Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno #2)(91)

Julia didn’t cry at her father’s words, but her heart clenched. “Please don’t say things like that, Dad. For all we know, he’s in Italy working on his book.”

“In a crack house.”

“Dad, please.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I want my little girl to find someone good and be happy.”

“I want that for you too,” she said.

“Well, we’re quite a pair.” He cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. “Tell me about graduation. I made some money from the sale of the house, and I’d like to come to graduation. We should also talk about what you want to do this summer. Your room in the new house is waiting for you. You can paint it any color you want. Hell, paint it pink.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I haven’t wanted a pink room in a long time, but thanks, Dad.”

Although Selinsgrove was the last place Julia wanted to go at that moment, at least she had a parent and a home, a home that didn’t have bad associations with either Simon or Sharon. Or him.

Chapter 32

On April ninth, Julia walked through the melting snow to Professor Picton’s house, clutching her printed thesis in one hand and a bottle of Chianti in the other.

She was nervous. Although her relationship with Professor Picton had always been cordial, it was never warm. Katherine wasn’t the kind of person to dote or fawn over her students. She was professional and demanding and decidedly unsentimental. So Julia was quite concerned when Katherine invited her to submit her thesis in person and to stay for dinner. Of course, there was no possibility of a refusal.

Julia stood on the front porch of Katherine’s three-story brick home and rang the doorbell. She wiped her palms on the front of her pea coat, trying to eliminate the clamminess.

“Julianne, welcome.” Katherine opened the door and ushered her student inside.

If Julia’s small studio was a hobbit hole, then Professor Picton’s house was the abode of a wood elf. A wood elf with a taste for fine, old furnishings. Everything was elegant and antique; the walls were paneled in dark wood with expensive carpets blanketing the floors. The decorating was aristocratic but spare, and everything was extremely ordered and tidy.

After taking Julia’s coat, Katherine graciously accepted the Chianti and the thesis, and directed her to a small parlor off the front hall. Julia promptly sat herself in a leather club chair in front of the hearth and accepted a small glass of sherry.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Katherine said and vanished like a Greek goddess.

Julia examined the large books about English architecture and gardens gracing the low coffee table. The walls were lined with pastoral scenes interspersed with the occasional severe black and white portrait of the ancestral Pictons. She sipped her sherry slowly, savoring the warmth as it slid down her throat to her stomach. Before she could finish, Katherine was escorting her to the dining room.

“This is lovely.” Julia smiled, in an effort to mask her nervousness. She was intimidated by the fine bone china, crystal, and silver candlesticks that Katherine had set atop a white damask tablecloth that looked as if it had been ironed.

(Not even the linens would dare to wrinkle without Professor Picton’s permission.)

“I like to entertain,” said Katherine. “But truthfully, there are few dining companions that I can stand for an entire evening.”

Julia felt a sinking feeling in her middle. With as little noise as possible, she took her place next to Katherine, who sat at the head of the long, oak table.

“It smells delicious,” said Julia, trying not to ravenously inhale the scent of cooked meat and vegetables that wafted from her plate. She hadn’t been eating much in the previous days but Professor Picton’s offerings seemed to have stimulated her appetite.

“I tend toward vegetarianism, but in my experience graduate students never eat enough meat. So I’ve prepared an old recipe of my mother’s. Normandy hotpot, she used to call it. I hope you don’t mind pork.”

“Not at all.” Julia smiled. But when she saw the lemon zest atop the plate of steamed broccoli, her smile narrowed.

Gabriel had a thing for garnishes.

“A toast perhaps?” Katherine poured Julia’s wine gift into their glasses and held hers aloft.

Julia raised her glass obligingly.

“To your success at Harvard.”

“Thank you.” Julia hid her mixed emotions behind the act of drinking.

Once a polite space of time had elapsed, Katherine spoke. “I brought you here to discuss a number of different things. First, your thesis. Are you satisfied with it?”

Julia swallowed a piece of parsnip hastily. “No.”

Katherine frowned.

“What I mean is, there’s room for improvement. If I had another year, it would be so much better. Um…” Julia wished a hole would open up under the floorboards and swallow her.

Inexplicably, Katherine smiled and sat back in her chair. “That’s the correct answer. Good for you.”

“Pardon?”

“Students these days think they’re far more talented than they actually are. I’m glad, with all your success, you’ve maintained some academic humility.

“Of course another year would improve your thesis. You’ll be a better student and a better scholar next year, if you continue to work hard. I’m pleased you realize you have room for improvement. Now, we can move on to something else.”