Countdown - Iris Johansen [47]
“I’m sure your sin wasn’t too extreme.” She remembered the tough streets where she’d grown up, where sin was a daily fact of life. “But you’re right, our upbringing was completely different.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company. Please stay.” He smiled. “It will be very exciting for me to see you sitting there and reading what was written in Cira’s scrolls. And bizarre. It will be like having her—” He broke off guiltily. “But of course now that I see you next to the statue, I can see there are many differences. You actually don’t—”
“Liar.” She couldn’t help smiling. “It’s okay, Mario.”
“Good.” He let out a deep breath of relief. “Come sit down.” He carefully leafed through the pile of papers on his desk. “I translated the scrolls first from Latin to modern Italian, then to English. Then I went through them again and did it all over just to make sure I was accurate.”
“Good heavens.”
“It’s what Trevor wanted, and I would have done it anyway given the choice.” He drew out a thin folder containing several sheets of paper stapled together and took them to her. “I wanted to hear her speak to me.”
She slowly took the papers. “And did she?”
“Oh, yes,” he said softly as he turned and went back to his desk. “All I had to do was listen.”
Cira I was printed on the title page.
Cira.
Dammit, she was actually nervous to start reading Cira’s words. She’d lived with her image and the story of her life for years, but that was different from reading her actual thoughts. It made her . . . real.
“Is something wrong?” Mario asked.
“No, nothing.” She sat up straight in the chair and turned the page.
Okay, speak to me, Cira. I’m listening.
Lucerne, Switzerland
May I sit down? All the tables seem to be filled.”
Eduardo looked up from his newspaper at the man holding a cup of espresso. He nodded. “You must get here early to get a table. The lake is particularly beautiful from this vantage point.” He gazed out at the sunlight glinting on Lake Lucerne. “Although it’s lovely from wherever you view it.” He shifted his newspaper to make room. “It moves the heart.”
“It’s my first time here but I must agree.”
“You’re a tourist?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “But you look very much the native. You live here in Lucerne?”
“Since I retired. I share an apartment with my sister in the city.”
“And you get to come here every morning and enjoy this bounty. What a lucky man.”
Eduardo made a face. “One can’t eat scenery. My pension doesn’t allow me more than a cup of coffee and a croissant to start my day.” He gazed out at the lake. “But perhaps I am lucky. You’re right, beauty feeds the soul.”
“You know Lucerne well?”
“It’s a small town. There’s not that much to know.”
He leaned forward. “Then perhaps I could persuade you to show me other sights like this wonderful lake? I’m not a rich man, but I’d be glad to pay you for your trouble.” He hesitated. “If it wouldn’t insult you to accept my money.”
Eduardo sipped his coffee and thought about it. The man was courteous, well-spoken, and he didn’t throw his weight around like many of the tourists who flocked to Lucerne in droves. Perhaps he was a teacher or civil servant, because his clothes were casual and not expensive. And he obviously knew that pride was important to the poor. He was respectful, and the tentative eagerness with which he was gazing at Eduardo was very flattering.
Why not? He could always use a little extra money, and he would enjoy having a purpose again. The days were long and boring, and retirement was not what he’d believed it was going to be. He could understand why seniors gave up and faded away when they had no reason to get up in the morning. He slowly nodded. “Perhaps we could come to an arrangement. What do you wish particularly to see, Mr. . . .”
“Forgive me. How rude I am. Let me introduce myself.” He smiled. “My name is Ralph Wickman.”
The scribe, Actos, who gave me this scroll says I should not write anything that I would not want Julius to read, that I must be careful.
I’m