Gabriel's Rapture

“That avenue of inquiry is also being explored,” David snapped.

Soraya chuckled. “Fine, fine. What are the alleged favors?”

“A high mark in a seminar in which the professor was the instruc-

tor, financial payments in the form of a bursary, and the procurement of an established, retired scholar to direct Miss Mitchell’s thesis.”

Soraya waved a dismissive hand, almost yawning in boredom. “I

reiterate the fact that my client’s academic merits speak for themselves.

And who, pray tell, is the unfortunate professor?”

David watched Julia closely. “Gabriel Emerson.”

Soraya smiled widely. “Your complainant has a wild imagination.

He or she must be majoring in fiction. Did Professor Emerson file

the complaint?”

Julia held her breath, horrified, as she waited for David’s answer.

He tapped the papers in front of him with the end of his pen.

“No, he did not.”

“Well, what was his testimony when you spoke with him?”

“We intend to speak with Professor Emerson once we have gath-

ered more information. Our protocols dictate that faculty members

who are a party to a complaint are brought in last, not first.” Professor Martin spoke for the first time, his voice firm but calm.

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Gabriel’s Rapture

Soraya fixed him with a stern eye. “So in the hierarchy of the

university, female graduate students are preyed upon first? And only afterward the professor, whose testimony could exonerate her, is

approached? I’m shocked that you would drag my client in here

without the courtesy of even attempting to speak to the other person involved. This entire matter could have been put to rest with two

telephone calls. This is a disgrace.”

David began to protest but Soraya interrupted him again. “Before

we end this meeting, who is the complainant?”

“The complainant is a person who I believe is known to Miss

Mitchell. Her name is Christa Peterson.”

Soraya received the news impassively, but Julia’s eyes flew to

Professor Martin’s. It was one quick movement, but he noticed it

and stared straight back at her with knitted brows.

Blushing, she looked down at her hands.

David held up two pieces of paper.

“Based upon our preliminary investigation, it seems that Professor Emerson awarded a very high mark to Miss Mitchell in his graduate

seminar. She was awarded the M. P. Emerson bursary, which was

mysteriously donated by an American foundation after Miss Mitchell began the program. And Professor Martin has provided me with Miss

Mitchell’s academic file, in which it shows that Katherine Picton

was approached by Professor Emerson last semester to replace him

as Miss Mitchell’s thesis supervisor.”

He passed a file over to Soraya.

“As you will see, Miss Harandi, that file contains additional evi-

dence provided by Miss Peterson. It includes a series of photographs and news clippings from a Florentine newspaper showing Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson at a public event in Italy, where Professor Emerson is quoted as saying that Miss Mitchell is his fiancée.

“And there is a sworn statement by an employee of a local club

who claims to possess security videos that show personal interactions between Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson at that club during

the time that she was his student. These interactions appear to be of an intimate nature and certainly go well beyond the appropriate boundaries of a professional relationship.”

He paused for effect. “It’s possible that the evidence provided by the complainant could be proof of more than one infraction. So for 185

Sylvain Reynard

this reason, we are eager to hear Miss Mitchell’s side of the story. So I ask you again, did you receive special academic favors from your professor because of your personal relationship with him?”

“Dr. Aras, I am astonished that a man of your stature would be

persuaded to give credence to a complaint that not only strains credulity but is supported by the very flimsiest of evidence. Newspaper clippings from an Italian tabloid? Videos that cannot be authenti-cated? There is no prima facie case. None whatsoever.”

“Don’t question my competency, Miss Harandi.” The Dean’s swift

temper got the best of him. “I’ve been working in higher education since you were in kindergarten.”

Soraya raised her eyebrows at him and closed the file ceremoni-

ously, tossing it onto his desk.

“What kind of interest does the complainant have in making

such an allegation?”

David glared.

Soraya looked from the Dean to the chair and back again. “Per-

haps the complainant’s true target is Professor Emerson. Why am I

suddenly getting the impression that my client is collateral damage?”

“Any other matters are outside your purview, Miss Harandi.”

The Dean’s chin began to wobble. “Even if this office would prefer to ignore the supporting information filed with the complaint, we

can’t. The newspaper article demonstrates that Miss Mitchell and

Professor Emerson were romantically linked only days after the end of the semester. It appears to demonstrate the existence of a prior inappropriate relationship, if nothing else.”

“I can’t believe you summoned my client to listen to these bizarre accusations. The complainant is clearly unstable and living in a fantasy world. If she has an issue with Professor Emerson, she needs to pursue a complaint against him, not my client. Given what I have seen here today, I will advise my client that she is well within her rights to file a harassment complaint against Miss Peterson and to see that she is investigated for making a fraudulent and defamatory charge.”

The Dean cleared his throat noisily. “If your position is such

that Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson engaged in a consensual

relationship, I will gladly make note of such a declaration and we can dispense with the charade. When did this consensual relationship begin?”

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Gabriel’s Rapture

“The only charade is the one your office is performing, in which

you attempt to appear to be investigating an academic infraction but rather are engaging in some kind of prurient sexual McCarthyism.

This meeting is over.” Soraya closed her briefcase dramatically and stood to her feet.

“Just a minute, Miss Harandi. If you had troubled yourself to

take a closer look at Miss Mitchell’s academic file, you’d have seen a form signed by Professor Picton and dated in October, declaring

that she would be supervising Miss Mitchell’s thesis because Professor Emerson had a conflict of interest. What reason would he have

to approach Professor Picton other than giving Miss Mitchell what

she wanted? What kind of conflict of interest could there be, other than an inappropriate relationship?”

Julia opened her mouth to answer him, to reveal the fact that

she had known Gabriel since she was a teenager, but Soraya grabbed her forearm in a death grip.

“You sound as if you have already taken a position on the com-

plaint, Dr. Aras. Perhaps your letter would have been less disingenuous if you had stated that your true purpose in this meeting was to poison the well against my client so you could punish her.”

The Dean appeared to swallow his growing anger. He gestured

to the paperwork in front of him. “The complaint alleges that aca-

demic favors were granted to Miss Mitchell for reasons other than

academic performance.

“The complainant testifies that Professor Emerson and Miss

Mitchell engaged in a lover’s quarrel in front of a room full of witnesses during one of his seminars. Shortly after that embarrassing public display, Professor Picton signed the paperwork that allowed her to become Miss Mitchell’s thesis advisor. Quid pro quo. Quod erat demonstrandum.”

“Nemo me impune lacessit, Dr. Aras.” Soraya smiled at Professor Martin, before turning a stony gaze in David’s direction. “I started studying Latin when I was in kindergarten.

“The complaint is malicious and false. If the Provost decides to

lay charges on the basis of this complaint, I will pursue other avenues of remedy against the complainant and this office.”

Julia watched as the Dean gripped his pen rather tightly. “Are

you sure this is the position you wish to take, Miss Mitchel ? An

argument for leniency can be made if you cooperate.”

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Sylvain Reynard

“You’ve basically called my client a whore and accused her of

sleeping with a professor to gain a preferment. I don’t need to remind you of the laws regarding defamation of character. I believe we found ourselves in a similar situation last year. We don’t give in to threats.”

“We do not threaten, we adjudicate. We will be interviewing

witnesses and other relevant parties and then we will repeat this

conversation. Jeremy, have you any further comments or questions?”

Professor Martin measured Julianne with his gaze, then shook

his head dispassionately.

The Dean closed his file. “Since you refuse to answer my ques-

tions, Miss Mitchell, you are dismissed.”

Soraya nodded at the two men and escorted Julia out of the room.

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Chapter 21

“That meeting was a confederacy of dunces,” announced Soraya, leaning against the banquette in the bar of the Windsor Arms

Hotel.

Julia nodded, wondering if she was Ignatius Reilly, the protagonist of that book, or whether Gabriel was Ignatius and she was Myrna

Minkoff.

The bartender delivered their martinis with a smile and a few

dishes of tapas, “on the house.” He winked at Soraya, who was a

regular, and returned to the bar.

She took a long sip of her drink and settled herself in her seat.

“My advice is to file a harassment complaint against Christa Peterson, citing malicious intent, as soon as possible. There are provisions in the university’s academic policies that are supposed to protect students from fraudulent accusations.”

“I’m not sure I want to antagonize her.”

Soraya laughed darkly. “What more could she do to you? Boil

your bunny?”

Julia cringed.

“Listen, a complaint against her would be a shot across the bow.

We don’t have to follow through on it, but it would give her and the Dean something to think about. You told me that she accused Gabriel of sexual harassment. Don’t you want to strike back?”

“I want all of this to end. I don’t understand how she can file a

complaint against me when my situation has nothing to do with her.”

“Based upon what we learned today, I think it’s pretty clear what

she’s doing. She accused you of sleeping your way to the top, and

she accused your boyfriend of trying to make the same arrangement

Sylvain Reynard

with her. It’s clever, really, because she doesn’t need her complaints to be successful in order to take both of you out at the same time.”

Julia blanched. “What do you mean?”

“She’s forcing you into admitting that you had a relationship

with your professor. Then the university can hit you and him with a fraternization charge. She’s either bril iant or she’s had some coaching.”

Julia traced a finger up and down the side of her martini glass,

fighting the urge to be sick.

Soraya sipped her cocktail once more. “I need you to make a list

of people the Dean might interview and anything they might say that would be damaging. The evidence he has is slight, but if you put it all together, it could be enough to convince a tribunal that Gabriel gifted you with favors because of your relationship.”

Julia began sawing on her lower lip with her teeth.

“Don’t worry, yet. Let’s focus on beating this complaint and worry about everything else later. The administration is very cautious when it comes to matters involving faculty members because of their union.

The university will continue the investigation until they’re sure, and then they’ll pounce.

“In the meantime, let me file a complaint against this Christa

Peterson character. From now on, you and Gabriel need to stay out

of the public eye. David will be investigating both of you this week, and we should assume he’ll interview everyone who has come in

contact with both of you.”

Julia shook her head, a wave of nausea crashing over her as she

thought of other faculty and students from the department being

asked to give testimony in front of the Dean.

“All right, Soraya. File the complaint. I don’t think it will accomplish anything other than to antagonize her, but you’re the lawyer.”

“Excellent.” Soraya smiled widely and downed the rest of her

dirty martini.

P

190

Gabriel’s Rapture

Later that afternoon Julia was exiting the elevator on Gabriel’s

floor. She passed his French Canadian neighbor as she walked down

the long hallway, and they exchanged a brief but friendly nod. Then she let herself in with her key.

“Julianne? Is that you?”

“Yes. How was your meeting with the Chair?” She quickly re-

moved her coat and boots and was ready to walk into the living room when Gabriel met her in the front hall.

“I want to hear about your meeting first.” He placed his hands

on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“They asked me a few questions and let me go.”

He let out an expletive and pulled her into his arms. “If anything ever happened to you…”

She returned his embrace, exhaling slowly against his dress shirt.

“It was Christa Peterson.”

“What?” He pulled back so he could see her face.

“Christa accused me of exchanging sexual favors with you for

academic benefits.”

“What?”

While Julia hurriedly described the nature of the complaint and

David and Soraya’s exchanges, Gabriel’s expression grew darker and more dangerous. When she quoted David’s final words, he took a

large step away from her.

He reared back and thrust his fist through the wall. Then, for

good measure, he withdrew, dragging fragments of plaster and dust

with him, before punching through the wall twice more in rapid

succession.

Julia stood, open-mouthed, as Gabriel trembled before her, eyes

closed and chest heaving. Part of her wanted to run, but she found herself rooted to the spot.

No matter how much she wanted to run at that moment, the

sight of a few drops of blood dripping from his knuckles and onto

the hardwood floor captured her attention.

“What have you done to yourself?” She looked up into his blazing

eyes and pulled him toward the guest washroom. “Sit down.” Once

he was situated, she examined his knuckles and found the skin had

split in more than one place.

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Sylvain Reynard

“You might need stitches,” she said. “I’m worried you’ve broken

something.”

Gabriel opened and closed his hand several times, wordlessly

demonstrating that his hand wasn’t broken.

“I think you should have an x-ray, just in case.”

His only response was to rub at his eyes with his uninjured hand

and heave a deep, shuddering sigh.

She opened the medicine cabinet and removed a few first aid

items. “I’ll try to clean this, but you should go to the hospital.”

“I’ll be fine.” His voice was tight.

Using tweezers, she removed the bits of plaster from his wounds

and cleaned them with iodine. Gabriel barely flinched as she bathed his knuckles, and she noticed that he was shaking, possibly from

residual anger.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” Julia whispered.

“I nearly brought a wall down, and you’re apologizing to me?”

“I should have told you when you were sitting down. Or after

you’d had a drink.”

He shook his head. “Then I really would have knocked the wall

down. I’m too angry to drink.”

Julia continued her first aid until the wound was completely

clean. When she was finished, she ghosted her lips over his bandaged knuckles. “I’m so sorry.”

Gabriel caught her hand in his. “Stop it. I seem to remember

another time in this washroom when I was the one playing doctor.”

“I was mortified. I wanted to make a good impression and then

I smashed your crystal and sprayed your nice shirt with Chianti.”

“It was an accident. I had to work up the courage to put iodine

on your cuts. I was afraid of hurting you. And that was before I…”

He closed his eyes and rubbed at them again. “What happened

to you today is my fault. I should have protected you.”

“Gabriel,” Julia said, her voice a warning. She leaned over and

took his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t.

We knew the risks when we got involved. I don’t care what they do

to me.” Her voice broke on the words, but she spoke them anyway.

“I don’t care about Harvard or my PhD. I don’t want to lose you.”

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Gabriel’s Rapture

A strange fire illuminated Gabriel’s eyes. “Not even Hell could

keep me from you,” he whispered.

The lovers embraced desperately, drawing comfort from each

other’s very skin.

“Are you going to tel me what happened with Professor Martin?”

Gabriel took Julia’s hand and led her into the master bathroom

where he began drawing a bath. “You relax, I’ll talk.”

“I’m not in the mood for a bubble bath. I kind of feel like taking a crow bar to something.”

(Something appalling and poorly made. Like domestic beer.)

“That’s why you need a bubble bath. I have to preserve the walls

of my apartment.”

Julia undressed and settled herself amongst the suds. He regarded

her intensely — the way her long hair was pinned up haphazardly on top of her head, the gentle contours of her breasts floating amidst the water like two white, pink tipped lilies, the way she bit at her lip until she realized he was staring at it.

“Do you remember the first time we bathed together?” she asked

as she watched him settle his tall form on a low stool.

“I’m not likely to forget it.”

“You were worried I was hurting, and you carried me to the tub.”

She smiled shyly. “That was one of the kindest things you’ve ever

done for me.”

“Thank you.” He gave her a peck on a cheek. “But I can’t reminisce about happy things with you. I’m far too angry for that. I’d like to rip out David Aras’s tongue and strangle him with it.”

“What about Professor Martin?”

Gabriel paused, clearing his throat. “If Christa’s complaint had

stood alone, he would have interviewed me, perhaps spoken to a few others around the department, and concluded that her charge was

fabricated. Her complaint against you, however, complicates things.”

“What did your lawyer say?”

“I decided to meet with Jeremy alone.”

Julia sat bolt upright, the water sloshing around her. “What?

I thought you told your lawyer about the complaint so he would

accompany you.”

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Sylvain Reynard

Gabriel leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Jeremy hired me. I consider him a friend. I thought it was more

likely that we could cut through the bullshit and deal with the issue if I didn’t bring my lawyer.”

Julia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What did he say?”

“Christa claims that I tried to initiate a sexual relationship with her on a number of different occasions, including meetings that we had on and off campus. She mentioned our interactions at Starbucks and at Lobby.” His eyes shifted to Julia’s.

“She’s also accusing me of punishing her by rejecting her thesis

proposal and threatening to have her dismissed from the PhD pro-

gram. She claims that after she spurned me, I made her life hell.”

“But it’s all lies. She was the one harassing you.”

“Exactly, and I said as much. Jeremy was quite cross. He told me

that I should have come to him immediately and filed a complaint.

Obviously, my claim is not very credible at this point, but there are a couple of things that Christa did not take into consideration.”

“Such as?”

“Her academic file. Jeremy and I had at least two discussions

about her poor progress over the course of last semester. He was well aware of the fact that she was struggling. Notes from those discussions, along with copies of her work, are in her file. Also, Paul was present during some of my interactions with Christa. I suggested

that Jeremy speak with him, along with Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Paul was with me in Starbucks the day you met with Chris-

ta. She told us she was planning on persuading you to take her to

Lobby — that she was going to be exchanging more than names with

you that evening.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“I forgot about that conversation, or I would have mentioned it

earlier. Paul and I were having coffee and Christa came in before you arrived. She was bragging about how she was going to seduce you.”

Gabriel stroked his chin, deep in thought. “And Paul heard her

say this?”

“Yes,” said Julia, fighting a smile. “I guess the Angelfucker might turn out to be a guardian angel.”

Gabriel scowled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. What else

did she say?”

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Gabriel’s Rapture

“Not much. We saw you meet with Christa, but we were too

far away to hear what you were saying. Her body language seemed

pretty obvious. She was trying to flirt with you, and you scolded her.

I could tell Professor Martin that.”

“Absolutely not. You’re too involved as it is.” He scratched at

his chin once again. “Jeremy asked that I not speak to Paul about

Christa. The situation is a bit touchy because Paul is working for me, but Jeremy agreed to talk to him. It would be best if you didn’t speak to Paul about this, either. The less said on the topic the better.”

“He doesn’t like Christa. One of the first things he ever said to

me was that she wanted to become Mrs. Emerson. He knows she

was after you.”

Gabriel grimaced. “I reminded Jeremy that I approved Christa’s

dissertation proposal back in December, after giving her numerous

chances to fix it. Let’s hope that when he talks to Paul, he’s able to grasp a clear picture of what actually happened.”

Julia closed her eyes, resting her head back in the bathtub. She

knew that they could rely on Paul to tell the truth. Despite his an-tipathy to Professor Emerson, he wouldn’t give credence to Christa’s false allegations.

Gabriel stood up. “There’s one other thing I need to tell you.”

“What’s that?” Julia asked, eyes still closed.

“Jeremy asked if we were involved. And I said — yes.”

She opened her eyes, staring up at him. “What?”

“I told him that we didn’t get involved until the Christmas break.”

Gabriel’s expression grew tense.

“Did he believe you?”

“He seemed to, but he was angry. He told me I should have come

to him immediately. He said that he was obligated to report me to

the Dean for failing to follow university policy.”

“Oh, no.” Julia reached for Gabriel’s hand. “What are we going

to do?”

“He said that because of our other troubles, he isn’t going to

muddy the waters — for now. But he was adamant in telling me that

he wasn’t going to cover things up.”

Gabriel leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Don’t worry about Jer-

emy. I’ll handle him. While you’re finishing your bath, I’ll update my lawyer so we can plan our next move.” He smiled and turned to leave.

195

Sylvain Reynard

“Gabriel, there is one more thing. Well, two more things, actually.

“Soraya is filing a complaint against Christa, on my behalf, argu-

ing that she targeted me maliciously.”

“Good. Maybe that will cause her to rethink her actions.”

“And in my meeting with Nicole yesterday she mentioned that

you weren’t in therapy anymore.”

Gabriel saw Julia’s expression, one of irritation mixed with sad-

ness, and his shoulders slumped.

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Chapter 22

In the grand scheme of things, Gabriel’s failure to mention the

fact that he’d stopped going to therapy was unimportant. Or so

Julia believed. They argued about it briefly, but both of them were too worried about their troubles with the university to do more than that.

Gabriel received a terse note from Jeremy the following week,

indicating that he’d interviewed both Mrs. Jenkins and Paul. Other than that, he and Julia didn’t receive any communication from the

university.

David Aras spent his Friday night alone in the office of his house with a bottle of Jameson whiskey. It was not unusual for him to do so. In his position as Dean of Graduate Studies he often brought

work home. On this particular evening he found himself mired in a

very tricky, very sensitive situation.

Miss Peterson’s harassment complaint had been challenged by the

testimony of more than one witness. However, the academic fraud

complaint against Miss Mitchell had alerted him to a possible case of fraternization between Julia and Professor Emerson. The problem was that the evidence was contradictory.

According to the information passed on by Professor Martin,

Paul Norris had painted a glowing picture of Miss Mitchell and her character. As the whiskey burned his throat, David wondered if all women Mr. Norris came in contact with had mysteriously sprouted

wings or if he simply had a weakness for young women from Selin-

sgrove, Pennsylvania.

(Wherever the hell that was.)

According to Mr. Norris and Mrs. Jenkins, Miss Mitchell was

a timid young woman who was disliked by Professor Emerson. Mr.

Sylvain Reynard

Norris went further to claim that the professor had fought openly

with her in his seminar.

Subsequent to the confrontation in class, Emerson had ap-

proached Professor Picton to supervise Miss Mitchell’s thesis, citing the fact that she was a friend of his family as the reason why he could no longer continue to supervise her. Here is where David was puzzled.

Professor Emerson hadn’t objected to Miss Mitchell’s admission

to the program, knowing that he was the only professor who directed theses on Dante. If there was such an obvious conflict of interest, why hadn’t he objected? Or declared the conflict of interest to Professor Martin at the beginning of the semester?

The files on Professor Emerson and Miss Mitchell did not make

sense. And David did not like it when things did not make sense.

(For his universe was nothing if not sensical.)

As he pondered the evidence, he inserted a flash drive into his

computer. He opened the single folder on the drive and began scan-

ning through the emails that had been culled obligingly from Professor Emerson’s account by someone in the Information Technology

office. He adjusted the parameters to include only those messages

that had been sent to or received from Miss Mitchell, Miss Peterson, Mr. Norris, and Professor Picton.

In a few minutes, David found something that surprised him.

On his screen, were emails that had been sent before the end of October 2009. The first email had been written by Professor Emerson

to Miss Mitchell:

Dear Miss Mitchell,

I need to speak to you concerning a matter of some urgency.

Please contact me as soon as possible. You may telephone

me at the following number: 416-555-0739 (cell).

Regards,

Prof. Gabriel O. Emerson,

Associate Professor

Department of Italian Studies/

Centre for Medieval Studies

University of Toronto

The second email was sent by Miss Mitchell to Professor Emerson

in response to his message:

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Gabriel’s Rapture

Dr. Emerson,

Stop harassing me.

I don’t want you anymore. I don’t even want to know you. If

you don’t leave me alone, I will be forced to file a harassment

complaint against you. And if you call my father, I will do just

that. Immediately.

If you think I’m going to let an insignificant thing like this drive me from the program, then you are very much mistaken. I

need a new thesis director, not a bus ticket home.

Regards,

Miss J. H. Mitchell,

Lowly Graduate Student,

On-Knees-More-Than-The-Average-Whore.

P.S. I will be returning the M. P. Emerson bursary next week.

Congratulations, Professor Abelard. No one has ever made me

feel as cheap as you did Sunday morning.

The Dean straightened in his chair. He read the two emails once

again, examining every word.

Although he had a vague memory of who Peter Abelard was, he

indulged his curiosity and Googled him. He clicked on a reputable

biography and began reading.

Quod erat demonstrandum, he thought.

199

Chapter 23

Downtown, Jeremy Martin was reclining on his leather sofa, eyes

closed, listening to Beethoven while his wife got ready for bed.

As the Chair of Italian Studies, he was responsible for a number of people, including faculty and students. Gabriel’s revelation that he was dating a former student troubled him.

He knew that Christa Peterson’s complaint was malicious, but

like any other complainant, she should be taken seriously. Given

the fact that she was correct in surmising that Gabriel and Julianne were involved, it was quite possible that her allegation that Julianne had received special favors was also correct. Gabriel, his friend and colleague, had tried to keep the relationship secret. Now the Dean was asking questions, placing Jeremy in a hell of a bind.

Over the course of his career in the United States and now in

Toronto, he’d seen too many bright and promising graduate students become the playthings of their professors. His wife, for example,

had been a graduate student in linguistics at Columbia University, only to have her career ruined by her professor/lover after she tired of his alcoholism. It had taken years for Danielle’s wounds to heal, and even now she would have nothing to do with academia. Jeremy

didn’t want to see Julianne’s career come to a similar end.

On the other hand, he would not allow the rising star of his

faculty to be slandered and vilified for an infraction he hadn’t committed. If the Dean investigated Professor Emerson and Miss Mitchell further, Jeremy would do his damnedest to ensure that justice was

served. Failing that, he was determined to ensure that his depart-

ment was protected. Which is why he was horrified to find copies of letters addressed to Professor Emerson and Miss Mitchell with his

daily mail on the first Thursday in March.

Gabriel’s Rapture

Muttering expletives, he glanced at the contents quickly before

making a discreet call to one of his contacts in the Dean’s office. Half an hour later, he was placing a call to Professor Emerson’s home.

“Have you checked your snail mail today?”

Gabriel frowned. “No. Why?”

“Because I have a letter from the Dean indicating that you and

Julianne are being investigated for engaging in an inappropriate

relationship while she was your student.”

“Fuck,” said Gabriel.

“Exactly. Are you sitting down?”

“No.”

“Well, take a seat. I just got off the phone with a friend who

works in the Dean’s office. Julianne has filed a harassment complaint against Christa Peterson, pursuant to the allegations against her. In retaliation, Christa has threatened the university with a lawsuit over the fact that Julianne received preferential treatment because she slept with you. Christa’s allegations are now part of the investigation into you and Julianne.”

“That’s preposterous!”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is. It’s ridiculous.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Gabriel, because the university takes com-

plaints like this very seriously. The Provost’s office has ordered the Dean and two others to form a committee and investigate the allegations. You and Julianne are being summoned to appear before

them, together.”

Gabriel cursed. “Who else is on the committee?”

“My contact wouldn’t tel me. The good news is that the meeting

is only an investigatory hearing. Depending upon how the hearing

officers decide the matter, it could be referred to the Provost’s Office for charges to be laid, and then the two of you would have to appear before a disciplinary tribunal. I don’t need to explain to you how deep the shit would be at that point.”

“Why doesn’t the Dean simply meet with me? All of this could

be laid to rest in a few minutes.”

“I doubt that. Allegations and complaints are piling up and you’re at the center of all of them.”

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Sylvain Reynard

Gabriel’s heart almost stopped. “You think there are more al-

legations forthcoming?”

“I have my suspicions. But nothing has been confirmed.”

“Shit,” said Gabriel, rubbing his eyes roughly. “Just how much

trouble are we in?”

“If I were you, I’d stop thinking as a we and focus on I. That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”

“Just answer the question, please.”

Jeremy paused, flipping through the letters on his desk. “Since

there is some question about the integrity of your marking scheme

with respect to Julianne, the Dean has suspended her grade in your seminar. That means that her transcript will be incomplete until the matter is resolved either with a dismissal or a tribunal and its outcome.”

“She won’t graduate,” Gabriel whispered.

“It’s University policy to withhold a final grade until all academic infractions are dealt with.”

“So depending on how long this takes, she won’t be able to go

to Harvard.”

“If the matter is settled in her favor, they’ll let the grade stand and backdate her graduation. But by that time, I would assume

she’d lose her place at Harvard. Unless she can persuade them to

defer her admission.”

“Her admission was conditional on the satisfactory completion of

her MA. She can ask, but I don’t think she’s in a position to ask for a deferral. And if Harvard catches wind of this, they might withdraw their offer.”

“Then she’d better pray this matter is settled in time for her to

apply to graduate. And frankly, so should you. If you’re found guilty of academic fraud, the Provost can strip you of your tenure.”

“Fuck.” Gabriel slammed his hand down on his desk. “When

will we have to appear before the committee?”

“Thursday, March twenty-fifth.”

“That leaves them less than a month to sort everything out before

she needs to apply for graduation.”

“Academic procedures move at a glacial pace. You know that.”

He cleared his throat. “Aren’t you the slightest bit worried about your predicament?”

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“Not particularly,” Gabriel growled.

“Well, you should be. And what’s more, my primary concern

is you, although I would be sorry to see Julianne’s academic future threatened.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“And I’m not about to let one of my star professors be hung

out to dry.” Jeremy heaved a deep breath. “Under the policy you’re suspected of violating, you bear more responsibility than her. You’re under suspicion of evaluating a student with reference to a criterion that has nothing to do with academic merit.”

“That’s preposterous and you have the paper trail to prove it.”

“No, I don’t.” Jeremy began tapping his finger against the pages

in front of him. “I have a paper trail, but it’s incomplete. You didn’t notify me until recently that you were involved with her. Now my

boss is starting to ask questions. Do you have any idea how embar-

rassing this is for me? I look like I just fell off the turnip truck and have no idea what the hell is going on in my own department!”

Gabriel inhaled and exhaled slowly.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you fucked up, Gabriel, no matter how you look

at it. And I’m not about to jeopardize everything I’ve worked for to cover your ass.”

Professor Emerson was stunned into silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were dating her? I hired you, for

God’s sake.”

“Because I didn’t think it was anyone’s business who I was sleep-

ing with.”

“You can’t be serious.” Jeremy muttered a curse. “You know the

rules governing relationships with students. Since you kept your

relationship secret from me and everyone else, you look guilty.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. “Jeremy, can I count on your support

or not?”

“I’ll do what I can, but that might not be much. If I were you, I’d notify the Faculty Association and make sure you bring your union

representative to the hearing.”

“This is a witch hunt that was started by a disgruntled graduate

student. Christa Peterson is trying to have me fired.”

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“You might be right. But before you get on your soapbox, realize

that you violated university policy. That makes it much easier for the administration to infer that you’re guilty of other infractions. And by the way, I received an email from the Dean asking me about the M. P.

Emerson bursary. For your sake, I hope your fingerprints aren’t on it.”

Gabriel let loose with a string of curses. Jeremy interrupted him.

“If you don’t have a lawyer, my friend, now would be the time

to hire one.”

Gabriel muttered something and hung up the phone, walking

swiftly to his dining room to pour himself a drink.

P

Although Gabriel notified the Faculty Association of his situation, he declined their offer to accompany him to the hearing. John was

of the opinion that his legal acumen was far more threatening than that of the union, but he was willing to admit that should the matter result in charges, it would be appropriate at that point to involve them.

John’s advice was to stonewall, although he urged Gabriel to

coach Julianne on what not to say. Failing that, he had every intention of arguing that she was an unstable, impressionable student who had become fixated on Gabriel at a young age and had seduced him.

Hoping that his client would fol ow instructions, John didn’t

bother to explain this strategy.

Soraya’s advice paral eled that of John. She told Julia to say nothing and if pressed, to blame Gabriel for everything. Soraya almost cackled with glee at the prospect of arguing that he was the older, rakish professor who had seduced an innocent young woman with

promises of a long and happy future. When Julia declared that she

wanted to tell the truth, Soraya told her that that was a very bad idea. She planned to bring up Gabriel’s promiscuous reputation and brushes with law enforcement.

Like John, she anticipated a cooperative client and thus didn’t

bother articulating the details of her strategy.

The night before the hearing, Julia was awakened mid-dream by

the sound of something tapping against her apartment window. At

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first, she thought she was still dreaming. When the sound repeated, this time more loudly, she exited her bed and pulled aside the curtain.

There, standing with his nose almost pressed against the glass, was Gabriel. He looked slightly wild, eyes frantic, wearing his beret and his winter coat, standing knee-deep in a snowdrift.

She quickly unlocked the window and stood aside as a gust of

frozen air whooshed past him with his entrance into the room. He

closed the window soundly, locked it, and drew the curtain.

“Gabriel, what are you — ”

She wasn’t given the chance to finish her question as he wrapped

her in his arms. She smelled the Scotch before she tasted it, as he pressed his lips to hers. His lips were freezing, it was true, but his mouth and tongue were warm and inviting. And the heat of his

kiss, which was deep and sensual, began to blossom across her skin.

“Are you drunk? What happened?”

He pulled away, but only for a moment, so he could divest himself

of his hat and coat. Then he was embracing her once again, tracing icy fingers up and down her arms, unbuttoning her pajama top and

slipping a hand inside to cradle her breast.

He moved her to the bed as he pulled his shirt out of his trousers, watching her slip off her pajamas as he carelessly dropped everything to the floor. Within an eye blink they were naked and he was pul ing her into his arms, tugging her legs around his hips. They’d never been this quick to undress and to love.

As he walked her to the closed door and pressed her back against

it, his movements grew frantic and desperate. His cold fingers teased her while his mouth trapped her breast, sucking and nipping.

She was crying out already, still shocked at his speechless fervor.

A few moments later she was distracted by the difference in

temperature between their bodies: the taut, hard coldness of his chest pressing against her soft, warm curves. When he felt with thawing

fingertips that she was ready, he thrust up into her, grunting into the crook of her neck in preliminary satisfaction, his upper body relaxing slightly at the feel of her. There was no space between their bodies or air between their skin.

Julia moaned appreciatively at the sensation of being one with

her beloved. Her hands immediately slid from his shoulders to his

hips, and she pulled at his lower back to encourage him forward.

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It was a cacophony of unembarrassed sounds and noises, made far

more animalistic by its lack of language and of course, the rhythmic bumping of Julia’s back against the heavy wooden door.

Their coupling was loud and fast, perhaps the most intense physi-

cal connection they’d ever had, topping even their sex against the wall in Florence. Soon they were exploding jointly into bliss, hearts racing and blood pumping, clutching one another and crying out.

Then finally, finally, they collapsed into a tangle of flesh and limb in limpid satisfaction on Julia’s narrow bed.

Gabriel was on top of her, but she would not let him move. He

shifted slightly to distribute his weight to the mattress, but he too was unwilling to break the contact of skin against skin.

She petted his hair and told him how much she loved him as he

buried his nose in the hollow of her throat, inhaling her scent. She told him that he didn’t need to drink, that he could talk to her, instead.

Gabriel sighed against her neck. “I am talking to you,” he

whispered, pressing insistent kisses across her shoulder. “You aren’t listening.”

Before Julia could argue, he began exploring her mouth. Further

discussion was silenced as he enticed her to join with his body once more.

When she awoke the next morning the apartment was quiet. In

fact, there was no sign of her evening visitor apart from an unlocked window and the scent of Gabriel and sex that clung to her body and the bed.

She searched the studio expecting a note, a message, something.

But there was nothing, not even an email. A creeping sense of dread spread over her.

P

Julia wore her hair long the next morning, fol owing Soraya’s

instructions, for it made her look sweet and innocent. At eleven o’

clock sharp she met her lawyer in the hallway outside the boardroom.

Gabriel and John were already there, huddled next to the wall and

talking in low, hurried tones. They were both dressed in dark suits 206

Gabriel’s Rapture

and white shirts. But the similarity ended there. Gabriel wore a bow tie. The green of his tie contrasted sharply with the blue of his eyes.

He made eye contact with her briefly, enough for her to notice

that he looked worried. He didn’t smile or beckon to her. He seemed content to keep his distance.

She wanted to go to him, but Soraya pulled her to sit on a low

bench just outside the door. Suddenly, the door swung open and a

large, angry looking rugby player strode into the hallway.

“Paul?” Julia stood up.

He stopped, surprised.

“Julia? Are you all right? Tell me it isn’t — ”

Mid-sentence and mid-stride Paul stopped as he saw the face

of Soraya, who was now standing behind her. He stared at the two

women, eyes wide and questioning at first, then narrowing. Mutter-

ing curses, he scowled and strode past both of them.

“Paul?” Julia called to him, but he disappeared down the stairs.

“Do you know him?” asked Soraya.

“He’s a friend.”

“Really?” Soraya seemed incredulous.

Julia turned to face her. “Why? Do you know him?”

“He filed a complaint last year against one of my clients. That’s

when I made an enemy of the Dean.”

It took a moment for the import of Soraya’s revelation to sink

into Julia’s brain. But when it did, she sat down slowly.

Soraya was Professor Singer’s attorney? What have I gotten myself into?

Her answer to that question was interrupted by the Dean’s as-

sistant, Meagan, who announced that the hearing officers would

prefer to interview Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson, together.

After a quick consultation with their lawyers, Gabriel and Julia

entered the boardroom, followed by John and Soraya. As soon as they arranged themselves on opposite sides of the aisle, Dr. Aras spoke.

As was his practice, he introduced himself and the other members

of the committee, Professors Tara Chakravartty and Robert Mwangi.

“Dr. Tara Chakravartty, Vice-President of Diversity.” Professor

Chakravartty was a beautiful and petite woman of Indian descent,

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with dark eyes and long, straight black hair. She was dressed in a black suit with a large persimmon-colored scarf swathed like a sari around her torso. She too, smiled at Julia, in between withering glances and the occasional scowl in David’s direction.

“Dr. Robert Mwangi, Vice-President of Student Affairs.” Professor

Mwangi was a Kenyan Canadian who wore wire-rimmed spectacles

and a button down shirt with no jacket and no tie. He was the most casually dressed of the four of them and the most obviously friendly.

He smiled at Julia, and she smiled back.

The Dean proceeded with his opening remarks.

“Miss Mitchell, Professor Emerson, you have been notified by

letter as to why your presence was required. Pursuant to our investigation of the allegation of academic misconduct against you, Miss Mitchell, we have talked to Professor Picton, Miss Peterson, Mrs.

Jenkins, Professor Jeremy Martin, and Mr. Paul Norris.

“During the course of our investigation, several facts emerged,

facts that have been corroborated by more than one witness.” The

Dean stared at Gabriel, pursing his lips. “For this reason, the Provost’s office ordered this committee be formed to investigate matters further.

“The facts that have come to light so far are as follows: first, that a public argument with possible personal overtones took place between Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson during his graduate seminar

on or about October twenty-eighth, two thousand and nine.

“Second, that on or about October thirty-first, Professor Picton

agreed to supervise Miss Mitchell’s MA thesis at the urging of Professor Emerson, who later notified Professor Martin about the change.

Professor Emerson claimed that the switch was necessary due to a

conflict of interest, namely, that Miss Mitchell was a friend of his family. Paperwork was filed in the School of Graduate Studies in November to effect this change.

“Third, on December tenth, Professor Emerson gave a public lec-

ture in Florence, Italy, to which he was accompanied by Miss Mitchell.

Over the course of the evening, he introduced Miss Mitchell as his fiancée. These facts are substantiated in print and in photographs, and they have also been corroborated by a Professor Pacciani who

was present at the event.” The Dean held up a piece of paper that

appeared to be a hard copy of an email.

Gabriel glared darkly at the mention of Pacciani, mumbling an

expletive under his breath.

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The Dean fixed his gaze on Gabriel. “Did Miss Mitchell harass

you into participating in an amorous relationship with her?”

Julia nearly fell off her chair.

All eyes in the room focused on Gabriel, whose color deepened.

His lawyer began whispering furiously in his ear but Gabriel waved him aside.

“Absolutely not.”

“Very well. Are you currently engaged in an amorous relationship

with Miss Mitchell?”

“Dr. Aras, you’ve offered no evidence of any policy infractions here.

All you’ve offered is a sketchy timeline that is open to interpretation and tabloid journalism from Italy. I wil not al ow you to railroad my client,” John complained.

“If your client has nothing to hide, then he should answer our

questions. When did the relationship between you, Professor Emerson, and your student begin?”

Before John could open his mouth to protest, Professor Chakra-

vartty interrupted. “I object to this line of questioning on the grounds that relationships between professors and students in the same department cannot be consensual. And I’d like my objection minuted.”

The Dean nodded at his assistant, Meagan, who was typing notes

furiously on her laptop. “Duly noted,” he huffed. “We’ll discuss that issue shortly. Professor Emerson?”

“With respect, Dr. Aras, my client is not obligated to respond

to supposition and speculation. Perhaps Miss Mitchell might take

a different view.” John cast a snide look at Soraya, then smiled innocently at the hearing officers.

“Very well. Miss Mitchell?”

Soraya glared at John before turning to face the committee.

“My client has already been subjected to a harassing experience

by the Dean’s office when she was forced to defend herself against a serious but entirely malicious complaint by another student. In view of the stress and emotional trauma that has already been inflicted on her, I ask you to direct your questions to Professor Emerson. He instigated the transfer of my client’s thesis supervision to Professor Picton, it’s his signature on the forms, and we have nothing to say on the matter.”

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Julia leaned over to protest in Soraya’s ear, but Soraya waved

her off.

Julia gritted her teeth.

“Ah. A classic prisoner’s dilemma emerges. I wonder if either of

you realize the outcome you are headed toward if you continue in

this manner.” Dr. Aras cleared this throat. “I can allow you a short recess in order for you to confer with your attorneys, Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson, but I expect you to answer our questions

expeditiously and truthfully.

“In the absence of any testimony at all, we reserve the right to

decide the matter for ourselves, based upon the evidence we have

been able to gather. And to refer the matter to the Provost’s office so he can lay charges, if that is our recommendation. You have five minutes.” The Dean’s voice was cold and dispassionate.

“Since relationships between professors and students in the same

department cannot be consensual, I move that we excuse Professor

Emerson so we can interview Miss Mitchell.” Professor Chakravartty gave Julia a sympathetic look. “Let me assure you that this is a safe space. There will be no reprisals from the Department of Italian Studies because of anything you disclose to us. If you’ve been a victim of sexual harassment, we can help you.”

Tara’s sympathy immediately morphed into disgust when she

glanced in Gabriel’s direction.

Julia quickly rose to her feet. “I wasn’t harassed by Professor

Emerson.”

Soraya clutched her arm, but Julia ignored her. So Soraya stood

beside her, waiting for the appropriate moment to interrupt and to object.

Gabriel began shaking his head in agitation, but Julia couldn’t

see him, fixated as she was on the hearing officers.

“We weren’t involved while I was his student. And our current

relationship is consensual.”

The room was silent for a moment, before the silence was broken

by the sounds of the hearing officers’ pens scratching against paper.

The Dean sat back in his chair, looking remarkably unsurprised.

This was Julia’s first indication that something had just gone very, very wrong. She sat down slowly, ignoring the hiss of Soraya’s voice in 210

Gabriel’s Rapture

her ear and turned to look at Gabriel. He stared straight ahead, but she knew he could feel her looking at him, she could tell by the set of his jaw. He crossed his arms angrily over his chest, his eyes fixed on the Dean’s like a cobra waiting to strike.

“Thank you, Miss Mitchell. So the relationship is amorous.” Dr.

Aras glanced in Gabriel’s direction before looking at Julia again.

“Since you’ve been so forthcoming, allow me a follow up question.

When did you purchase the airline ticket to Italy, knowing that you would be traveling with Professor Emerson?”

Julia gazed at the Dean blankly.

“Surely the tickets would have been reserved before December

eighth, which would place the purchase date squarely within the

semester. So prior to his submission of your grade, you must have

had a conversation about your intention to accompany him to Italy

as his guest. That seems problematic for the professor-student relationship, does it not?”

Julia opened her mouth to speak, but Soraya interrupted her.

“With respect, Dr. Aras, you’re speculating.”

“Actually, Miss Harandi, I’m making a reasonable inference of a

quid pro quo.” The Dean’s lips visibly thinned. “Moreover, I’m suggesting your client just perjured herself. She said she wasn’t involved with Professor Emerson last semester. Are we to believe that they

magically became involved the moment the semester ended?”

Julia inhaled loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. Across the

aisle, Gabriel’s anxiety was telegraphed by the way he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to hide them at his sides.

The Dean began to speak but he was interrupted by Professor

Mwangi. “Miss Mitchell, at this point I need to remind you of the

penalties for perjury and also for the violation of the non-fraternization policy of this University.” His calm and kind voice was a studied contrast to the Dean’s impatient directness.

“Perjury can result in expulsion or serious sanctions. A viola-

tion of the non-fraternization policy can jeopardize your academic standing in last semester’s seminars.” He shuffled a few papers on the table in front of him.

“You were writing your thesis with Professor Emerson until the

beginning of November, about a month prior to your trip to Italy.

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You were registered in his Dante seminar for the entire fall semester, and awarded a mark of A.

“The non-fraternization policy exists to protect students from

being preyed upon by their professors and to prevent any possibility of unfair preferments being dispersed. If you’d dropped Professor

Emerson’s class, we would not be here today. But since you remained in his class, we have a problem.”

Professor Mwangi handed some papers to Meagan, who walked

them obediently to Julia and Soraya. While Soraya glanced at the

documents, Julia gaped in horror. She looked over at Gabriel once

again, but he wouldn’t return her gaze.

“Professor Martin testified before this committee that he has

no recollection of any conversation with Professor Emerson about

having Professor Picton grade your work in the Dante seminar. The

Registrar’s Office reports that it was Professor Emerson who submitted your grade via the online grading system. We have dated copies of those electronic documents, which you’ve just received.”

“Dr. Mwangi, since we are just receiving these documents now

I’d like a short recess in order to speak to my client.” Soraya’s voice broke through Julia’s shock.

“Those moments are past, Miss Harandi, since your client has

already perjured herself.” The Dean’s voice was harsh.

“I disagree,” Professor Chakravartty interjected. “Miss Mitchell

might not be in the best position to judge whether or not she was

the victim of coercion. Certainly, any perjury on her part would be excused if she’s the victim of harassment.”

“Professor Picton graded my work in the Dante seminar. I’m sure

she could clear up this misunderstanding.” Julia’s voice took on a stubborn tone that contrasted sharply with the tremor in her voice.

“Dean Aras, forgive me for interrupting, but I’ve just received

an email from Professor Picton.” Meagan’s voice broke in hesitantly.

She walked over to the Dean and presented him with her laptop.

He scanned the screen quickly before waving her aside.

“It would seem that Professor Picton confirms your story, Miss

Mitchell.”

Soraya leaned forward in her chair. “Then that should clear up

any problems. Respectfully, we ask this committee to conclude the

investigation and end this matter.”

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“Not so fast, Miss Harandi.” Professor Mwangi looked between

Gabriel and Julia curiously. “If the relationship truly is consensual, then why is Professor Emerson hiding behind his lawyer?”

“All you’ve done is present us with speculation and fantasy. Why

should my client respond?” John’s tone was contemptuous.

“We’re entitled to come to our own conclusions with respect to

evidence. I can’t speak for my learned colleagues, but I’ll state that in my opinion, your client and Miss Mitchell were involved last

semester. Which means they violated the non-fraternization policy, and Miss Mitchell perjured herself.”

John stood to his feet. “If this body intends to continue in this

way, then we will be invoking the assistance of the University of

Toronto’s Faculty Association and the Canadian Association of Uni-

versity Teachers, as well as pursuing all legal means. I would caution the hearing officers against slandering my client.”

The Dean waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Sit down. We

don’t respond to threats.”

He waited until John took his seat before he tossed his pen on

the table in front of him. He removed his glasses and placed them

next to the pen.

“Since we seem to have hit upon an iceberg here, perhaps it would

be best if I suspend this hearing, pending further investigation.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth, knowing that any delay would further

jeopardize Julia’s admission to Harvard.

“Before we suspend the hearing, I think that Miss Mitchell should

be given the opportunity to have her story heard without having to be in the same room as Professor Emerson.” Professor Chakravartty

nodded in Julia’s direction.

“Professor Emerson is a powerful man. Perhaps, Miss Mitchell,

you were worried about your status and he took advantage of that.

Maybe you believe that the relationship is consensual now, but did you always feel that way? More than one witness has reported that

he was very harsh with you last semester.”

“This is outrageous! Dr. Aras, are you just going to sit there while my client is slandered by one of the hearing officers? I want my objection minuted, and I want it noted that I intend to file a complaint with the Provost about Dr. Chakravartty’s unprofessional behavior.”

John was nearly apoplectic as he jumped to his feet.

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“I want the professor to stay,” said Julia, quietly.

“Very well.” Professor Chakravartty’s voice softened. “I’m sure

this situation is stressful and confusing. But you should know that the committee is already aware of the email you sent to Professor

Emerson, in which you pleaded with him to stop harassing you.

Once again, I want to reiterate that we are here to discover the truth.”

Julia blinked as the room around her grew fuzzy. Muffled sounds

assaulted her eyes, almost as if she were sinking in water. Everything slowed down, especially her mind, as the enormity of Dr. Chakravartty’s revelation crept over her skin like a frozen finger.

Meagan passed a few sheets of paper to John and Soraya.

John glanced at them quickly, before tossing them aside. “It’s

completely out of order for you surprise us with documents that were not mentioned in the letter you sent to my client.”

“This is not a trial; it’s merely an investigatory hearing. We aren’t bound by the rules of discovery, Mr. Green. Professor Chakravartty, you may proceed.” The Dean leaned back in his chair, giving Tara

his full attention.

“I know that you didn’t file a sexual harassment complaint against Professor Emerson. But it isn’t too late to do so. If you wish, we can have him dismissed from the room so we can discuss this.”

John shook his head. “My client unequivocally denies any harass-

ment, sexual or otherwise, against Miss Mitchell. If anyone should be investigated for harassment, it should be Christa Peterson, who maliciously instigated this mess in the first place.”

“Miss Peterson will be held accountable for her actions, don’t

worry about that.” Professor Mwangi’s voice was smooth and direct.

“Miss Mitchell, I’m also interested in the email exchange we have here, in which you direct Professor Emerson to stop harassing you. Can

you give us the context in which you made that statement?”

“It was a mistake.” Julia’s voice was low, yet it echoed loudly in the room.

“A mistake?” Professor Chakravartty repeated.

“We had a — misunderstanding. I should never have used the

word harassment. I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”

Soraya began whispering in Julia’s ear but she pulled away, wring-

ing her hands.

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“There was no harassment. That’s why I didn’t file a complaint.”

Professor Chakravartty stared at Julia skeptically before addressing the Dean. “I’d like to move that we suspend this hearing. I have a lot of unanswered questions that I’d like to pose to the other witnesses.

And I’d like to interview Miss Mitchell in a less hostile environment.”

She glared in Gabriel’s direction.

“Miss Mitchel denied the al egation. She hasn’t filed a complaint against my client, and under paragraph ten of the university’s policy on sexual harassment, she can’t be compelled to do so. Can we move on?” John objected.

“I don’t need you to tell me how to run this proceeding, Mr.

Green,” the Dean snapped. “We can take all the time we need to

investigate any matter pursuant to the matters before us.”

The Dean gestured to the other hearing officers to move closer to

his chair so they could whisper among themselves. The mere mention of a delay caused Julia’s heart to pound, and she fixed frightened eyes on Gabriel, whose face had turned very red.

A few minutes later, the Dean put on his glasses and looked

around the room.

“As Professor Chakravartty has suggested, I’m going to suspend

this hearing. You’ve been forthcoming, Miss Mitchell, and for that I thank you. But you, Professor Emerson, have told us nothing. Your

lack of cooperation has left us with no choice but to go back and

speak to all the other witnesses. In particular, I have a few questions I’d like to put to the chair of your department, Professor Martin.

“If the relationship between you the two of you was consensual,

you’re both at risk of having violated the non-fraternization policy.

And you, Miss Mitchell, have possibly perjured yourself about when the relationship truly began. On the other hand, the email that you sent to the professor is inconsistent with your other statements.

There’s also the issue of the M.P. Emerson bursary, which you men-

tion in your email.

“I’m not about to allow this proceeding to rush to judgment. So

a delay is in order for us to complete our investigation. This delay could take several weeks, depending upon the level of cooperation

we receive. Of course, if you’d rather not have a delay, you could simply answer our questions.” At this, the Dean gave Gabriel and

John a stern look.

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Julia watched as Gabriel closed his eyes, his lips moving as if he were whispering something to himself. Then his eyes snapped open

and he stood to his feet.

“Enough,” he said.

Six pairs of eyes swung to stare at the angry looking professor as he glared defiantly at the hearing officers.

“There’s no need for a delay. I’ll cooperate.” Gabriel’s jaw was set, his blue eyes flashing.

Julia’s heart sank.

“It appears we’ve finally captured your attention, Professor Emer-

son, and persuaded you to come out from behind your lawyer,” said

Professor Mwangi sarcastically.

“Such a remark is beneath you.” Gabriel waved a dismissive hand

in the air.

“Are you willing to answer the committee’s questions?” The Dean

interrupted the staring match between the two men.

“Yes.”

Once John got over his surprise, he stood at Gabriel’s side. “Dr.

Aras, my client has retained counsel. Can you give me a moment to

consult with him?”

The Dean nodded, and John began whispering hastily in Ga-

briel’s ear.

Julia could see that he did not like what John was saying, and

she watched him mouth the words “No, no, no.”

Eventually, Gabriel dismissed John with a murderous look. “I am

willing to answer any and all questions, but not while Miss Mitchell is in the room. Some of the answers I wish to give are of a personal nature and for various — ah — reasons I prefer to keep those answers confidential.”

The Dean measured Gabriel intently and nodded. “Very wel .

Miss Mitchell, you are dismissed for the moment, but please don’t

leave the building. We might have need of you shortly.”

“If Professor Emerson is intending to malign my client, he can

do so in front of us,” Soraya protested.

“The collective agreement with the faculty union ensures con-

fidentiality in all judicial proceedings.” The Dean’s voice grew very 216

Gabriel’s Rapture

cold. He took a moment to consult with his colleagues, then nodded in Julia’s direction.

“If Professor Emerson offers testimony that implicates your cli-

ent, you will be given the opportunity for rebuttal. Any matters not bearing on your case, Miss Mitchell, will be kept confidential. Miss Harandi, Miss Mitchell, you are both dismissed for the present. My assistant will notify you when your presence is required.”

Soraya shook her head but took Julia’s arm and tried to pull her

toward the door at the back of the room.

Julia planted her feet. “Our relationship was consensual. I knew

what I was doing and I don’t regret it. At all. This is not a tawdry affair. There was no harassment.”

The Dean couldn’t help but notice as Professor Emerson began

to rub his eyes and mouth, cursing silently.

“Miss Mitchell, you will have your chance for a rebuttal. Now

if you please…”

Soraya quickly pulled Julia out of the room. She tried in vain to

catch Gabriel’s eye before she exited, but he hung his head, eyes shut.

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Chapter 24

“What?” Professor Jeremy Martin almost shouted into his office telephone.

Across campus, Meagan, the Dean’s assistant, turned her back on

the hearing officers as she prepared to speak more loudly.

“I said that the Dean would like to ask you a few questions about

Professor Emerson and Julianne Mitchell. Professor Emerson just

confessed to having broken several university policies with respect to her. Can you hold the line, please, while I put you on speaker phone?”

“Holy God,” breathed Jeremy, blinking and gaping like a fish.

“Professor Martin? The hearing officers would like to speak to

you now.” Meagan turned and locked eyes with the Dean.

“I’ll be right there. Ask the Dean not to do anything until I ar-

rive!” Jeremy slammed the telephone down on his desk and quickly

exited his office, forgetting to close and lock the door behind him. He jogged out of the building and across Queen’s Park, pausing only to avoid being run over by downtown traffic. By the time he’d traversed the few blocks to where the hearing committee sat, he was winded,

disheveled, and incredibly annoyed at how out of shape he was.

“Stop,” he panted, bursting through the doors. He placed his

hands on his knees so he could attempt to catch his breath.

“Thank you for joining us, Professor Martin.” The Dean’s tone

was sarcastic.

“I came — as fast — as I could. What’s — going on?”

The Dean gestured to his assistant to fetch the ailing professor

a glass of water, which he drank gratefully. The beverage gave him a moment to find Gabriel, who was sitting stoically next to his lawyer.

Gabriel’s Rapture

The Dean frowned. “It appears that things are amiss in your

department. Professor Emerson has just confessed to pursuing Miss

Mitchell and engaging in an amorous relationship with her while she was his student. I’d like to know how long you’ve known about this.”

“Excuse me?” Jeremy grabbed a chair and sat on it heavily.

“You told us Professor Emerson disclosed his relationship with

Miss Mitchell to you this semester, but that you couldn’t recall when.

I’m wondering if you had any inkling that they were involved last

semester?”

Jeremy’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I — what?”

“Gabriel Emerson tried to cover up his affair with his student by

transferring her thesis supervision and seminar work to Katherine

Picton,” Professor Mwangi explained. “What did you know about

this and when?”

Jeremy’s expression grew grim. “With respect, am I on trial here

or is Gabriel? I was told that you wanted to ask me questions about a matter arising between Gabriel and Miss Mitchell. I was offered

no indication that I was under suspicion, otherwise I would have informed the Faculty Association and brought my union representative.”

Professor Mwangi abruptly closed his mouth.

“Jeremy, there’s no need to be defensive. We’re simply interested

in whether or not you can shed any light on the account Professor

Emerson has offered us. That’s all.” The Dean offered a withering

look in Robert’s direction.

“We can return to the question of the timeline in a moment. I’m

interested in an email that Miss Mitchell sent to Professor Emerson in which she accused him of harassment and told him that she would be returning the M. P. Emerson bursary. What can you tell us about that?”

Jeremy’s eyes slid over to Gabriel’s.

He had no idea why Gabriel had confessed; it didn’t make sense.

He was far more likely to avoid any kind of discipline if he said nothing. Having confessed, he’d handed his career to the Dean in an act that could only be described as academic hara-kiri. Moreover, he’d implicated Jeremy with his confession, and that was something he

did not appreciate, not one bit.

“I know of no such harassment. In my position as Chair of Ital-

ian Studies, I have a spotless record of upholding university policies.”

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He glanced in Meagan’s direction. “And I’d like my administrative

record to be included as part of this proceeding.”

The Dean waved a hand at his assistant, acquiescing to Jeremy’s

demand.

He looked at the hearing officers. “Has Miss Mitchell filed a

harassment complaint?”

The hearing officers shook their heads.

“May I see the email?”

The Dean nodded to Meagan, and she quickly passed a piece of

paper to Jeremy.

He used this opportunity to buy some time for his over-wrought

brain, hoping to get some clue from Gabriel’s body language as to

what the devil he’d been thinking. But still, Gabriel would not look at him, simply sitting stone-faced, clenching his fists.

“Since Miss Mitchell never reported the harassment, I can only

infer that she changed her mind. Perhaps she sent the email in haste and repented at leisure. It sounds as if she didn’t hold his behavior against him.” Jeremy handed the paper back to Meagan.

“What do you know about the bursary?” asked Professor

Chakravartty.

Jeremy’s eyes flitted to the Dean’s. “I advised the Dean in an email that donor services was approached by a philanthropic organization from the United States, whose name escapes me. The charity wished

to bestow a bursary on the top MA student in my department. That’s all I know.”

“What’s the connection between Professor Emerson and the bur-

sary?” asked the Dean.

Jeremy shrugged. “None.”

Professor Mwangi clasped his fingers together on the table in

front of him. “I find that difficult to believe. There is a coincidence of name, department, and student. Miss Mitchell seems to have associated the bursary with Professor Emerson — why else would she

threaten to return it?”

Jeremy smiled wryly. “Do you remember what life was like when

you were a grad student? Living on coffee and ramen noodles and

going without sleep? Students engage in all kinds of erratic behavior under those conditions. I’m sure we’ve all seen worse.

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Gabriel’s Rapture

“I assure you — ” At this, he nodded in Gabriel’s direction. “Pro-

fessor Emerson had nothing to do with the bursary. I’m the one who awarded it, and I did so based on the fact that Miss Mitchell was

the top master’s student admitted into our program. You can speak

to Tracy in donor services about the charity that made the donation and you can view her paperwork.”

Gabriel tried very hard to hide his surprise at the fact that his

chair was defending him. He fidgeted in his seat, swiping a hand

through his hair as he waited to see how the Dean would respond.

“That won’t be necessary.” The Dean took off his glasses and

nibbled at one of the ends of the arms thoughtfully. “As you’ve heard, Professor Emerson has confessed, taking upon himself full responsibility for his involvement with Miss Mitchell. By his own admission, he played on her vulnerability, promising her that ‘he would take care’

of their situation. His use of Professor Picton seems to bear that out, as does Miss Mitchell’s nervous behavior during these proceedings.

“Since Professor Emerson was in a position of power over Miss

Mitchell, and since more than witness has testified that he was initially very harsh with her, we don’t believe that their relationship was consensual.” At this, his eyes met Professor Chakravartty’s, who nodded triumphantly. “Consequently, we are inclined to excuse her perjury, since it was clearly under duress, and we will dismiss any allegations against her. Unless you can suggest a reason why we shouldn’t.”

Gabriel caught Jeremy’s eye with a stare so sharp, Jeremy almost

winced.

“I see no reason why Miss Mitchell should be punished, no.”

Jeremy tugged at his shirt collar uncomfortably.

“We will be encouraging Miss Mitchell to consider the possibility

of filing a harassment complaint. Having said that, and given the

fact that Professor Emerson has been forthcoming, I’m not inclined to drag this matter out. However, I wonder if I should recommend

to the Provost that your department be placed under scrutiny. We’re facing a lawsuit from another of your students, Miss Peterson. And Miss Mitchell has filed a harassment complaint against her. That’s several unfortunate events in one semester, Professor Martin. What is going on in your department?” The Dean gave Jeremy a stern look.

He straightened his spine. “I am as surprised and distressed as

you are. But surely you can’t blame me for failing to have a prurient interest in the personal lives of those in my department.”

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“No, but we expect you to maintain a safe environment for stu-

dents, especially females.” Professor Chakravartty’s tone was firm and disapproving.

The Dean nodded in her direction. “Nevertheless, I am cogni-

zant of your spotless record and the reputation of your department.

So I’d like to ask for your input on what we should do in terms of consequences for these policy violations, and I invite you to meet with us while we discuss it.” The Dean waved Jeremy over.

Jeremy cleared his throat. “Thank you. I’d like a word with Pro-

fessor Emerson first.”

“His testimony has been minuted. Meagan will provide you with

a transcript.”

“Since I am his supervisor, I’d prefer to ask my own questions. I

doubt you’d deny me that right, as his Chair.”

The Dean frowned. “Very well. You have five minutes.”

With a nod of his head, Jeremy walked to the door, waiting for

Gabriel to join him.

Gabriel waved aside John’s attempt at accompanying him and

walked slowly strode toward his old friend, his shoulders sagging.

“What the fuck have you done?” Jeremy hissed, turning his back

on the hearing officers.

Gabriel mirrored his position. “They were going to suspend

the meeting and launch an extended investigation. Julianne would

have lost her spot at Harvard, not to mention the fact that she was in danger of being punished for academic fraud and perjury.”

“What the hell do you think is going to happen now? The Dean

could dismiss you!”

“Before I made my statement, my lawyer asked for leniency. The

Dean agreed, provided I wasn’t involved in any criminal activity.”

Jeremy scrubbed at his face with his hands. “So you went ahead

and admitted everything? Are you crazy? You should have kept your

mouth shut.”

“And ruin Julianne’s life? Never!”

Jeremy gave his colleague a long, cold look. “They could revoke

your tenure. If you’re dismissed, no university will touch you. Your career will be over.”

Gabriel’s expression hardened. “I don’t care.”

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“Well, I do!” Jeremy fumed. “I’m not about to lose one of my

best professors over some grad student. With all the funding cuts

being made in our division, I might not be able to replace you. It’s bad enough we have only one Dante specialist. How am I supposed

to run a decent department without one?”

“That isn’t my problem.”

“The hell it isn’t.” Jeremy glared. “You and Julianne and — and

that Christa are crippling my department in one fell swoop. Even if I could get permission to replace you, who is going to want to work for me when news of Christa’s lawsuit gets out? Not to mention your affair with Julianne!”

“It wasn’t an affair,” Gabriel whispered, stubbornly. “The Dean

promised complete confidentiality. That’s why I agreed to speak on the record.”

Jeremy shook his head in disbelief. “You just don’t get it, do you?

I’m your friend. And you made me look like an imbecile in front of my boss. It’s quite possible they’re going to investigate me in order to discover what I knew and when. I’ll have to appear before God

knows how many committees and possibly in court!”

“I’m sorry,” said Gabriel stiffly.

“You should be. I look like an idiot who allowed a predatory

professor to wreak havoc on two female grad students. You’re lucky Tara is on the committee and not the Chair of Women’s Studies. She would have strung you up by your balls in the middle of campus.”

Gabriel straightened his shoulders. “I’ll tell them you knew noth-

ing and take the consequences.”

Jeremy took a step closer, staring his younger colleague straight

in the eye. “Don’t give me that martyrdom bullshit. You’re hurting a lot of people in your quest to protect your conquest. Now my ass is on the line. What do you think is going to happen to her if they fire you?”

“If they try to fire me, I’ll sue them.”

Jeremy put his hands on his waist. “It will be too late. As soon

as you’re dismissed, the people at Harvard will hear about it and

Julianne’s MA will be tainted. You’ll ruin her and my reputation

and the reputation of all the other professors and students in my

department. We’ll all be tarred with your brush.” Jeremy shook his head. “How could you do this to us?”

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Gabriel was silent, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists.

Jeremy swore loudly and was about to turn away when Gabriel

caught his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late for apologies.”

“I didn’t realize this would have implications for you and everyone else. I wasn’t thinking.” Gabriel paused, a tortured look on his face.

“Help us. Please.”

Jeremy stared in disbelief. Professor Emerson looked panicked

and desperate, which was an expression he’d never seen before. “You’ve done a tremendous amount of damage trying to protect her. You

should have denied everything.”

“Then the Dean would have punished her or dragged the inves-

tigation out.”

“She could have re-applied next year.”

“And been turned down outright. The longer the investigation

continued, the more likely that details would be leaked. It’s a small academic community and you know it.”

“Of course I know it.” Jeremy shook his head. “And you knew

better than to fuck a student.”

Gabriel’s face reddened and he took a menacing step forward.

“I didn’t fuck her.”

“The hell you didn’t. Now we’re all fucked,” Jeremy snapped.

Gabriel’s nostrils flared as he held back an angry retort.

Jeremy gave his friend a long, searching look. “My first priority

is to my department. But I don’t want to see you or Julianne ruined.

Enough young women have suffered at the hands of their professors, don’t you agree?”

Gabriel was silent, his lips pressed together.

“I’ll help you, but we’re doing this my way. Do you understand?

I’m not risking everything so you can turn around and fuck it up

again.”

Gabriel paused. Then he nodded his agreement.

“Now all I have to do is convince the Dean to be satisfied with

an ounce of your flesh rather than a pound.”

With barely an acknowledgement, Jeremy walked to the front

of the room and joined the hearing officers in their deliberations.

Gabriel hung his head, breathing a restrained sigh of relief.

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By the time Meagan ushered the ladies back into the room,

Julia’s fingernails had been chewed to the quick and Soraya’s

adrenaline was at an all-time high.

Julia’s eyes were drawn immediately to Gabriel, and what she saw

upset her. His shoulders were hunched, and he was leaning forward

in his chair, hands clasped between his knees tensely, head lowered.

She stared at him, willing him to look at her.

But he wouldn’t.

Professor Martin sat next to Gabriel, arms crossed against his

chest. He didn’t appear happy.

“Miss Mitchell, allow me to come straight to the point. In light of Professor Emerson’s testimony, you are excused. We will be informing the Registrar’s Office that the grade assigned to you in Professor Emerson’s seminar should be allowed to stand.”

Julia’s mouth opened in shock at the Dean’s pronouncement.

“We will do our utmost to ensure that you are not victimized

further.” The Dean glared in Gabriel’s direction. “If Professor Emerson troubles you in any way, or if you have concerns about the

repercussions of your former involvement with him, please inform

Professor Martin immediately.

“You are free to pursue a harassment complaint against Professor

Emerson, but you must do so within sixty days of the submission of your final academic work in your program.”

The Dean nodded at Soraya. “I’m sure your lawyer will explain

the particulars of the harassment policy to you. I know you’ve filed a complaint against Miss Peterson, but we’re hopeful that you and

Sylvain Reynard

she can drop your complaints against each other, given the outcome of this hearing. You’re free to go.”

He began shuffling his paperwork.

“Thank you, Dr. Aras.” Soraya smiled widely and exchanged a

nod and a meaningful look with Tara.

“I’m not a victim,” said Julia, stubbornly.

“Pardon?” said the Dean, peering over the rims of his glasses.

“I said, I’m not a victim. Our relationship is consensual.” She turned to look at Gabriel. “What’s going on?”

Gabriel kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Miss Mitchell, the committee has ensured that Professor Emerson

was given due consideration.” Professor Mwangi spoke to her gently.

“But in light of his confession, we are holding him accountable for his actions. And that includes seeing to your welfare.”

“My welfare is tied to him. If he’s going to be punished, then

punish me too.” She took a step closer to the table behind which

the committee sat.

Gabriel’s head shot up, and he gave Julia a furious look.

“Miss Mitchell, the university has a duty to protect students from being preyed upon by their supervisors. Please, let us do our job.”

Professor Chakravartty’s tone was not unsympathetic.

“We did this together. If he’s guilty, so am I.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then tell me what he said! Give me a chance to respond.” Julia

looked desperately at the faces of the hearing officers, one after the other, hoping that someone, anyone would relent.

“Professor Emerson has admitted to engaging in an inappropriate

relationship with you while you were his student. Professor Picton has confirmed that she marked your work in his seminar and supervised your thesis. So we are inclined to be lenient with him. Unless you insist otherwise.”

“Of course I insist otherwise! I want you to let him go.”

The hearing officers shook their heads.

“Why do you believe him instead of me? I’m the student. You

should weigh my testimony more heavily. He didn’t hurt me. You

have to believe me!” Julia grew desperate, on the verge of tears.

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“Miss Harandi, control your client.” The Dean’s voice rose with

irritation.

“Please,” said Julia, taking a step closer to the hearing officers.

“You have to believe me. Let him go!”

“We will ask you and all other parties to sign a confidentiality

agreement that is as much for your protection as for the integrity of these proceedings. Once again, if you have further difficulties, you are to inform Professor Martin.” The Dean nodded at Soraya.

“Come on, Julia.” Soraya tugged on her arm, in vain. “Let’s go

before they change their mind.”

“Gabriel, what happened?”

Julia took a step in his direction, but the pointed toe of her boot got caught in the carpet and she tumbled to her knees.

Finally her eyes connected with Gabriel’s as he looked down on

her. She inhaled slowly as she realized that his dark blue eyes were cold and empty. He lowered his head.

In an instant, the fire in her veins turned to ice.

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“S omething is rotten in the state of Denmark.” Soraya leaned back against the vanity in the ladies’ washroom while her client sat

crying softly in a chair. She pulled her BlackBerry out of her briefcase, scrolling through her emails before returning the cursed device to its former resting place.

“I know John. His plan would have been to say nothing, then

file a lawsuit. He would have tried to show that everything was your fault, setting the groundwork for Gabriel’s defense. He never would have agreed to this kind of outcome.”

Soraya fixed her client with a stern eye. “Do you know something?

Some secret that Gabriel might worry would come out? Something

extremely damaging?”

Julia shook her head vehemently. Gabriel’s drug use was in the

past as was his rampant promiscuity, including his encounter with

Professor Singer. Of course, there was the small matter of the black market Botticelli prints, but she would never reveal their existence to anyone, least of all to Soraya.

“Are you sure?” The attorney’s eyes narrowed.

“There’s nothing.” Julia sniffled, wiping her nose with a tissue.

Soraya tossed her long, dark hair. “Then he must be keeping

secrets from you too. I can’t imagine what would be more damaging

to him than confessing to having an inappropriate relationship with you. I thought you told me you didn’t sleep with him until December?”

“That’s right.”

“Then why would he tell them you were together while you were

still his student?”

“Do you think they fired him?” Julia changed the subject.

Gabriel’s Rapture

“No.” Soraya exhaled loudly. “Emerson is tenured and from the

body language in the room, he has the support of his Chair. But who knows? David is a self-righteous bastard.”

“You don’t think Gabriel was lying to protect me?”

Soraya smothered a patronizing smile, for really, it would have

been inappropriate to smile at that moment. “Human beings are

selfish. He was protecting himself — hiding some secret that he didn’t want to come out or trading a confession for leniency. Gabriel went rogue and refused to let John fight the charges. Otherwise, we’d still be sitting in the hall, waiting.”

Julia stood at the sink and washed her face and hands, trying to

make herself appear presentable.

Soraya shook her head. “I don’t mean to be callous, but I really

don’t think you should be wasting your tears on him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you were an intriguing diversion, in comparison to his

other women. He probably said pretty things so you’d screw him

and keep your mouth shut. But men like him can’t be trusted. And

they never change.” She continued hurriedly as she saw the horrified expression on Julia’s face.

“I wasn’t going to mention this, but a friend of mine hooked up

with him a couple of times. They met at a club about a year ago and ended up fucking in the washroom.

“One day last fall, he called her out of the blue. One more hook

up and she never saw or heard from him again. It was as if he’d vanished.” Soraya measured Julia’s reaction. “Why would you want to

be with someone like that? He was probably screwing other women

the entire time he was with you.”

“You don’t know him. Don’t judge him.” Julia’s voice was quietly

aggressive.

Soraya simply shrugged and dug around in her briefcase for her

lipstick.

Julia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to process

these new revelations.

Gabriel and I started getting close last fall — was he sleeping with someone else when he was sending me flowers and emails? Was he lying to me about Paulina?

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Julia didn’t know what to believe. Her heart told her to believe

Gabriel, but she couldn’t deny the fact that Soraya had planted a

seed of doubt.

They walked into the hallway and headed for the stairs, hoping

to make their escape.

John and Gabriel were doing the same thing. Neither of the

men looked happy.

“Gabriel!” Julia called.

John glared in her direction. “Let’s go, Gabriel. You can’t be

seen with her.”

Julia looked over into conflicted blue eyes. He didn’t look dis-

gusted anymore; he looked sober and anxious.

“Haven’t you done enough damage for one day?” spat his attorney

as Julia took a hesitant step in their direction.

“Don’t speak to her like that.” Gabriel moved to stand in between

them, shielding Julia with his body. He still wouldn’t look at her.

“Listen, you two, David and his minions are about to come

through that door, and I’d prefer to be gone before that happens.

So whatever conversation you need to have, make it quick,” Soraya

snapped.

“Over my dead body.” John glowered. “We’re in enough trouble

as it is. Come on.”

Gabriel shot his lawyer a look of warning and gritted his teeth,

turning around to face Julia.

“What’s going on? Why did you tell them our relationship was

inappropriate?” Julia looked up into dark, tormented eyes.

“You were not sensible of your own distress.” Gabriel leaned forward to whisper in an urgent tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that he just saved your ass, that’s what it means!” John interrupted, pointing at Julia contemptuously. “What, exactly, were you trying to accomplish by emotionally vomiting all over the proceedings? I knew you were naïve, but just how stupid are you?”

“John, take your finger out of Miss Mitchell’s face or I will separate it from your body.” Gabriel’s voice dropped, his tone quiet but chilling. “You do not speak to her like that. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”

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John closed his mouth.

Soraya used this as an opportunity to put him on the defensive.

“My client is better off without the theatrics of either one of you. Don’t pretend you weren’t going to blame her for everything to save your client. Bloody coward.”

John muttered an oblique curse in response, but said nothing.

Julia turned to search Gabriel’s eyes. But his mask was firmly

in place.

“Why did the Dean say that they were going to protect me from

you?”

“We need to go. Now.” John tried to separate the couple as a noise inside the meeting room alerted them to the fact that the hearing

officers were about to recess.

“Did they fire you?” Julia asked tremulously.

Gabriel gave her a pained look, then shook his head.

“Well done, John. I’m sure you’re proud of yourself,” Soraya hissed.

“Did you have to sell your soul to David? Or maybe your body?”

“Blow me, Soraya,” said John.

“So you kept your job, but you can’t talk to me? What about last

night, Gabriel?” Julia reached out a trembling finger toward his hand.

He pulled out of her reach and glanced sideways at John and

Soraya, shaking his head.

“You promised you’d never fuck me. But what about last night?

No words, no I love you, not even a note or a text this morning. Is that all it was to you? A good-bye fuck?” Julia’s whisper caught on an involuntary sob, and she raised her voice. “Who’s the Angelfucker now?”

Gabriel flinched.

It was more than a flinch; actually, it was more like a reel back-

ward from a punch. He closed his eyes and groaned softly, shifting his weight to his heels as his fists clenched at his sides.

Everyone watched as his skin took on a ghostlike pallor.

“You wound me, Julianne,” he whispered.

“You keep your job, but you won’t talk to me? How could you

do this?” she cried.

His eyes flew open, and they were a brilliant, livid sapphire.

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“You think that I’d just show up, fuck you, and that would be how I would say good-bye?”

Julia watched his fists shake as he fought to maintain control.

“That was good-bye?” Her voice caught on the last word.

Gabriel’s eyes lasered into hers as if he were trying to communi-

cate something wordlessly. He leaned forward so his nose was only

inches from hers and dropped his voice so it was almost inaudible.

“I did not fuck you. I’ve never fucked you.”

He pulled back slightly so there was some distance between

them. He drew a long, unhurried breath. “You were throwing your

life away for nothing — all those years of hard work, everything you dreamed of and ever wanted was going to be taken from you and

you would never be able to get it back.

“There was no way I could watch you commit academic suicide.

I told you that I would go to Hell to rescue you and that’s just what I did.” He lifted his chin. “And I’d do it again.”

Julia leapt forward, jabbing a finger into Gabriel’s chest.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me! This is my life and my

dreams. If I want to give them up, who the hell are you to take that decision away from me?

“You’re supposed to love me, Gabriel. You’re supposed to support

me when I decide to stand up for myself. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? And instead, you cut a deal with them and dump me?”

“Would you two shut the hell up?” Soraya hissed. “The Dean will

be walking through the door any minute. Come on, Julia. Right now.”

She tugged on her client’s elbow while John tried to step in

between the two quarreling lovers.

“So that’s it? They say it’s over and it’s over? When have you ever followed the rules, Gabriel? Now you decide to follow them?” Julia asked, still furious.

Gabriel’s expression changed immediately. “I had no choice,

Héloise,” he whispered. “Circumstances were beyond — ”

“I thought my name was Beatrice. Of course, Abelard abandoned Héloise to keep his job. So I guess the name is more than apt,” she spat, stepping away from him.

At that moment, Professor Martin entered the hallway. He

scowled and began walking toward them.

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Gabriel turned away from Jeremy, lowering his voice further.

“Read my sixth letter. Paragraph four.”

Julia shook her head.

“I’m not your student, Professor. I won’t be doing any reading

assignments.”

Soraya pulled Julia away, and the two women hurried down the

stairs just as the hearing officers came through the door.

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Gabriel ducked into the men’s room as soon as Julia left. He

couldn’t risk calling her, since Jeremy might enter at any mo-

ment, but he was far from satisfied that she understood what was

happening. Turning on a faucet in order to make noise, he quickly

tapped out a short but explanatory email on his iPhone.

Having sent it, he turned off the faucet and exited, tucking his

phone into his jacket pocket. He tried very hard to look grim and

defeated.

As he walked over to the two men, Jeremy’s cell phone chirped.

P

When Julia awoke the next morning the numbness had worn

off. Sleep would have been a welcome respite from reality, except for the nightmares. She’d been haunted by various dreams, all involving the morning she woke up alone in the orchard. She was frightened

and lost and Gabriel was nowhere to be found.

It was almost noon when she crawled out of bed to check her

messages. She’d expected at least a text or a one line email, offering some kind of explanation. But there was nothing.

He’d acted so strangely the day before. On the one hand he’d

told her he hadn’t fucked her; on the other, he’d called her Héloise.

She didn’t want to believe that he was so cruel as to flaunt the fact that he was ending things with a play on words, but he’d used the

word good-bye.

Gabriel’s Rapture

Her feelings of betrayal ran deep, for Gabriel had promised

that he would never leave her. He was far too eager to go back on

his promise, she thought, despite the fact that the university had no jurisdiction over his personal life, so long as she was no longer his student.

A dark thought occurred to her. Perhaps Gabriel had tired of her

and decided to put an end to their union. The university had simply handed him an opportunity to do so.

If her falling out with Gabriel had occurred a few months earlier, she would have stayed in bed for three days. As it was, she dialed his cell phone with the intention of demanding an explanation. He

didn’t answer. She left a terse and impatient voice mail, asking him to call her.

Frustrated, she took a shower, hoping that the time to herself

would afford her the opportunity to see her situation with clarity.

Unfortunately, all she could think about was the evening in Italy

when Gabriel showered her and washed her hair.

After she dressed, she decided to search for Gabriel’s sixth letter, so she could read paragraph four. He’d given her a clue, she thought, as to what was really happening. All she needed to do was find his words.

She wasn’t sure what he meant by letter. Did he mean emails or texts? Or both? If Gabriel was counting the emails, cards, and notes that he’d written to her from the very beginning of their relationship, then by her calculation the sixth letter was a note he’d left her the morning after their horrendous fight in the Dante seminar. Luckily, she kept it.

She pulled out the paper and read it eagerly.

Julianne,

I hope you’ll find everything you need here.

If not, Rachel stocked the vanity in the guest washroom with

a number of different items. Please help yourself.

My clothes are at your disposal.

Please choose a sweater as the weather has turned cold today.

Yours,

Gabriel.

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Sylvain Reynard

Julia wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind to embark on a

detective mission or to engage in any elaborate decoding of messages.

Nevertheless, she turned her attention to the fourth paragraph and tried to figure out what Gabriel had been trying to communicate

to her.

He’d lent her the British-racing-green sweater, but she’d returned it. Was he trying to tell her to look at one of the clothing items he’d bought her? Julia pulled out everything he’d ever bought her or that she’d borrowed and placed them all on her bed. She forced herself

to take her time examining each item. But there didn’t appear to be anything unusual about any of them.

Was he trying to tell her to weather the storm? Or was he simply saying that his affection for her had turned cold and this was good-bye?

Her anger burned blue. She stomped to the bathroom to wash

her hands, catching sight of her image in the mirror. The wide-eyed nervous girl who had started at the University of Toronto in September was gone. Instead, Julia saw a pale and upset young woman,

with pinched lips and flashing eyes. She was no longer the timid

Rabbit or the seventeen-year-old Beatrice. She was Julianne Mitch-

ell, almost-MA, and she would be damned if she’d spend the rest of her life simply taking the scraps that others deigned to throw at her.

If he has a message for me, he can damn well say it in person, she thought. I’m not going on a scavenger hunt just so he can assuage his conscience.

Yes, she loved him. Looking at the photograph album he made

for her birthday, she knew that she would love him forever. But love was not an excuse for cruelty. She was not a plaything, an Héloise, to be dropped like a pair of dirty socks. If he was breaking things off with her, she’d make him say so to her face. She was simply going to give him until after dinner to do so.

In early evening, she walked to the Manulife Building, the key

to Gabriel’s apartment in her pocket. With every step she imagined what she would say. She wouldn’t cry, she promised herself. She would be strong. And she would demand answers.

As she turned the corner and approached the front door, she

saw a tall, impeccably dressed blonde exit the building. The woman 236

Gabriel’s Rapture

looked at her watch and tapped her foot impatiently as the doorman waved over a waiting taxi.

Julia hid behind a tree. She peeked around the trunk in order

to take another look.

At first glance, she’d thought the woman in question was Paulina;

upon inspection she realized her mistake. Julia breathed a sigh of relief as she approached the building. Seeing Paulina with Gabriel on this day of all days would have been devastating. Surely, he wouldn’t do that to her. Gabriel was supposed to be her Dante. He was supposed to love her enough to travel through Hell to protect her, not take Paulina back the moment their relationship was threatened.

With some trepidation, Julia entered the lobby and waved to the

security guard, who recognized her. She decided against announc-

ing her presence to Gabriel and took the elevator to his floor. She shivered as she contemplated what she might find in his apartment.

She didn’t bother to knock but simply let herself in, fearing that she’d find Gabriel compromised. But something strange caught her

attention as soon as she’d closed the door. All the lights in the apartment were off and the hall closet was open and half-empty, hangers and shoes haphazardly thrown on the floor. It was very unlike Gabriel to leave things in such a mess.

She switched on several lights and placed her key on the table

where he always kept his keys. His keys were not to be found.

“Gabriel? Hello?”

She ventured into the kitchen and was shocked by what she found.

An empty bottle of Scotch lay on the counter, next to a broken glass.

Dirty plates and cutlery were dumped in the sink.

Steeling herself for what she might find, she walked to the fire-

place, only to discover a mark on the wall and scattered glass shards on the floor. She could see Gabriel flinging his Scotch in anger, but she had a hard time imagining him leaving broken pieces for someone to step on.

Desperately worried, she crept down the darkened hall and into

the master bedroom. Clothes were strewn across the bed, the drawers to Gabriel’s dresser half-opened. His closet was similarly disarrayed, and Julia noticed that many of his clothes were gone as was his large suitcase.

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But what caused her to inhale sharply were the walls. All the

framed photographs of her, and of Gabriel and her together, had

been removed and piled face down on the bed, leaving the wal s

bare except for the hooks on which the photographs had been hung.

Julia gasped in horror as she saw that the reproduction of Holi-

day’s painting of Dante and Beatrice had been taken down and was

now leaning against the credenza, its back on display.

Shocked, she sank down on a chair. He’s gone, she thought.

Julia burst into tears, wondering how he could have so easily

broken his promises. She searched the apartment in vain for a note or some indication of where he’d gone. When she came across the

telephone she contemplated calling Rachel. But the thought of hav-

ing to explain that she and Gabriel were over was too much to bear.

With one last look she turned out all the lights and was about

to walk through the door when she stopped. Something niggled at

the back of her mind. Closing the door, she returned to Gabriel’s

bedroom. Searching with her fingers, she fumbled about, looking for something. When she didn’t find it, she turned on the light.

The photograph that Rachel had taken at Lobby several months

earlier was missing. Gabriel always kept it on top of his dresser. In the picture, he and Julia were dancing, and he was looking at her

with no little heat.

Julia stood for a moment, looking at the empty space. It was

possible, she thought, that he’d destroyed the picture. But a quick inspection of the wastepaper baskets in the bedroom and bathroom

suggested he hadn’t thrown it away.

She didn’t understand why he’d left or why he’d left without

offering her an explanation, but she began to suspect that all was not as it seemed.

As she took one last look at the empty hangers in the closet, she

contemplated taking her clothes with her but only for an instant.

Strangely enough, they no longer felt as if they were hers.

A few minutes later, she was waiting for the elevator, feeling

battered and bruised. Her nose began to run as she wiped away a

few tears. A hasty search of her pockets yielded no Kleenex, only lint.

This made her tears fall faster.

“Here,” a voice at her elbow said, holding out a man’s handkerchief.

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Julia took it gratefully, noticing the embroidered initials S.I.R.

on it. She wiped her eyes and attempted to return it, but a pair of hands made a motion of refusal.

“My mother is always giving me handkerchiefs. I have dozens.”

She looked up into kind brown eyes that were partially hidden

behind a pair of rimless spectacles and recognized one of Gabriel’s neighbors. He was wearing a heavy wool coat and a navy beret.

(Which, because of his age and heterosexuality could only be

explained by the fact that he was French Canadian.)

When the elevator arrived, he politely held the door open for

her before following her inside.

“Is something wrong? Can I help?” His lightly accented voice

cut through her haze.

“Gabriel is gone.”

“Yes, I ran into him while he was on his way out.” The neighbor

frowned at the tears that were still welling up in Julia’s eyes. “Didn’t he tell you? I thought you were his —” He looked at her expectantly.

Julia shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

They were both silent as the elevator continued its descent to the ground floor. Once again, when the door opened, he held it for her.

She turned to him. “Do you know where he went?”

The neighbor accompanied her to the lobby. “No. I’m afraid I

didn’t ask. He was in quite a state, you see.” The neighbor leaned closer and dropped his voice. “He reeked of Scotch and was extremely cross. Not in the mood to chat.”

Julia smiled a watery smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It isn’t a bother. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you he was leaving.”

“No.” She wiped her face with his handkerchief once again.

The neighbor began muttering something about Gabriel in

French. Something that sounded a good deal like cochon.

“I could deliver a message for you, when he returns,” the neigh-

bor offered. “He tends to drop by my apartment when he runs out

of milk.”

Julia was quiet for a moment, then she swallowed hard. “Just tell

him that he broke my heart.”

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Sylvain Reynard

The neighbor gave her a reluctant, pained nod before taking his

leave of her.

Julia walked outside into the bracing wind and began her long

walk home, alone.

240

Chapter 28

Several hours after the hearing, Gabriel sat in his apartment

shrouded in darkness. The only light visible came from the blue

and orange flames that flickered in his fireplace. He was surrounded by her. Completely surrounded by her memory and her ghost.

Closing his eyes, he swore he could smell her scent or hear her

laughter echoing down the hall. His bedroom had become like a

shrine, which was why he was sitting in front of the fire.

He couldn’t bear to look at the large black and white photo-

graphs of the two of them. Especially the one that hung over his

bed — Julianne in all of her magnificence, lying on her stomach with her naked back exposed, partially wrapped in a sheet, gazing up at him in adoration with sex-mussed hair and a sweet, sated smile…

In every room he had a memory of her — some of them joyous

and others bittersweet, like dark, dark chocolate. He stalked to the dining room and poured himself two fingers’ worth of his very best Scotch and downed it quickly, relishing the burning sensation as it stung his throat. He tried desperately not to think about Julia standing in front of him, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

“You’re supposed to love me, Gabriel. You’re supposed to support me when I decide to stand up for myself. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? And instead, you cut a deal with them and dump me?”

At the memory of the look of betrayal in her eyes, Gabriel threw

his empty glass at the wall, watching it shatter and fall to the floor.

Shards of crystal like jagged icicles scattered over the hardwood, glimmering in the firelight.

He knew what he had to do; he simply needed the courage in

order to do it. Grabbing the bottle, he walked reluctantly to the

Sylvain Reynard

bedroom. Two more swallows and he was able to throw his suitcase

on the bed. He didn’t bother to fold his clothes. He barely cared

about taking the essentials.

He thought about what it was like to be banished. About Odys-

seus’s tears at being so far away from home, from his wife, from his people. Now Gabriel understood exile.

When he was finished, he placed the framed photograph from

atop his dresser in his briefcase. Stroking a tender finger over the face of his beloved, he downed more Scotch before staggering to the study.

He ignored the red velvet wing chair, for if he turned to look at

it, he would see her, curled up like a cat, reading a book. She’d worry her lower lip between her teeth, her adorable eyebrows scrunched

in thought. Had any man ever loved, adored, worshipped a woman

more?

None but Dante, he thought. And he was seized by a sudden

inspiration.

He unlocked one of the drawers of his desk. This was the memory

drawer. Maia’s picture was there, along with the scant remnants of his childhood — his grandfather’s pocket watch, some jewelry that

belonged to his mother, her diary, and a few old photographs. He

removed a photograph and an illustration before locking the drawer again, placing the items in his pocket. Pausing only to open a black velvet box and withdraw a ring, he headed for the door.

The chill in the Toronto air sobered Gabriel as he walked deter-

minedly to his office. He only hoped he would be able to find what he needed.

The building in which the Department of Italian Studies was

housed was dark. As he switched on the light in his office, he was assaulted by memories. Memories of the first time Julia visited his office and he’d been unspeakably rude. Memories when Julia stood

by the door after that disastrous seminar, telling him she wasn’t happy.

Telling him she didn’t want Paul. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if he could block out the visions.

He packed his fancy leather briefcase with only the files he needed and a few books, before searching the shelves. Moments later, he

found the simple textbook and breathed a sigh of relief. He penned a few words, added his bookmarks, then switched off the light and

locked the door.

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All faculty in the department held keys to the departmental

office, where Mrs. Jenkins’s desk and the mailboxes were located.

Gabriel used the light from his iPhone to find the box he wanted.

He deposited the book, stroking his fingers lovingly across the name labeling the mailbox. He noted with satisfaction that other textbooks were in other boxes, then with a heavy heart, he exited the office.

P

Paul Norris was angry. His anger was directed at the most evil

man on the planet, Gabriel Emerson, who had verbally abused and

seduced his friend before dumping her.

If Paul had been a fan of Jane Austen, he would have likened

Professor Emerson to Mr. Wickham. Or perhaps, to Willoughby.

But he wasn’t.

Nevertheless, it was all he could do not to pummel Emerson

senseless and give him the ass whipping he’d been in desperate need of all year. Additionally, Paul felt betrayed. For God knows how long, Julia had been involved with a man she called Owen.

Gabriel Owen Emerson.

Perhaps she wanted Paul to figure it out. But it had never crossed his mind that Owen was, in fact, Professor Emerson. He’d cursed the man and told her secrets about him, for God’s sake. Secrets about

Professor Singer. And while she was accepting his sympathy, she was sleeping with him. No wonder she’d sworn up and down that Owen hadn’t bitten her neck, that it was some other asshole.

Paul thought of Professor Emerson doing depraved things to

Julia, and her small, small hands. Julia, who was sweet and kind,

with blushing pink cheeks. Julia, who never passed a homeless man

on the street without giving him something. Perhaps the true pain

of betrayal was the realization that sweet Miss Mitchell had shared a bed with a monster who got off on pain, who had been a plaything

of Professor Singer. Perhaps Julia wanted that lifestyle. Perhaps she and Gabriel invited Ann into their bed, as well. After all, Julia had picked Soraya Harandi to be her attorney. Didn’t that mean she was familiar with Professor Pain?

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Sylvain Reynard

Clearly, Julia was not who he thought she was. But his suspicions

morphed into something else when, on the Monday after the hearing, he ran into Christa Peterson as she exited Professor Martin’s Office.

“Paul.” She nodded at him smugly, adjusting the expensive watch

on her wrist.

He jerked his chin in the direction of Professor Martin’s door.

“Having some trouble?”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly, smiling altogether too widely. “In

fact, I think the only person who’s having trouble is Emerson. You’d better start looking for a new dissertation director.”

Paul narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“If Emerson drops me, he’ll drop you too. If he hasn’t already.”

“I’m dropping him.” She tossed her hair behind her shoulder.

“I’m transferring to Columbia in the fall.”

“Isn’t that where Martin came from?”

“Give my best to Julia, would you?” Laughing, Christa brushed

past him.

Paul jogged after her, catching her elbow with his hand. “What

are you talking about? What did you do to Julia?”

She wrenched her arm free, her eyes narrowing. “Tell her she

fucked with the wrong woman.”

Christa walked away as a stunned Paul stood, wondering what

she had done.

P

Julia didn’t respond to Paul’s worried messages or emails. So on

the Wednesday after the hearing, he stood on the front porch of her building, buzzing her apartment.

She didn’t answer.

Undeterred, Paul waited, and when a neighbor exited the build-

ing, he went inside and knocked on her door. He rapped several times until a hesitant voice called to him. “Who is it?”

“It’s Paul.”

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Gabriel’s Rapture

He heard what sounded like the thud of Julia’s forehead against

the door.

“I wanted to check on you since you aren’t answering your phone.”

He paused. “I have your mail.”

“Paul — I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Let me see that you’re all right

and I’ll go.”

He heard the shuffling of feet. “Julia,” he called to her softly.

“It’s just me.”

A scraping sound echoed in the hallway, and the door slowly

creaked open.

“Hi,” he said, looking down into the face of a woman he did

not recognize.

She looked like a girl really, white skin against dark hair that

was messily pulled up into a ponytail. Purple circles rimmed her

eyes, which were bloodshot and glassy. She looked as if she hadn’t slept since the hearing.

“Can I come in?”

She opened the door more widely, and Paul walked into her

apartment. He’d never seen it so disordered. Dishes were abandoned on every surface, her bed was unmade, and the card table was straining under the weight of papers and books. Her laptop was open as

if she’d been interrupted while working on it.

“If you came to tell me how stupid I am, I don’t think I can

handle that right now.” She tried to sound defiant.

“I was upset when I found out you’d been lying to me.” Paul

shuffled her mail from one arm to the other and scratched at his

sideburns. “But I’m not here to make you feel badly.” His expression softened. “I don’t like to see you hurting.”

She looked down at her purple woolly socks and wiggled her

toes. “I’m sorry for lying.”

He cleared his throat. “Um, I brought your mail. You had some

stuff in the mailbox outside, and I also brought your mail from the department.”

Julia looked at him with a worried expression.

He held up a hand as if to reassure her. “It’s only a couple of

flyers and a textbook.”

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Sylvain Reynard

“Why would someone send me a textbook? I’m not teaching.”

“The textbook reps put exam copies in the professors’ mailboxes.

Sometimes they give books to the grad students too. I got one on

Renaissance politics. Where should I put everything?”

“On the table. Thanks.”

Paul did as he was bidden while Julia busied herself by retrieving the cups and bowls from around the apartment and stacking them

neatly on top of the microwave.

“What kind of textbook?” she asked, over her shoulder. “It isn’t

about Dante, is it?”

“No. It’s Marriage in the Middle Ages: Love, Sex, and the Sacred.”

Paul read the title aloud.

She shrugged, for the title didn’t interest her.

“You look tired.” He gazed at her sympathetically.

“Professor Picton asked me to make a lot of changes to my thesis.

I’ve been working around the clock.”

“You need some fresh air. Why don’t you let me take you to

lunch? My treat.”

“I have so much work to do.”

He brushed at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You need

to get out of here. This place is depressing. It’s like Miss Havisham’s house.”

“Does that make you Pip?”

Paul shook his head. “No, it makes me a nosy jerk who interferes

in someone else’s life.”

“That sounds like Pip.”

“Is your thesis due tomorrow?”

“No. Professor Picton gave me a week’s extension. She knew I

wouldn’t be ready to turn it in April first because of — everything.”

She winced.

“It’s just lunch. We’ll take the subway and head to Queen Street

and be back before you know it.”

Julia looked up at Paul, into concerned dark eyes. “Why are you

being so nice to me?”

“Because I’m from Vermont. We’re friendly.” He grinned. “And

because you need a friend right now.”

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Gabriel’s Rapture

Julia smiled in gratitude.

“I never stopped caring for you,” he admitted, his eyes unexpect-

edly gentle.

She pretended she didn’t hear his declaration.

“I need a minute to get dressed.”

They both looked at her flannel pajamas.

Paul smirked. “Nice rubber duckies.”

Embarrassed, she disappeared into her closet to find some clean

clothes. Not having done laundry in a week, her choices were limited, but at least she had something halfway presentable for a casual meal.

While she was in the bathroom, Paul took it upon himself to

clean up her apartment, or at least, to tidy it. He knew better than to touch her thesis materials, choosing rather to straighten her bed and pick up things from the floor. When he was finished, he shelved the textbook and sat down in a folding chair to look over her mail.

He quickly disposed of the flyers and junk and stacked what looked like bills into a neat pile. He noticed there weren’t any letters of a personal nature.

“Thank God,” he muttered.

After she dressed, she covered the circles under her eyes with

concealer, and pinked up her pale cheeks with blush. When she was

satisfied that she no longer looked like a youngish version of Miss Havisham, Julia joined Paul at the card table.

He greeted her with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around her chest. “I’m sure you have

things you want to say. You might as well get it over with.”

Paul frowned and gestured to the door. “We can talk over lunch.”

“He left me,” she blurted, looking pained.

“Don’t you think that’s a good thing?”

“No.”

“Jeez, Julia, the guy seduced you for kicks, then dumped you.

How much abuse do you want?”

Her head snapped up. “That’s not how it was!”

Paul looked at her, at her sudden show of anger, and was im-

pressed. He’d rather have her angry than sad.

“You should probably wear a hat. It’s cold out.”

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Sylvain Reynard

A few minutes later they were outside, walking toward the Spa-

dina subway station.

“Have you seen him?” she asked.

“Who?”

“You know who. Don’t make me say his name.”

Paul huffed. “Wouldn’t you rather forget about him?”

“Please.”

He glanced over to see a pinched look on Julia’s pretty face. He stopped her gently. “I ran into him a few hours after the hearing. He was coming out of Professor Martin’s office. Since then, I’ve been trying to finish my dissertation. If Emerson dumps me, I’m screwed.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“In Hell, I hope.” Paul’s voice was cheerful. “Martin sent an email to the department saying that Emerson was on a leave of absence for the rest of the semester. You probably saw that email.”

Julia shook her head.

Paul looked at her closely. “I guess he didn’t say good-bye.”

“I left a few messages for him. He finally emailed me yesterday.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me to stop contacting him and that it was over. He

didn’t even call me by name — just sent me a two line email from his university account, and signed it ‘Regards, Prof. Gabriel O. Emerson.’”

“Asshole.”

Julia winced, but didn’t disagree. “After the hearing, he told me

I wasn’t sensible of my own distress.”

“Pretentious fucker.”

“What?”

“He stomps on your heart and then he has the balls to quote

Hamlet? Unbelievable. And he misquoted it, the jackass.”

She blinked in surprise. “I didn’t recognize the line. I thought

it was just — him.”

“Shakespeare was a pretentious fucker too. That’s probably why

you couldn’t tell the difference. The line is from Gertrude’s speech about the death of Ophelia. Listen:

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Gabriel’s Rapture

“When down her weedy trophies and herself

Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;

And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:

Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;

As one incapable of her own distress,

Or like a creature native and indued

Unto that element: but long it could not be

Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay

To muddy death.”

Julia’s face grew pale. “Why would he say that to me?”

“You are nothing like her.” Paul reiterated his list of favored pro-fane adjectives with respect to the Professor. “Was Emerson worried you’d do something — to hurt yourself?” Paul was growing progressively more agitated as his undergraduate knowledge of Shakespeare came flooding back to him.

(The benefit of a liberal arts education.)

Julia feigned surprise at his question. “I don’t know what he

thought. He just mumbled something about me trying to commit

academic suicide.”

Paul seemed relieved. Marginally.

“There’s something else I need to mention. I talked to Christa.”

Julia chewed at the inside of her mouth before indicating that

he should continue.

“Christa was happy that Emerson was leaving. And she referred

to you.”

“She’s always hated me,” said Julia.

“I don’t know what she’s up to, but I’d watch your back.”

Julia looked off into the distance. “She can’t hurt me. I’ve already lost what mattered most.”

249

Chapter 29

Paul and Julia sat across from one another at a hip but retro

café on Queen Street. They engaged in small talk before they

ordered their meals, falling into an uneasy silence as Julia pondered her situation.

“So how have you been?” Paul’s voice broke into her internal

musings.

She wouldn’t say it aloud, because she wouldn’t mention such

a thing to Paul. But one of the reasons she had been so upset, apart from the loss of Gabriel, was the loss of what he represented — the attainment of her high school crush, the loss of her virginity, the discovery of what she thought had been a deep and reciprocated love…

When she thought of the first time he made love to her, she

wanted to cry. No one had ever treated her with such rapt attention and gentleness. He was so worried about hurting her and making

sure that she was relaxed. He was insistent on telling her that he loved her, over and over again as he moved toward his orgasm. The

first one that he would have with her, because of her…

Gabriel staring into my very soul, moving inside me, telling me that he loved me while showing me with his body exactly that. He must have loved me. I’m just not sure when he stopped. Or rather, when he chose to love his job more than me.

Paul cleared his throat good-naturedly, and Julia smiled her

apology.

“Um, I’m upset and angry, but I try not to think about what

happened. I’ve been working on my thesis, but it’s difficult to write about love and friendship when you’ve just lost both.” She blew a

breath of air out. “Everyone at the university must think I’m a whore.”

Gabriel’s Rapture

Paul leaned over the table. “Hey, you are not a whore. I’d punch

someone’s lights out if they ever said anything like that about you.”

She said nothing, fidgeting in her lap with an embroidered

handkerchief.

“You fell in love with the wrong person, that’s all. He took ad-

vantage of you.”

Julie protested, but he continued.

“The Dean’s office asked me to sign a confidentiality agreement.

They’re keeping everything having to do with you and Emerson quiet.

So don’t worry about what people think. No one knows anything.”

“Christa knows,” she muttered.

“I’m sure she had to sign the same confidentiality agreement. If

she starts spreading rumors about you, you should go to the Dean.”

“What good would that do? The gossip would follow me to

Harvard.”

“Professors aren’t supposed to take advantage of students. If you’d said no to him, he would have fucked with your career. He’s the vil-lain.” Paul fumed. “You have a lot of good things to look forward to, like graduation and going to Harvard. And someday, when you’re

ready, you’ll find someone who will treat you properly. Someone worthy of you.” He squeezed her fingers. “You’re kind and gentle. You’re funny and bright. And when you’re pissed off, you’re sexy as hell.”

She gave him a half-smile.

“That day you took Emerson on in the seminar room — it was

a total train wreck, but I would pay money to see it again. You are the only person I’ve ever seen stand up to him, other than Christa, who is crazy, and Professor Pain, who is twisted. As much as I was afraid of what he’d do in retaliation, your spunkiness was impressive.”

“I lost my temper. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“Perhaps not. But it showed me something. It showed Emerson

something. You’re a bad ass. You need to let the bad ass come out every once in a while. Within reason, of course.”

He was grinning now and slightly teasing.

“I try not to give in to the anger, but trust me, it’s there.” Julia’s voice was quiet but steely.

As they finished their meals and savored their coffee, Julia told

Paul an extremely edited account of her affair with Gabriel, beginning 251

Sylvain Reynard

with his invitation to accompany him to Italy. She described how

Gabriel saved her from Simon when she was home for Thanksgiv-

ing and that he paid to have the bite mark removed from her neck.

Paul was surprised.

Julia had always felt comfortable talking to Paul. He wasn’t as

intense as Gabriel, of course, and far less mercurial. He was a good listener and a good friend. Even when he was scolding her for choosing Soraya Harandi as her attorney.

Of course, when she revealed that Soraya had been chosen by

Gabriel, his ire shifted.

“I’m going to ask you something personal. If you don’t want to

answer, just say so.” Paul looked around to ensure that no one was eavesdropping.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is Gabriel still involved with Professor Singer? Did you see

her — socially while you were with him?”

“Of course not! He tried to keep me away from her, even when

we went to dinner at Segovia.”

“I can’t believe I never realized you two were together.” Paul

shook his head.

“I know you don’t think very highly of him. But that’s because

you don’t know him. He told me his involvement with Singer was

temporary and that it ended a long time ago. And so we’re clear, Paul, I believed him.” Julia said those last few words with no little intensity.

Paul rubbed at his chin. “I told you that I filed a complaint

against Professor Pain last year. Soraya Harandi was her attorney. I sat in on Singer’s Medieval Torture seminar because I hoped she would

cover material relating to my dissertation. Then she hit on me. At first, I brushed it off. Then I received a strange email from her. She was careful to make her language ambiguous, but anyone from her

seminar would have understood that she was propositioning me. So

I filed a complaint.

“Unfortunately, Soraya Harandi did a hell of a job convincing

the university that I’d misunderstood the email and that I was em-

bellishing my reports of what she said to me in person. It was my

word against Singer’s.

“The only person on my side at the hearing was Dr. Chakravartty.

She brought up emails that Singer had sent to other people and argued 252

Gabriel’s Rapture

that there was a pattern. But Dr. Aras excused me as soon as she

mentioned them. So I have no idea who they were to or what was in

them. Professor Pain was given a warning and told to stay away from me. I never heard from her again. But I always wondered who else

she went after. I was hoping that Emerson protected you from her.”

“He did. I haven’t had any contact with her, and he hasn’t either.

I’m really sorry that happened to you.”

He shrugged. “It still pisses me off that she got away with it. That she’s still getting away with it. That’s why non-fraternization policies are in place — to protect students and their academic careers.”

They were both quiet for a moment, sipping their coffees.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.” She gazed at him with watery eyes.

He held her gaze, then looked down and sighed. “I’d probably

have done the same.”

Then he moved to hold her hand again.

P

By the time Julia returned home, her mood had improved con-

siderably. She didn’t feel well, mind you, or whole. For how could she be whole when her other half had rejected her?

After a productive weekend, Julia was heartened enough by the

progress she made on her schoolwork to return one of Nicole’s telephone calls. Nicole wondered why Julia stopped coming to her weekly therapy sessions. Julia shyly explained that she and Gabriel were no longer together and that he’d been paying for her therapy, to which her therapist responded that Gabriel was continuing to pay for her therapy — indefinitely.

Luckily, both women agreed that it would be inappropriate to

allow him to continue footing the bill, especially since he had effectively created the new, pressing reason for Julia to continue with therapy. So Gabriel’s money was unceremoniously returned to him

and new fees were assessed on a sliding scale, geared to Julia’s income.

In other words, Nicole would charge Julia a ridiculously low fee

in keeping with her fixed income as a student and be perfectly happy to do so. In their appointment on Wednesday, roughly two weeks

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after Gabriel’s departure, they discussed Julia’s heartbreak and the way in which she’d chosen to deal with it. Nicole challenged her to focus on the positive aspects of her life and also, to finish her thesis.

Both aspects of her advice resonated with Julia.

That evening, after having made progress on her writing, Julia

fell asleep. She felt the bed shift and a warm body curled around her like a cocoon, drawing her close. An all too familiar nose nuzzled her neck, and the softest whisper of breath blew across her shoulder.

“Gabriel?”

He hummed into her skin but didn’t answer.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, tears suddenly streaming

down her face.

Gabriel was silent as he reached up to wipe away her tears, then

he pressed his lips to her cheeks over and over again.

“I know you loved me.” Julia relaxed into their spooned position

and closed her eyes. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t love me enough to stay.”

The hands that held her tightly relaxed minutely until they finally disappeared altogether, leaving Julia alone and cold in her single bed.

P

Julia spent part of the next morning staring out the window,

contemplating the very strange dream she’d had the night before.

Gabriel had returned to her, but he was still silent. He hadn’t offered an explanation or begged for forgiveness. He’d simply rejoined her in bed.

She’d nestled into him, his body familiar and comforting. She’d

sighed in relief at his return, her subconscious unwilling or unable to reject him.

It wasn’t really a dream — just a different kind of nightmare.

After a modest breakfast, she checked her emails and text mes-

sages. As she scrolled through the incoming texts on her iPhone, she received the following from Rachel:

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Gabriel’s Rapture

Hey Julia! What’s up with Gabriel not answering his phone? I tried the landline too, but he wouldn’t pick up. I guess things must still be hot and heavy, otherwise he’d answer his phone once in a while.

I’ve picked out the bridesmaid’s dresses — a dark red that will look great on you. I’ll send the link thru email and you can tell me what you think. You’ll have to email me your measurements so I can order the dress.

By the way, I finally met Scott’s girlfriend! Her son, Quinn, is adorable.

Love you, Rachel.

Julia’s first instinct was to close the text and ignore it. That’s what she did to Rachel after Simon and Natalie humiliated her. But as her therapist had impressed upon her, this time she needed to do something different. Something braver.

She took a deep breath and typed out a response:

Rachel, The bridesmaid dresses sound beautiful. I’ll make sure to send you my measurements. I’m glad you met Scott’s girlfriend. I’m looking forward to meeting her and her little boy.

I haven’t spoken to Gabriel in days. I don’t know where he is. He left. It’s over. J.

It took exactly one minute and forty-five seconds for Julia’s

iPhone to ring, indicating a call from Rachel. Unfortunately, Julia’s courage gave out at that moment, and she didn’t answer. The following text arrived shortly thereafter:

I’m going to kill him. -R

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Chapter 30

Gabriel strode through the misty blackness into the woods be-

hind what had been the Clarks’ house. He brought a flashlight,

but he almost didn’t need it. He knew the woods so well that even

if he’d been drunk or coked out of his mind he could find his way

to the orchard and back again. He was good at navigating the dark.

He stood at the orchard’s periphery, eyes closed, as the chilled

rain washed down. If he opened his eyes and squinted, he could

almost see her — the outline of a teenage girl resting on a man’s

chest, the couple nestled on an old, wool blanket. Her hair floated across her shoulders, her arm rested on his waist. He could barely see the man’s face, but he could tell that the man was besotted with the brown-eyed angel in his arms.

Gabriel stood very still, listening to the echoes of memories that were half-dreams…

“Do you have to leave?”

“Yes, but not tonight.”

“Will you come back?”

“I’m going to be thrown out of Paradise tomorrow, Beatrice. Our only hope is that you find me afterward. Look for me in Hell.”

He hadn’t planned to return to the orchard without her. He hadn’t

planned to leave her. He’d broken her heart. Although he was op-

pressed by guilt and regret, he knew he’d make the same decision again.

Julianne had already given up so much to be with him. He’d be

damned if she gave up her future too.

Gabriel’s Rapture

P

Gabriel stood shirtless in his old bedroom, drying his hair with

a towel and fumbling with the stereo. He was in the mood for pain-

ful music. Which meant, at that moment, that he was listening to

“Blood of Eden” by Peter Gabriel. Midway through the chorus, the

telephone began to ring. He’d forgotten to ask Richard to cancel

the telephone service when he moved to Philadelphia, after Gabriel bought the house.

Leaving the call unanswered, Gabriel paced like a restless ghost.

He reclined on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was a passing fancy, he knew, but he swore he could smell Julia’s scent on his pillow and that he could hear the gentle tide of her breathing. He toyed

with the platinum band on his finger, twisting it over and over again.

Lines from Dante’s La Vita Nuova crowded his mind, describing Beatrice’s rejection:

“By this false and evil rumour

which seemed to misfame me of vice…

she who was the destroyer of all evil

and the queen of all good, coming where I was,

denied me her most sweet salutation,

in the which alone was my blessedness.”

Gabriel had no right to compare his situation to Dante’s, since

his misfortune was the result of his own choice. Nevertheless, as the darkness closed in around him, he was stricken by the possibility

that he’d lost his blessedness. Forever.

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Chapter 31

“That son of a bitch!” Tom Mitchell swore loudly into his daughter’s ear. She had to hold her iPhone at arm’s length in order to

protect her eardrums. “When did this happen?”

“Um, in March.” Julia sniffled. “He confirmed it via email.”

“Son of a bitch. What was his reason?”

“He didn’t give me one.” She didn’t have the energy to describe

the events leading up to her separation from Gabriel, and anything having to do with the academic fraud allegations would just make

Tom angrier.

“I’ll shoot him.”

“Dad, please.” The conversation was difficult enough without

having to worry about shotguns being loaded and Gabriel’s lily-white tail being hunted through the woods of Selinsgrove.

Tom breathed heavily into the phone. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know.”

“I hate to say this, Jules, because I know you — cared for him,

but Gabriel is a cokehead. Once an addict, always an addict. Maybe he’s using again. Maybe he ran into trouble with his dealer. Drugs are a messy business, and I’m glad he’s gone. The farther away from you he is the better.”

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.”

Gabriel’s Rapture

“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.

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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 ex-

tremely ordered and tidy.

After taking Julia’s coat, Katherine graciously accepted the Chi-

anti 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 Gabriel’s Rapture

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 nervous-

ness. 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.

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“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.”

Julia tore her eyes from Katherine and focused on her knife and

fork. She had no idea what was coming next.

Katherine tapped an impatient finger on top of the table. “I

don’t like it when people pry into my private life, so I leave others’

private lives alone. In your case, I was dragged into something by David Aras.” Katherine grimaced. “I’m not privy to everything that went on at that McCarthyite hearing, and I don’t want to be.” She

glanced at Julia meaningfully.

“Greg Matthews at Harvard is looking to hire an endowed chair

in Dante studies. I’d hoped that Gabriel would be offered that job.”

Katherine saw Julia move out of the corner of her eye, but quickly continued. “Unfortunately, the chair has been offered to someone

else. They foolishly tried to lure me out of retirement, but I declined.

“How that dreadful Pacciani man ended up on their short list, I’ll never know. At any rate, Cecilia Marinelli will be the new endowed chair. They stole her from Oxford. It would be good if you could

work with her. Provided all goes well with your thesis, I’d be happy to telephone Cecilia and let her know of your arrival.”

“Thank you, Professor. That’s very kind.”

Katherine waved a casual hand. “Not at all.”

The two women spent the next few minutes finishing their dinner

in relative silence. While Katherine cleared the table, after refusing her student’s repeated offers to help, Julia finished her wine.

Although she felt badly that Gabriel did not get his dream job,

she was relieved that he would not be following her to Harvard. His 262

Gabriel’s Rapture

presence in the department would have caused all kinds of problems.

She could never work with him now. And it would have been ex-

tremely painful to have to try to maintain a professional and detached relationship with him. No, it was much better that Gabriel would

stay in Toronto, while she moved to Boston. It was a mercy, albeit a severe one, that Harvard had hired Professor Marinelli.

After dessert and coffee, Katherine suggested they retire to the

parlor. Once again, Julia sat in the comfortable club chair next to the fire and gratefully received the small glass of port that Katherine pressed into her hand. Although Katherine’s decorating style was

quite different from Gabriel’s, it seemed as if Dante specialists enjoyed drinking by the fireplace.

“You will have a fresh start at Harvard, and no one will have an

inkling of what transpired here. Until then, it would be wise not to draw any more attention to yourself.” Katherine gave Julia a look

that was piercing, if not severe.

“Graduate students, especially female graduate students, are vul-

nerable with respect to their reputation. There are still those in the Academy who would choose to mislabel the fruits of talent and hard work as the results of preferment and prostitution. It’s best if you never give anyone the slightest suspicion that you haven’t earned

your accomplishments through hard work.”

“Professor Picton, I swear that I worked very hard in the Dante

seminar. He didn’t help me with my essay or give me any special

treatment. That’s why he asked you to grade it.”

“I’m sure that’s true. But you deceived me, and quite frankly, I’m a bit put out.”

Julia gazed at her advisor with undisguised horror.

“Nevertheless, I understand why I wasn’t taken into your con-

fidence. I’m sure Gabriel forbade it. I’m annoyed with him as well, but for reasons I won’t divulge, I owe him a debt.”

Professor Picton sipped her port thoughtfully, staring off into

space. “When I was a student at Oxford, it was shamefully common

for dons to develop romantic relationships with their students. Sometimes the relationships were what we would now consider harassment cases. Other times true love was involved. I saw both.”

Katherine fixed Julia with an unblinking eye. “I know the dif-

ference between a Willoughby and a Colonel Brandon. I hope that

you do too.”

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P

The following evening, Julia walked to Paul’s apartment. They’d

agreed to meet for coffee so they could debrief after Julia’s dinner with Professor Picton.

Paul turned to face Julia on the couch. “Now that the semester

is over for you, when are you moving?”

Julia sipped her coffee. “My lease is up the end of July, but I was hoping to persuade my landlord to let me leave mid-June.”

“After graduation?”

“Yes. My dad is going to help me move.”

Paul placed his mug on the coffee table.

“I’m heading back to Vermont in June. You could drive with me,

and I could help you move.”

“My dad is coming for graduation.”

“We can drive together. You two could stay with me at the farm

for a day or so, then we could drive down to Boston to get you settled.

Are you going to live in residence?”

“I don’t know. They sent me something saying I couldn’t get

into the residence halls until August. But I’d need somewhere to

live before that.”

“My friend’s younger brother goes to Boston College. Let me

talk to him and see if he knows of a place you could sublet. Half the population of Boston is under twenty-five. There are a lot of students.”

“You’d do that? Help me move and find an apartment?”

“I’d expect to be paid, in beer. I like Krombacher, by the way.”

“I think I can do that.”

Julia smiled and they clinked their coffee mugs together.

“Who are they?” She pointed to a photograph of four people,

two men and two women, that Paul had partially hidden behind a

penguin on top of his television.

“The girl on the far left is Heather, my little sister, and her husband, Chris. That’s me on the right.”

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“And the other girl?” Julia gazed at the face of the pretty young

woman who was clutching Paul’s waist and laughing.

“Uh, that’s Allison.”

Julia waited politely for Paul to elaborate.

“My ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh,” said Julia.

“We’re still friends. But she’s working in Vermont and couldn’t

handle the long-distance thing. We broke up a while ago,” Paul

explained quickly.

“You’re a good person.” Julia shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe I

shouldn’t have said that.”

Paul pulled her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles chastely. “I think you should say whatever is on your mind. For the record, I’ve always thought you were a good person too.”

She smiled but withdrew her hand delicately, so as not to give

offense.

Shortly before midnight, she was asleep on his shoulder, their

bodies close together on the futon. Paul’s mind was drifting, imagining the feel of her lips against his, her skin beneath his hands. He turned his face into her hair, tightening his arms around her. She stirred, mumbling Emerson’s name before burrowing her head in

his chest.

He realized that he had a decision to make. If he was going to be

Julia’s friend, then he would have to suppress his romantic feelings for her. He couldn’t kiss her or try to move things forward. It was far too soon. And it was quite possible she’d never want him, even when her broken heart was mended. But Julia needed a friend; she needed him. He wasn’t going to abandon her in her time of need, even if it was going to be painful to set aside his true feelings.

So instead of fal ing asleep with her in his arms, he carried her to his room and placed her on the bed. He covered her with the sheet

and blankets, making sure that she was comfortable, then he picked up an extra pillow and a quilt and retreated to the living room.

He spent much of the evening frustrated and staring at the ceil-

ing, while Julia slept soundly in his bed.

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P

While Julia was spending the night at Paul’s apartment, Gabriel

sat in his hotel room, glaring at his laptop. He’d received another terse email from his Chair, Jeremy Martin, reminding him of how

much personal and political capital Jeremy had expended to “save

his ass.” As if Gabriel needed a reminder.

His gaze drifted to the ring on his finger, resisting the urge to

reexamine the words he’d had engraved on the inside. He spun the

platinum band around and around as he cursed his most recent failure.

Harvard had kindly informed him that his candidacy was unsuc-

cessful and that they’d hired Professor Marinelli, instead. Gabriel’s lack of success was one more way in which he’d failed Julianne. But it mattered little, now. What use would it be to be at Harvard, if she wouldn’t forgive him?

He cursed bitterly. What use was it to be anywhere, if she wouldn’t forgive him? Even in the hotel, she was with him. On his computer, on his cell phone, in his iPod, in his head.

Oh, yes, in his head. He was correct when he said that he would

never forget what it felt like to gaze upon her naked body for the first time, the way her eyes were fixed on the floor shyly, the way her face flushed under his heated touch.

He remembered looking down into her deep, dark eyes as she

trembled beneath him, ruby lips parted, breathing heavily, and the way her eyes widened as he entered her.

She’d flinched. Somehow he could remember every time he’d

made her flinch. And there had been many — when he shamed her for

being poor, when he first carried her to bed, when he wove his fingers through her hair and she begged him not to hold her head down,

when he admitted that he’d agreed to separate himself from her…

How many times could he hurt her in one short life?

He’d tortured himself by listening to the voicemail messages she’d left for him — messages he hadn’t returned. They’d grown progressively more despondent until they’d ceased altogether. He couldn’t 266

Gabriel’s Rapture

blame her. It was clear that his messages had not gotten through,

with the exception of a single email. He opened it again, imagining her reaction.

Stop contacting me.

It’s over.

Regards,

Prof. Gabriel O. Emerson,

Associate Professor

Department of Italian Studies/

Centre for Medieval Studies

University of Toronto

A bitter laugh that he recognized as coming from his own throat

echoed in the room. Of course, that would be the message she be-

lieved — not the others. He’d lost her now. What hope was there

without her?

Gabriel thought back to a conversation he’d had with her about

Grace’s favorite book, A Severe Mercy. It was clear in the story that the main characters thought that they’d made an idol of their love — worshipping it and each other to their own detriment. He’d done the same with Julianne, he knew. He’d worshipped her very being, convinced

that she was the light that would shine in his darkness.

He’d loved her enough to leave her in order to protect her future.

And having left her, he was in peril of never possessing her love again.

It was the bitterest twist of fate, that his love for his Beatrice would be precisely what separated him from her.

And what of Paul? Surely he’d use this as an opportunity to

comfort Julia. And where would that comfort lead…Gabriel couldn’t

entertain the idea that she would be unfaithful. But he knew through her messages that she thought it was over. Paul would simply have

to provide a shoulder for her to lean on and he’d be back in her life, in her apartment, in her thoughts.

Angelfucker.

The only relief he could find, if relief it was, would be to torture himself with music and poetry. He clicked a button, and Sting’s

retelling of the story of David and Bathsheba filled the room. As

the song swirled in the air, he gazed at Dante’s poetic reflection on the death of Beatrice and found his heart echoing the words from

La Vita Nuova.

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“An abject wretch like this

May not imagine anything of her, —

He needs no bitter tears for his relief.

But sighing comes, and grief,

And the desire to find no comforter,

(Save only Death, who makes all sorrow brief,)

To him who for a while turns in his thought

How she hath been among us, and is not.

With sighs my bosom always laboureth

On thinking, as I do continually.

Of her for whom my heart now breaks apace;

And very often when I think of death,

Such a great inward longing comes to me

That it will change the colour of my face;

And, if the idea settles in its place.

All my limbs shake as with an ague-fit;

Till, starting up in wild bewilderment,

I do become so shent

That I go forth, lest folk misdoubt of it.

Afterward, calling with a sore lament

On Beatrice, I ask, ‘Canst thou be dead?’

And calling on her, I am comforted.”

Gabriel closed the document on his computer and traced a light

finger over the photograph of the lovely woman who graced his

computer screen. He would discharge his duty over the next few

days, but he would do so without his Beatrice to comfort him. In

her absence, perhaps he would succumb to his old temptations to

deaden the pain.

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Chapter 33

On a Friday afternoon in mid-April, Julia arrived at Rachel and

Aaron’s apartment in Philadelphia. Rachel had planned on

visiting her in Toronto and bringing the bridesmaid dress with her, but she had trouble getting the time off work. Since she was trying to save her vacation days for the honeymoon, Julia agreed to leave the comfortable confines of her hobbit hole, instead.

Rachel welcomed her friend with a hug, escorting her to the

living room. Julia eyed the binders of samples and swatches that

covered the coffee table.

“So the wedding planning is finished?”

Rachel shook her head. “Not quite. But I don’t want to talk

about the wedding; I want to talk about you.” She eyed her friend

with a concerned look. “This thing with you and Gabriel was a

complete shock.”

Julia winced. “To me too.”

“He won’t return our calls or answer our emails, and believe me,

we’ve tried. Scott copied me on the email he sent, and it was scathing.

“Did you know that Gabriel was in Selinsgrove a couple of weeks

ago?”

“Selinsgrove?” Julia was dumbfounded. “I thought he was in Italy.”

“Why would he go there?”

“To finish his book. To get away from me.”

“The jackass,” Rachel cursed. “Have you heard from him?”

“Yes. He emailed to notify me that it was over.” Julia retrieved

her purse. She pulled out two keys and a security pass and handed

them to her friend. “These are his.”

Sylvain Reynard

Rachel gazed at the objects with confusion. “What am I sup-

posed to do with them?”

“Keep them. Or give them to your father. I would have mailed

them to Gabriel, but since he doesn’t want contact…”

Rachel placed the offending items on one of her wedding binders.

Then, thinking better of it, she dumped his things into a drawer in one of the end tables, closing it with an oath.

“I know he went to my parents’ old house because one of the

neighbors called my dad. Apparently, Gabriel was up at all hours

playing loud music and prowling around outside.”

Julia’s mind instantly went to the orchard. It seemed reasonable,

she thought, for him to take solace in the one place he’d always been at peace — his Paradise. But since she was tangled up in his memories of that space, she wondered at him going there. Shaking her head,

she put the thought from her mind.

Rachel faced her friend. “I don’t understand why he would do

this. Gabriel loves you. He isn’t the kind of person to love easily, or to say those words without meaning them. That kind of love doesn’t disappear overnight.”

“Maybe he loved his job more. Or maybe he decided to go back

to her.”

“Paulina? Is that what this is about? You didn’t tell me that.”

Rachel’s eyes flashed.

“Up until a year and a half ago, they were still — involved.”

“What?”

“At Christmas, we were fighting about her and, uh, other things.

He told me their history was more recent than I thought.”

“I never so much as heard her name until the day she showed up

at my parents’ house.”

“I knew about her. But when he and I first started dating, he

made it sound as if he ended things with her back at Harvard. In

reality, he’d been carrying on with her for years.”

“You can’t believe that he’d leave you for her, after Florence, after everything.”

“I can believe anything now,” Julia said coolly.

Rachel groaned, placing her hands over her eyes. “What a mess.

My dad is really upset and so is Scott. When he found out that Gabriel 270

Gabriel’s Rapture

was in Selinsgrove, he decided to drive out there so he could knock some sense into him.”

“And did he?”

“Tammy needed him to babysit her little boy. So Scott decided

that he could kick Gabriel’s ass another time.”

Julia smiled wryly. “I can imagine that conversation.”

“Scott is head over heels for Tammy. It’s pretty sickening.”

“I’m glad they’re coming for dinner.”

Rachel looked at her watch. “I should probably start cooking.

They’ll arrive early so they can feed Quinn first. Scott’s life has completely changed. Everything revolves around the baby’s schedule.”

Julia followed her host into the kitchen. “What does your dad

think of her?”

Rachel began rummaging in the fridge. “He likes her. He adores

the baby. You’d think Quinn was his grandson.”

She placed the ingredients for a salad on the counter. “Do you

really think Gabriel would go back to Paulina?”

Julia couldn’t bring herself to say the word aloud, but yes, she

thought it was possible. He’d changed a great deal of his life and his coping mechanisms for her. Now that their relationship was over, it was possible he’d return to his old life.

“She’s familiar territory,” Julia said.

“You make it sound as if she’s western Europe.” Rachel leaned

against the counter. “Do you think the university demanded that he break things off with you?”

“Yes, but how is something like that enforceable? Can they make

him leave the city? Can they tell him what to do in his personal

life, when he’s on a leave of absence? If Gabriel wanted to talk to me, he could have called. He didn’t. The university handed him a

convenient way to break up with me. He was probably planning it

for a while.” Julia crossed her arms around her chest. It was easier to give voice to her deepest fears with Rachel than to dwell on them

when she was alone.

“What a mess,” Rachel repeated, turning to wash her hands.

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In the wee hours of the morning, Rachel and Julia were sprawled

across the sofa in their bathrobes, drinking wine and giggling.

Scott, Tammy, and Quinn had long since left, and Aaron had been

asleep for hours. They could hear reverberations of his snoring echo down the hall.

Bolstered by a very good Pinot noir, Julia described what had

happened at the hearing, and Rachel, to her credit, resisted interrupting her.

“I don’t think Gabriel would give you up just to keep his job. He

doesn’t need the money, and he can always work somewhere else.

What I don’t understand is why he wasn’t more explicit about what

he was doing. Why didn’t he grab you afterward and say I love you but we need to wait.” Rachel giggled drunkenly. “Knowing Gabriel, he would have recited something in iambic pentameter just because

he could.”

“He mentioned something about Peter Abelard, but it wasn’t

comforting. Abelard kept his relationship with Héloise secret so he wouldn’t lose his teaching position. Then he sent her to a convent.”

Rachel reached over to pick up a pillow and threw it at her friend’s head. “He isn’t going to send you to a convent. He loves you. And I refuse to believe otherwise.”

Julia clutched the pillow to her chest as she reclined on her side.

“If he loved me, he wouldn’t leave me. He wouldn’t have broken up

with me via email.”

“Do you really think that Gabriel was stringing you along for fun?”

“No. But that doesn’t matter now.”

Rachel yawned loudly. “Whatever he did, he screwed up. I’m

wondering if he isn’t trying to protect you in some way.”

Gabriel’s Rapture

“He could have texted me and said just that.”

Rachel threw an arm over her eyes. “That’s the part I don’t under-

stand. He could have asked us to give you a message. He could have written you a letter. Why didn’t Gabriel tell the university to shove it?”

Julia rolled onto her back, asking herself a similar question.

Rachel retrieved her cell phone from the coffee table. “Do you

want to call him?”

“No.”

“Why not? Maybe he’ll answer, thinking it’s me.”

“It’s the middle of the night and I’m drunk. It’s not exactly the

best time to have a conversation. Plus, he told me not to contact him.”

Rachel shook the phone in front of her. “If you’re hurting, so

is he.”

“I left him a message saying that if he ever wants to talk to me, he needs to do it face to face. I’m not calling him again.” Julia downed the last of her wine in one swallow.

“Maybe he’ll be at graduation.” Julia sighed, a wistful look on

her face. All her anger and frustration hadn’t eliminated her longing for him. At least, not all of it.

“When’s graduation?”

“June eleventh.”

Rachel swore obliquely at the lateness of the date.

After a few minutes of shared silence, Julia decided to voice one

of her other, greater fears.

“Rachel?”

“Uh huh?”

“What if he sleeps with her?”

Rachel was quiet for a moment. So quiet, Julia began to repeat

the question, but her friend interrupted. “If Gabriel were cruel, then maybe he’d screw someone else. But I can’t imagine him doing that

and thinking that you’d forgive him.”

“If he’s with someone else and you find out about it, tell me.”

Julia gave her friend a pleading look. “It would be better to hear it from you.”

P

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“Darling, open your eyes.”

His voice was warm and thick as he moved inside her, distribut-

ing his weight to his forearms. He leaned down to draw the delicate skin from the inside of her bicep into his mouth, kissing and sucking on it. It was just enough to tease her and perhaps to leave a gentle mark. He knew this drove her mad.

“I can’t,” she gasped, in between moans. Every time he moved

it sent the most wonderful sensations coursing through her body.

Until he stopped.

Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered open.

He rubbed his nose against hers and smiled. “I need to see you.”

His gaze was gentle but intense, as if he were holding back the flame of desire momentarily.

“It’s hard for me to keep my eyes open.” She groaned a little as

he moved inside her once again.

“Try for me.” He kissed her softly. “I love you so much.”

“Then why did you leave me?”

Gabriel looked down on her with dismay, his blue eyes narrow-

ing. “I didn’t…”

P

That same evening Gabriel was lying in the center of the bed,

eyes closed, while she trailed leisurely open-mouthed kisses across his pectorals, pausing reverently to kiss his tattoo, before extending her attentions to his abdominals. An oath left his mouth as she ran her fingers lightly up and down the well-defined muscles before swirling a tongue around his navel.

It has been so long…

That was the thought that came to mind as she gently traced

the skin and strands of hair before reaching a hand down to grasp

him firmly. He shifted his hips. She was stroking him now, and he

was panting, begging. She teased him unhurriedly as her long, silky hair caressed the tops of his thighs, before taking him into the warm wetness of her mouth.

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Gabriel’s Rapture

Gabriel muttered a surprised expletive as he gave himself over to

the sensations, before weaving his fingers into her hair.

He froze.

A sick feeling bubbled up in his stomach as he remembered

what happened the last time he’d done this. He withdrew his hand

immediately, worried that he’d frightened her.

“I’m sorry.” He extended a single finger to trace her cheek. “I

forgot.”

A cold hand caught him by the wrist before forcing him to grasp

her head roughly.

“What did you forget?” she taunted. “How to enjoy a blow job?”

Gabriel’s eyes flew open. In absolute horror he looked down into

a pair of laughing blue eyes.

Paulina was naked and crouched over him, smiling triumphantly

as she held him close to her mouth. Gabriel recoiled, cursing and

crowding backward against the headboard while she sat on her heels, watching him.

She laughed and pointed to his nose, indicating that he should

wipe the traces of cocaine from his nostrils.

What have I done?

He scrubbed his face roughly with both hands. As the enormity

of his depravity sunk in, he retched, dry heaving over the side of the bed. When he came to himself, he held out his left hand to show her his ring — but there was none.

The wedding ring was gone.

Paulina laughed again and began crawling toward him, eyes feral,

her naked body brushing against his own.

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Chapter 35

Gabriel struggled and flailed before jolting awake. He tore at

the bedclothes, earnestly looking for any sign of her. But there

was none.

He was alone in a dark hotel room. He’d extinguished the lights

before retiring, which was his first mistake. Neglecting to place the framed photograph on his nightstand was his second, for it served

as a talisman against the darkness.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and placed his face in

his hands. Enduring rehab all those years ago had been excruciating but nothing compared with losing Julianne. He would have suffered

the nightmares and haunting memories of old sins gladly if he could hold her in his arms every night.

As he gazed with contempt at the half-empty bottle of Scotch,

he felt the darkness closing in. His desperate pursuit had placed a great deal of pressure on him. When that pressure was coupled with a striking sense of loss, it made it almost impossible for him to func-tion at a high level without some kind of crutch.

Every day the drinks grew larger. Every day he realized that he

needed to do something before he became trapped by his old cop-

ing mechanisms and ruined his future. He knew that if he didn’t do something, quickly, he’d relapse.

Impulsively, he made two telephone calls before gathering his

belongings and shoving them into his suitcase. Then he directed the concierge to secure him a cab that would take him to the airport. He didn’t bother to ensure that his appearance was neat and professional.

In fact, he didn’t bother looking into the mirror at all, for he knew that what he saw would disgust him.

Gabriel’s Rapture

Many hours later, he arrived in Florence and checked into the

Gallery Hotel Art. It had been short notice, but he’d persuaded the manager to give him the same suite in which he and Julia had consummated their relationship. It was either that or a rehabilitation program, and he was convinced his connection to her would prove

far more redemptive.

As he walked into the room, he half-expected to see her, or at

least, signs of her. A pair of tangerine stilettos carelessly kicked off under a coffee table. A taffeta dress pooled on the floor next to a blank wall. A pair of seamed black stockings strewn across an unmade bed.

But of course, he saw none of those things.

After a relatively restful sleep and a shower, Gabriel contacted

his old friend Dottore Vitali at the Uffizi Gallery and met him for dinner. They spoke of Harvard’s new chair of Dante Studies. They

spoke of Giuseppe Pacciani and Gabriel was marginally gratified to learn that although Giuseppe had been offered a campus interview

while Gabriel had not, Giuseppe’s lecture had been regarded as poor by the Harvard faculty. It was cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

The next day Gabriel sought to distract himself from his troubles

by engaging in pleasurable activities — breakfast on a piazza, a walk along the Arno, a lengthy afternoon at his tailor’s in which he ordered a hand-made black wool suit, and an hour or so spent looking for

the perfect pair of shoes to match his finery. His tailor joked that the suit was so fine Gabriel could be married in it. The tailor had laughed, until Gabriel held up his left hand and showed him his ring.

“I’m newly married,” he explained, much to the tailor’s surprise.

No matter where Gabriel walked in the city of Florence, he was

assaulted with memories of her. He would stand on the Ponte Santa

Trinita, hugging the sweet and sour feelings tightly to his chest, knowing that they were preferable to chemical alternatives.

Late one evening, slightly drunk, he wandered by the Duomo,

retracing the path he’d taken with Julianne months earlier. Tortured by his memory of her face when she accused him of fucking her, he

stumbled across a familiar looking beggar, who sat in the shade of Brunelleschi’s dome.

Gabriel approached him.

“Just a few coins for an old man,” the beggar cried in Italian.

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Gabriel grew closer, eying the man suspiciously. The scent of

unwashed flesh and alcohol assailed him, but he grew closer still.

Recognizing the beggar as the same man who’d inspired Julia’s charity back in December, Gabriel stopped, swaying on his feet.

He felt for his wallet. Without bothering to look at the denomi-

nations, he withdrew several bills and held them in front of the man.

“I saw you last December. Yet, you’re still here.” Gabriel’s Italian was only slightly accusatory.

The man eyed the money hungrily. “I’m here every day. Even

Christmas.”

Gabriel dangled the Euros closer to the man. “My fidanzata gave you money. You called her an angel. Do you remember?”

The man smiled toothlessly and shook his head, never allowing

his eyes to leave the cash.

“There are many angels in Firenze, but more in Assisi. I think God favors the beggars there. But this is my home.” The man hesitantly held out his hand, uncertain that Gabriel would actually give him

the money.

In his imagination, Gabriel could see Julia’s face as she compas-

sionately argued the beggar’s case. She wanted to give him money even if there was a strong possibility that he’d waste the money on drink.