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.