Free The Caravaggio Conspiracy by Walter Ellis Page B

she said. ‘It was something the rector of the Irish College said to me the other night.’
    ‘The rector? So he was hitting on you as well.’
    ‘Why, are you jealous?’
    ‘I just remember the bishop with his hand on your arm.’
    ‘Even men of God have eyes,’ she said, staring at him across the top of her glass. ‘And desires.’
    ‘Don’t we all?’ he said.
    They sipped at their wine.
    ‘What would you be doing if you were back in Galway?’ she asked.
    He thought for a second. ‘Probably looking out at the rain through a pub window.’
    The thought pleased her. ‘Maybe you’ll take me there some day,’ she said.
    ‘You never know,’ he replied. He wondered if he should make the first move.
    The waiter brought their order.
    Dempsey raised a forkful of lightly grilled zucchini. ‘Let’s talk about you for a change. You must have had a strong Catholic upbringing to have a father who ended up as commandant of the Swiss Guard. You don’t get much more faithful than that.’
    ‘Hold on,’ she replied, laughing. ‘Didn’t you tell me your childhood home was full of religious statues?’
    ‘That’s true. My father said the rosary a dozen times a day. Sometimes when he was on the phone he’d pass the old-fashioned flex through his fingers like it was a set of beads.’
    Maya tried to picture Mr Dempsey, his mouth moving in silent prayer as he listened to his bank manager recommending a new vehicle for his savings.
    ‘Do you miss him?’
    The blue in his eyes turned to ice as he considered his reply. ‘He wasn’t an easy man,’ was all he said.
    ‘Perhaps he would have said the same about you.’
    ‘Perhaps.’
    She reached for the bottle of Frascati and refilled their glasses. ‘But tell me more about your uncle. If you think my father is a leading Catholic, what about him? He must be the first ever Irish Superior General. Is that right?’
    Dempsey responded gratefully to the change of subject. ‘He’s the first all right. A pioneer. Not quite the same thing, though, is it? While my uncle gets to dress in black from head to foot, your father is a one-man sartorial riot, with scarlet tunic and knee-britches, buckled shoes, a ruff and a silver helmet with an ostrich feather in it.’
    ‘He looks good, don’t you think?’
    ‘I’d certainly pick him out in a police line-up.’
    ‘Except,’ said Maya, ‘that he’s the head of the police.’
    Now Dempsey was grinning. ‘Seriously,’ he said, ‘what made him go for the job? He and your mother get a pretty cool apartment, I’ll grant you that. But it’s still a bit of an odd thing to do. Like being colonel-in-charge of the Beefeaters.’
    ‘For a start,’ said Maya, twisting a mouthful of pasta onto her fork, ‘he didn’t go for the job. He was asked. You have to be invited. And for another thing, he’d been a top business executive for twenty years and an army officer for seven years before that, with five more years in the Reserve. So it was time for a change. As for being a good Catholic, I’d say he’s above average, nothing more. But he believes in it and his loyalty to the Pope is absolute.’
    Dempsey put his fork down and raised his glass to his lips. ‘So if he heard there were shenanigans afoot in the conclave, he’d be concerned?’
    ‘Shenanigans? I don’t understand.’
    ‘Goings-on. Things that shouldn’t be happening.’
    ‘What are you suggesting?’
    ‘Just thinking aloud. If he heard there were people in high places putting undue pressure on certain cardinals to give their vote to a certain hardline candidate , would that be something your father would take notice of?’
    She looked at him hard. It was obvious to him that she didn’t like the direction in which their conversation was going. ‘Of course he’d take notice,’ she said. ‘But there’d be nothing he could do … not unless there was murder involved, or blackmail – something of that order. You have to realize that in the interregnum