The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [3]
As they plodded up the hill, Jean saw that three of her friends had already arrived at the café. Their faces were so familiar to her now that she never really looked at them. But today the presence of a stranger gave her a renewed and not wholly welcome insight. It was as if she had borrowed Jacqueline’s glasses and acquired the owner’s viewpoint with them.
One member of the group was conventional enough; Rome abounds in priests, of all sizes, nations, and degrees. Padre Ximenez wore the long black cassock which was de rigueur for his order while in the capital. Seeing him as a newcomer might, Jean was struck afresh by something she had unconsciously forced herself to ignore since the beginning of their friendship: José’s dark Spanish features were strikingly handsome.
The Scovilles were brother and sister, although from a distance it was hard to tell which Scoville was which. The resemblance was superficial; a good deal of it resulted from the current fashions, or lack thereof. Ann wore the same faded jeans and tailored shirts as her brother. The red-gold Scoville hair resembled the coiffure affected by a number of well-known characters, among them Little Orphan Annie, Struwwelpeter, and Art Garfunkel. The coiffures were identical, except that Andy’s hair was a little longer than his sister’s. It framed Andy’s face like a nimbus. There was nothing saintly about Andy’s other features; it is difficult to imagine a saint with freckles, and Andy’s blue eyes had the sparkle one associates with supernatural characters of the opposite persuasion. Beside him his sister looked drained and faded, as if she had contributed half the vitality which should have been hers to increase Andy’s charm.
Michael had relapsed into one of his silent moods. He dropped into the nearest chair and took out the sketch pad that went everywhere with him, leaving Jean to make the introductions and explain Jacqueline’s presence. Andy found the story highly amusing. He broke into a loud guffaw, which ended abruptly as Jacqueline’s basilisk stare fell upon him.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, with less than his usual aplomb. “It wasn’t funny.”
“Oh, it was,” Jacqueline said gently. “If the custard-pie, pratfall school of comedy turns you on…. I’m not here by choice, you know. I wasdragged. I’m not even sure I want to be here. What is this group of yours? A cell of an international conspiracy? A society for the prevention of something?”
The reactions of the three who were encountering Jacqueline’s tongue for the first time were as varied as their personalities. Ann looked distressed. She was silent and shy at best, and controversy bothered her. José smiled. Andy, who had recognized a gift of restrained invective equal to his own, relaxed.
“If anything, we are a society for the encouragement of, not the prevention of, anything. We are part of the group, but not the whole. Our motto—”
“Shut up, Andy,” Jean said equably. She looked at Jacqueline. “We just got into the habit of meeting here every morning for coffee. Four of us are student fellows. The Institute awards these fellowships, for a year’s study in Rome—”
“I am well aware of that function of the Institute.”
“Well, we four are this year’s fellows. José is studying stained-glass design with one of the artists at the Institute, and the other two members of the crowd are also foreign students, who use the Institute library part of the time.”
“Seven of you,” Jacqueline said.
“It just happened that way. We really aren’t a secret society.”
“She thinks that’s true,” Andy said solemnly, “but she misses the point of numerology—the deeper meaning of it. We were Drawn Together. There is a Purpose in our coming here, from all over the world, to a meeting in the Center of it all.”
“Hmmph,” Jacqueline said. She edged her chair back in order to examine Andy more closely. Without looking up from his sketch, Michael grabbed