Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno #3)(42)

Christa was taken aback, but she quickly regrouped, protesting that she should have an opportunity to ask a supplementary question.

Once again, the audience reacted with whispered words, but Julia noticed that the expressions on their faces had changed. Now they were looking at Julia with a kind of muted appreciation.

“Can we move on? I’d like the opportunity to ask a question.” The aged professor turned away from Christa and directed his gaze to the moderator, who stepped forward, clearing his throat.

“Ah, if there’s time we’ll come back to you, miss. But I believe Professor Wodehouse has the floor.”

The aged man in tweed muttered a thank-you and stood up. He removed his glasses and waved them in Julia’s direction.

“Donald Wodehouse of Magdalen.” He introduced himself.

Julia’s face paled, for Professor Wodehouse was a Dante specialist whose standing rivaled that of Katherine Picton’s.

“I’m familiar with the footnote you’re referring to in Old Hut’s book. You’ve summarized it correctly. A different view is taken by Emerson in his volume.” At this, Wodehouse gestured in Gabriel’s direction. “But I see you haven’t been swayed by him, despite the fact that you two share a last name.”

Laughter erupted from the crowd, and Gabriel winked at Julia proudly.

“As you point out, it’s perplexing to see why Francis would appear at the death of a false Franciscan, but we need to posit Francis’s appearance in order to make sense of the demon’s speech. So we’re left with half-and-half as the woman behind me mentioned. I don’t find that problematic. Half-truth, half-falsity seems to pervade all of Guido’s words. The ambiguity and rhetorical sophistry is what one would expect in a person guilty of fraudulent counsel. So I tend to agree with much of what you’ve said, and although I can’t speak for him, I surmise that Old Hut would too, if he were here.”

Julia exhaled slowly in relief, her fingers loosening their iron grip on the lectern. Her mind was bracing for his next words, but she felt vindicated by the professor’s remarks.

Professor Wodehouse glanced at his handwritten notes before continuing.

“You’ve provided an interpretation that’s certainly as good a theory as any, and better than those accounts that would attribute ignorance or injustice to Francis. But let’s be clear. It’s speculation.”

“Yes, it is.” Julia’s voice was low but determined. “I’d welcome suggestions of alternative interpretations.”

Professor Wodehouse shrugged. “Who knows why Francis did anything? Perhaps he was supposed to meet another soul in Assisi and was merely waylaid by an opportunistic fraud.”

At this, the audience laughed.

“I do, however, have a question.” He replaced his glasses on his face and looked down at his notes. “I’d like you to say more about the agreement that existed between Boniface and Guido. You rather glossed over that part in your paper, and I think the matter merits more attention.”

And with that, he sat down.

Julia nodded, frantically trying to gather her thoughts.

“My thesis was on the interpretation of Francis’s appearance, not Guido’s sin. Nevertheless, I’m happy to expand on that part of the paper.”

Julia began a short but fluid summary of Guido’s encounter with Pope Boniface VIII and its aftermath, which seemed to satisfy the professor. However, she mentally made note of the fact that he’d thought her paper lacking in that respect. She’d attend to his worry in her revision of the paper for potential publication.

A few more questions were asked and answered, and then the moderator thanked Julia. A round of applause that bordered on the enthusiastic filled the room, and Julia noticed several older professors nodding at her.

When the moderator invited everyone to pause for tea and coffee, Julia watched in surprise as Professor Pacciani took Christa by the hand and led her away.

Julia walked over to Gabriel, eagerly searching his face.

He smiled and linked their pinky fingers surreptitiously.

“That’s my smart girl,” he whispered.

Chapter Sixteen

Julia made the rounds during the coffee break, speaking to Professor Wodehouse and others about her paper. It was almost universally acknowledged that her research was very good and that she’d handled the questions admirably. In fact, more than one conferencegoer remarked that they were surprised she was only a graduate student and not a junior professor.

While his wife enjoyed her academic triumph, Gabriel strolled outside, sipping his coffee in the Oxford sunshine.

He was grateful for the fine weather and lack of rain. He was also grateful that Julia’s presentation had gone so well. Yes, she’d appeared nervous, and as always, there was room for improvement. But given her status as a doctoral freshman, many of the attendees had been duly impressed. He silently offered a prayer of thanks.

Midprayer, Paul Norris approached him, his hands jammed into his pockets.

They made patient, polite small talk at first. Then Gabriel noticed that Paul was regarding him with something akin to agitation.

“Is there a problem?” Gabriel’s voice was deceptively soft. Soft like Scotch.

“No.” Paul removed his hands from his pockets. He was about to reenter the college when he stopped.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.