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“I don’t feel like throwing up.” Not yet, at least. “And I never drink at parties—whatever Charlotte’s told you.”
“She hasn’t told me anything,” said Gideon.
I had to laugh. “No, sure. And she never claimed that Lesley and I have been out with all the boys in our class and almost all the boys in the class above, did she?”
“Why would she say a thing like that?”
Let’s think … maybe because she’s a sly, mean, red-haired witch? I tried to scratch my head, but my fingers couldn’t get through the pile of ringlets. So I pulled out a hairpin and scratched with that instead. “Oh, I’m sorry, really! You can say what you like about Charlotte, but I’m sure she would never even have sniffed that punch.”
“You’re right,” said Gideon, and suddenly he smiled. “Although then those people would have never have heard Andrew Lloyd Webber two hundred years ahead of time, and that would have been a real pity.”
“Right … although tomorrow I’ll probably want to sink into the ground with shame.” I buried my face in my hands. “In fact, come to think of it, that’s how I feel right now.”
“Good,” said Gideon. “It means the effect of the alcohol is wearing off. One question, by the way: what did you want a hairbrush for?”
“I wanted it as a substitute for a mike,” I murmured through my fingers. “Oh, my God! I’m so horrible.”
“But you have a pretty voice,” said Gideon. “Even I liked it, and I told you I hate musicals.”
“Then how come you can play songs from them so well?” I put my hands in my lap and looked at him. “You were amazing! Is there anything you can’t do?” Good heavens, I heard myself sounding like a groupie.
“No. Go ahead, you’re welcome to think me some kind of god!” He was grinning now. “It’s rather sweet of you! Come on, we’ll be traveling back soon now. We’d better get into position.”
I got to my feet, trying to stand up as straight as possible.
“Over here,” Gideon told me. “Don’t look so remorseful. Basically the evening was a success. It went according to plan, if not exactly as planned. Hey, keep standing.” He put both hands on my waist and pulled me close, until my back was against his chest. “You can lean on me if you like.” He paused and then said, “Sorry I was so nasty to you just now.”
“All forgotten.” That wasn’t strictly true, but it was the first time I’d heard Gideon apologize for his behavior, and maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that its effects were wearing off, but I was very touched.
We stood there for a while in silence, still looking ahead in the flickering candlelight. Like the light, the shadows between the columns seemed to be moving, casting dark patterns on the floor and the church roof. “That man Alastair,” I said. “Why does he hate the count so much? Is it something personal?”
Gideon began playing with one of the ringlets falling on my shoulder. “Depends how you look at it. The organization that so pompously calls itself the Florentine Alliance has really been a kind of family firm for centuries. On his travels through time in the sixteenth century, the count happened by chance to meet the Conte di Madrone’s family in Florence. So … well, let’s say they entirely mistook his abilities. The Conte di Madrone’s religious views rejected the mere idea of time travel. In addition, there seems to have been some kind of trouble involving his daughter—anyway, the Conte was sure he was confronting a demon, and he felt that God had given him a mission to rid the world of what he thought was spawned by hell.” Suddenly Gideon’s voice was very close to my ear, and before he went on, his lips touched my neck. “When the Conte di Madrone died, his son inherited that mission, and his own son after him, and so on. Lord Alastair is the last in a line of fanatically obsessed demon-hunters, if that’s the way to put it.”
“I see,” I said, which was not entirely true. But it did seem to explain a bit of what I’d recently seen and heard. “Er … at this moment, are you kissing me?”
“No, only almost,” murmured Gideon, with his lips just above my skin. “I mean, no way do I want to exploit the fact that you’re drunk and may be mistaking me for some kind of god right now. But it doesn’t come easy.…”
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his shoulder, and he held me closer.
“Like I said, you really don’t make things easy for me. You always give me the wrong sort of ideas in churches.…”
“There’s something you don’t know about me,” I said, with my eyes closed. “Sometimes I see … I can … well, sometimes I can see and hear people who’ve been dead a long time. And I can hear what they say. Like just now. I think the man I saw with Lord Alastair could have been that Italian Conte di Madrone.”
Gideon said nothing. He was probably wondering how he could most tactfully recommend me to see a good psychiatrist.
I sighed. I ought to have kept it to myself. Now, in addition to everything else, he must think me crazy.
“Here we go, Gwyneth,” he said, pushing me a little further off and turning me around so that I could look at him. It was too dark to see the expression on his face, but I could tell that he wasn’t smiling. “It would be a good thing if you could stay standing right here for the few seconds after I’ve gone. Ready?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“I’m letting go of you now,” he said, and at the same moment, he disappeared. I was alone in the church with all those dark shadows. But only a few seconds later, I registered the dizzy feeling inside me, and the shadows began going around in circles.
“There she is,” said Mr. George’s voice. I blinked. The church was brightly lit, and after the golden glow of candles in Lady Brompton’s salon, the halogen lighting was quite hard on the eyesight.
“Everything’s all right,” said Gideon, after scrutinizing me quickly. “You can close your medical bag, Dr. White.”
Dr. White growled something I couldn’t make out. In fact there were all kinds of instruments on the altar that you’d be more likely to see on a trolley in an operating room.
