you showed up on my doorstep nearly two months ago, I was on the very brink of committing that act I so callously described to you at the time. Your presence, and your words, delayed my hand long enough for other developments to take me away. In plain words, you arrived at the Dakota in the nick of time—and for that you have my lasting, most infinite, and deepest gratitude.
It is my intention to take a vacation. For how long, or where, I do not know. If I find myself in Rome, I will certainly contact you—as a friend. This is how it must be, between us, from now on, forever.
There are few things that ground me to this earth, Viola, and even fewer people. Please know that you are one of them.
With great affection,
Aloysius
Pendergast put the letter down, signed it, folded it, and slipped it into an envelope. Then he stared at the card players, Constance and Tristram, engrossed in their game. His gaze drifted to the blazing fire. He gazed into it, motionless, sherry untasted, for a long time—so long, in fact, that he was only roused by Proctor’s returning to inform them that dinner was served. Tristram immediately jumped to his feet and skipped on behind the retreating butler, evidently hungry—a youth for whom each new meal was a novelty. Constance followed at a more dignified pace. Last of all, Special Agent Pendergast rose—let his fingertips drift across the envelope that lay upon the writing desk—and then glided silently out of the room, a dim shape that grew increasingly faint as it made its way through the secret and shadow-haunted spaces of the mansion on Riverside Drive.
Acknowledgments
The authors wish to extend their sincere thanks to the following people for their assistance: Jamie Raab, Jaime Levine, Mitch Hoffman, Nadine Waddell, Jon Couch, Douglas Margini, Eric Simonoff, Claudia Rülke, and the two persons who suggested the book’s title to us—Julia Douglas and Michael Sharp.
About the Authors
DOUGLAS PRESTON and LINCOLN CHILD are coauthors of many bestselling novels, including Relic, which was made into a number one box office hit movie, as well as The Cabinet of Curiosities, Still Life with Crows, Brimstone, The Book of the Dead, Fever Dream, and Gideon’s Sword. Preston’s bestselling nonfiction book, The Monster of Florence, is being made into a motion picture starring George Clooney. His interests include horses, scuba diving, skiing, and exploring the Maine coast in an old lobster boat. Lincoln Child is a former book editor who has published five bestselling novels of his own. He is passionate about motorcycles, exotic parrots, and nineteenth-century English literature. Readers can sign up for The Pendergast File, a monthly “strangely entertaining note” from the authors, at their website, www.prestonchild.com. The authors also welcome visitors to their alarmingly active Facebook page, where they post regularly.
Also by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
Gideon’s Corpse
Cold Vengeance
Gideon’s Sword
Fever Dream
Cemetery Dance
The Wheel of Darkness
The Book of the Dead
Dance of Death
Brimstone
Still Life with Crows
The Cabinet of Curiosities
The Ice Limit
Thunderhead
Riptide
Reliquary
Mount Dragon
Relic
In answer to a frequently asked reader question:
The above titles are listed in descending order of publication, though almost all of them are stand-alone novels that need not be read in order. However, the pairs Relic/Reliquary and Dance of Death/The Book of the Dead and the trilogy Fever Dream/Cold Vengeance/Two Graves should ideally be read in sequence.
By Douglas Preston
Impact
The Monster of Florence (with Mario Spezi)
Blasphemy
Tyrannosaur Canyon
The Codex
Ribbons of Time
The Royal Road
Talking to the Ground
Jennie
Cities of Gold
Dinosaurs in the Attic
By Lincoln Child
The Third Gate
Terminal Freeze
Deep Storm
Death Match
Utopia
Tales of the Dark 1–3
Dark Banquet
Dark Company
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Splendide Mendax, Inc. and Lincoln Child
All rights reserved.
First e-book edition: December 2012
Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.
ISBN 978-1-4555-1053-5
FB2 document info
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Document creation date: 12.12.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.9, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Douglas Preston
Lincoln Child
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Two Graves p-12 Page 46
