The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [48]
“Seven Wonders of the World,” Jacqueline contributed. “None of them in Rome, though…”
“Seven Sages,” Jean said wildly. “The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. Seven Against Thebes. The Seven Deadly—”
She stopped speaking abruptly, and Andy, who had been watching her, said mildly,
“Your acquaintance with sin is purely nominal, my lamb. But it makes a suggestive list, doesn’t it? Seven sins and seven sinners. They’re such unusual sins, not at all the kind of thing you might expect. My favorite is Languid Indifference—the original Greek acidia sounds better…. Anger is Michael, of course, and Pride—spiritual pride—must be José’s sin. Gluttony doesn’t seem appropriate to any one of us, offhand.”
“Me,” Jean said. She could not have said why, but she didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. “I adore food. I’d be a little fat girl if Vanity weren’t stronger than Gluttony.”
“Sorry, but Vanity is not one of the Seven,” Andy said. “Vainglory, yes; but it isn’t the same thing. Now Unchastity—”
“Stop it,” Ann said. “It isn’t nice to talk about someone who isn’t here to defend herself.”
There was a general explosion of laughter, and Andy said fondly,
“Very good. That’s one of the few catty remarks I’ve ever heard you make. Now, as the antithesis of the Seven Sins there are also Seven Virtues—”
“I think we’ve had enough sevens,” Scoville interrupted. “Not only are your ideas getting farfetched, but you are ignoring one vital fact.”
“What’s that?” Jacqueline asked meekly.
“None of your categories is ordered. The number seven can only refer to one member of a septet. How do you know which, if the lists aren’t numbered?”
“Good gracious,” Jacqueline murmured. “I declare, that is true, isn’t it? How clever you are, Sam.”
Scoville expanded visibly; and Jean, after one look at Jacqueline’s studiously sweet expression, bent over and pretended she was calling the cat.
IV
“Dana can’t make it,” Michael reported. “She says she has to get some work done.”
“You sound as if you don’t believe her,” Jean said.
“I think she’s working on dear old Dad Scoville. And vice versa.”
“I thought he had better taste.”
Michael kicked a stone. It rattled along the sidewalk and smacked into a tree.
“Your girlfriend turned him down. He’s on the rebound—or trying to show her he doesn’t give a damn.”
“Oh,” Jean said disinterestedly. She turned her back on the splendid tree-lined boulevard and stared out across the space beyond. It was sunk below the modern street level, and its expanse was filled with a clutter that would have struck a modern city planner as extremely unsightly. Fragments of brick walls, covered with ivy and half veiled by weeds, rose up in unconnected sections. Columns of all sizes and shapes and conditions stood randomly about: columns of white marble and dark-red granite, half columns and lonely column bases, columns in rows and circles and colonnades. The Roman Forum, enclosed on the far side by the tree-darkened slope of the Palatine, was almost as crowded that day as it had been in its glory, when merchants and senators and slaves thronged its shops.
“Who are we waiting for?” Michael asked.
“Nobody asked you to wait. In fact, nobody asked you to come in the first place.”
“Dana told me to tell you—”
“And how did you happen to know Dana was meeting us here?”
Jean turned, leaning against the iron fence that kept impetuous and impecunious tourists from leaping down among the ruins. “I keep thinking somebody’s following me, Michael. It can’t be paranoia; it must be you.”
“You never used to object to my following you.”
“You didn’t—oh, forget it. Why don’t you go away? You’ve seen the Forum a dozen times, and you don’t care anything about the seven Caesars.”
“What do you mean, seven? Who says there were seven?”
Jean gave him a long, appraising look. Considering the subject, it was inevitable that the pertinent quotation should come to her mind. The lean and hungry look was quite pronounced these days. Even Michael’s eyes looked strained; they were constantly