NINE

NICOLAE CARPATHIA couldn’t help but be intrigued by the dichotomy that was Leonardo Fortunato. During the meal he had listened to the man but had not really taken him in visually. Nicolae was always more concerned with how he looked than how others did.

But now, trying to get to know the man, he surveyed him more carefully.

Fortunato was probably five inches shorter than Nicolae, and yet was so thick and compact that he appeared a solid mass. The little things were not lost on Carpathia. The suit, dark and conservative, was plainly inexpensive and yet tailored. French cuffs with diamond links protruded from the sleeves. Fortunato wore two rings on one hand, one on the other.

His tie was an iridescent red and seemed to pulsate, even in the dim light of the screened-in anteroom. When he crossed his legs—no small feat—socks that matched the suit showed a red stripe that almost matched the tie. Nicolae decided this was a man who had to fight flamboyancy.

A soft breeze kicked up and Carpathia edged closer to the fire. Fortunato did the opposite. Not only did he lean away, but he asked if his host minded if he shed his suit coat.

“Not at all,” Nicolae said, snapping his fingers and calling out, “Peter!”

A valet appeared.

“Oh, I’ll just drape it over the back of the chair,” Fortunato said, “if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” Nicolae said. “Peter, please hang Mr. Fortunato’s suit jacket and bring him a smoking jacket just in case.”

Peter soon returned with a burgundy felt-and-satin number and draped it over the arm of a divan near Fortunato.

Leon leaned toward Carpathia, spreading his feet and resting his elbows on his knees. In the low light Nicolae noticed sweat rings under the man’s arms. Nervous or truly overheated? He never touched the smoking jacket.

The men talked for hours, and by about three in the morning, Carpathia began to feel a strange bond. Fortunato seemed to know a lot about a lot. In fact, he seemed to know everything about everything. Had Nicolae enjoyed such a wealth of experience and exposure, he believed he would have long since been one of the most revered men in the world.

“I need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Fortunato, and I beg you to not take offense.”

“Please.”

“How is it that you have remained so anonymous? Why have I never heard of you before?”

Fortunato smiled as if Carpathia could have paid him no higher compliment. “That, my young friend, is by design. I like to think of myself as a kingmaker.”

Nicolae sat back. A kingmaker? “You get great satisfaction in giving others the tools they need to excel.”

“Exactly!” Fortunato said. “I don’t know why myself. I don’t even understand it. Many have asked me why I am not a leader, why I don’t seek the limelight for myself. I don’t know, but I’ll tell you this: my life is a calling. I can’t tell you that the heavens opened and a light appeared or that I heard voices. All I know is that I come alive when my behind-the-scenes work results in the elevation of someone I have discovered, someone I admire and trust. At times like that, when my candidate wins or my client gets the promotion, I couldn’t feel more fulfilled if I were king of the world.”

“Fascinating.”

“Thank you, Mr. Carpathia. Frankly, it fascinates me.”

Nicolae asked Peter to bring the humidor, and he chose a smaller, milder cigar. “Mr. Fortunato?”

Leonardo declined.

Carpathia lit up. “You will tell me if I keep you too long.”

“No, please. I am a night owl, and who doesn’t like to talk about himself?”

Nicolae chuckled. “I am curious about your spiritual background. Mr. Planchette tells me you were raised Catholic and studied for the priesthood.”

“Well, I was a religion major in a Catholic university not far from the Vatican, but I don’t believe I was ever truly priest material. I loved the church and all the trappings, but I was not humble enough.”

“Not humble enough?”

“I am a transparent man, Mr. Carpathia. I will tell you the truth. What appealed most to me about my inherited religion was the formality and the pageantry. I never felt close to Christ, the object of the church’s worship. Many of my classmates and colleagues did, and I respected that and envied them. And yet I knew why I fell short in that regard as well.”

“You wanted to be pope.”

Fortunato lifted his head and roared. “Close! Close! I wanted to be Jesus!”

Carpathia laughed along. “We would make quite a pair, Mr. Fortunato. I want to be god!”

The men enjoyed a good laugh.

“Are you up for a walk, Mr. Carpathia? I feel like a rude guest suggesting it, but I’d like to get up and move.”

“Certainly, but we must both agree to drop the formalities. I can tell we are going to become friends, and so let us get on a first-name basis. Fair enough?”

Fortunato reached for and shook Carpathia’s hand, standing and pulling the younger man from his seat.

“Would you like Peter to bring your suit coat, or do you prefer the smoking jacket?”

“Frankly, Nicolae, I am fine. I love a bracing breeze in shirtsleeves.”

“Suit yourself.”

Rayford Steele was not a man to look a gift horse in the mouth. Irene had booked the honeymoon suite at the finest local hotel, and they enjoyed a late dinner served on their balcony. A couple of hours later they lounged in bed in the dark, talking.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been set up, that she had used everything she knew to soften him for something. For what, he did not know. But he had an idea. By midnight he wished she’d just get on with it. Yet she was still going on with memories, reminiscences of how they met, fell in love, courted, got engaged, married, moved, had kids.

It was fun to rehearse and grow nostalgic over years that seemed so recent and had flown so quickly. Rayford could tell Irene was easing into her real subject, the true reason for this getaway, when she waxed melancholy about Chloe.

“I’m worried about her, Rafe. She’s too much like you. . . . I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did, but she’s only twelve years old. I had always hoped our kids would remain tender longer than most. Tender doesn’t describe her anymore, does it?”

“No, but it describes Raymie,” Rayford said, “and that troubles me.”

“Rafe, he’s only four.”

“A very soft four.”

“He ought to be soft at four. And don’t worry; no son of yours is going to grow up soft.”

Rayford liked the sound of that.

“We’ll get to Raymie,” she said. “We need to talk about Chloe. She’s a skeptic already, challenging everything, believing nothing.”

“Not believing like you, you mean.”

“Well, there is that. A kid her age ought to have no trouble believing in and loving Jesus.”

“Unless she doesn’t,” Rayford said.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, as long as we’re getting into this—I mean, you want to, right?”

“More than anything.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Rafe, don’t do this.”

“Okay, let’s just talk. But since you’ve gone to all this trouble, let’s be frank.”

“Can we be kind at the same time?”

“Sure. I’ll try. But this is as much a hot button for me as it is for you, Irene. We’ve been dancing around this for months, and it’s time to get it all on the table.”

Irene clasped her hands behind her head and sighed. “Fire away.”

“You don’t want to hear it. I can tell.”

“No, I do. I just think I’ve heard it all before.”

“Fine. Then I won’t repeat myself.”

“No, Rayford, please. I shouldn’t have said that. I hope you can surprise me with some new insight. Really, I do.”

He turned to face her and leaned up on an elbow. “Chloe’s okay with God and church and all that. Just like I am. We’re simply not as into it as you are. You’re the most religious person I know.”

“It’s not—”

“Irene, listen to me.” His voice had an edge of annoyance he didn’t care to blunt. “If you get into that business of its not being about religion but being about Jesus, I’m going to explode. I know, okay? I know. You say it all the time. Religion is our attempt to reach God. Jesus is God’s attempt to reach man. I’ve heard it so many times that it’s just words by now. It’s something—forgive me—that a religious person would say! Don’t you see? You come off like a nun or a saint or a Bible student or something. We all have to be as religious as you or we don’t qualify.”

For once he had silenced her, and he wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing. Now he could turn and, he hoped, sound more reasonable.

“Think of what you could have for a husband. An abuser. A womanizer. A drunk. Someone who never goes to church. I go to church, Irene. Maybe not as much as you think I should, but I go. I believe. I believe in God and I even like hearing about Jesus. That stuff’s all okay with me. I just don’t want to be a weirdo. I don’t want it to overwhelm my life, make me awkward around my friends. They have their beliefs and I have mine. It’s a free country.”

Rayford wanted to fill the glaring silence with his views on when he was and wasn’t going to church and how he planned to go less and play golf more, but that could wait. He didn’t want to press his luck. He knew he was saying other than what Irene hoped to hear. In fact, he was likely fulfilling her worst nightmare. Well, this had been her idea. She wanted to know where he stood, and this was where.

“We were talking about Chloe,” she said quietly.

“We were? Okay. What about her?”

“She worships you. You’re her hero. She wants to be just like you.”

“Is that so bad? She could do worse. Wouldn’t you love for her to be a successful pilot someday?”

“That isn’t the point. She’s a brilliant student. She can write her own ticket. She’ll be fine that way. You’re a grown man. You have the right to make these decisions on your own, even if I disagree. Even if I hate the consequences. But she’s twelve, Rafe. Challenging the existence of God, saying I can’t know the Bible is true, fighting going to church and Sunday school every week. She criticizes her Sunday school teacher, slouches and folds her arms and closes her eyes during sermons.”

“She hears them.”

“Oh, I know well she hears them, because she picks them apart.”

“So do you, Irene.”

“I give up.” She turned away from him.

“No, don’t do that. At least we’re talking. Do you really want me to feel like you’ve given up on me?”

She turned back. “No, I don’t. But I want you to encourage Chloe to give me a chance. Give the Bible the benefit of the doubt. Make an attitude adjustment about Sundays.”

Rayford sat up and swung his feet off the side of the bed. “Can’t do it,” he said.

“Oh, Rafe!”

“I can’t, Irene. I have to be true to myself and do what I believe is best. You’re not going to browbeat your own child into a life decision this important. You can’t force her to share your beliefs. She has to come to them on her own. I want her faith to be based on her own study and conclusions.”

“Like yours.”

“Yes, like mine! What’s wrong with mine?”

“You don’t have any, Rayford. You attend church the way you go to the club. If you were serious about your relationship with God, you would study the Bible, go to a church that teaches and preaches it. And you’d be sure you raised your children the same way. No, I don’t want to give Chloe an inherited faith. I just want to see her more open, more teachable, more malleable. She’s too young to be so rebellious, so antieverything.”

“She’s not a rebel, Irene. She’s a good kid, a great student, never in trouble. I asked you to imagine the kind of husband you could have. Imagine the kind of daughter you could have.”

“So I’m supposed to be thrilled with my husband and my daughter—despite their nonexistent relationships with God—because of what they’re not? Well, Rayford, let me tell you, I’m just so thrilled that I thank God every day you’re not like Hitler. And isn’t it wonderful that you’re not a mass murderer? That could really put a crimp in a marriage.”

“Now it’s my turn to give up,” he said.

With that, Irene was out of bed and pulling on her robe. She turned on the lights and sat before the television.

“You know,” he said, “that thing you said about my going to church the way I go to the club?”

“Um-hm,” she said, not looking at him.

“That’s one of the reasons I don’t want to switch churches.”

She turned to look at him, bewilderment on her face.

“You realize our church is where we met our doctor, our dentist, our insurance guy, and even the man who put my name in for membership at the club?”

Irene turned back to the TV.