over, perhaps a cognac and some Tchaikovsky before bed? Would you like that, Paolo?”
NINE
11:50 P.M.
Katerina rolled off Father Tom Kealy and relaxed. He’d been waiting for her when she’d come upstairs and listened as she’d told him about her unexpected meeting with Cardinal Valendrea.
“That was nice, Katerina,” Kealy said. “As usual.”
She studied the outline of his face, illuminated by an amber glow spilling in through partially drawn drapes.
“I’m stripped of my collar in the morning, then laid that night. And by a most beautiful woman, no less.”
“Kind of takes the edge off.”
He chuckled. “You could say that.”
Kealy knew all about her relationship with Colin Michener. It had actually felt good to empty her soul to someone she thought might understand. She’d made the first contact, prancing into Kealy’s Virginia parish, wanting an interview. She was in the States working freelance for some periodicals interested in radical religious slants. She’d made a little money, enough to cover expenses, but she thought Kealy’s story might be the ticket to something big.
Here was a priest at war with Rome on an issue that tugged at the hearts of Western Catholics. The North American Church was trying desperately to cling to members. Scandals concerning pedophile priests and child molestation had devastated the Church’s reputation, and Rome’s lackadaisical response had done nothing but complicate an already difficult situation. The bans on celibacy, homosexuality, and contraception only added to the popular disillusionment.
Kealy had asked her to dinner the first day, and it wasn’t long before she was in his bed. He was a pleasure to spar with, both physically and mentally. His relationship with the woman that caused all the commotion had ended a year before. She’d tired of the attention and did not want to be the focus of a supposed religious revolution. Katerina had not taken her place, preferring to stay in the background, but she had recorded hours of interviews that, she hoped, would provide an excellent basis for a book.
The Case Against Priestly Celibacy
was her working title, and she envisioned a populist attack on a concept that Kealy said was as useful to the Church “as teats on a boar hog.” The Church’s final assault, Kealy’s excommunication, would form the basis of the promotional scheme.
A priest defrocked for disagreeing with Rome lays out a case for the modern clergy.
Clearly, the concept had played before, but Kealy offered a new, daring, folksy voice. CNN was even talking about hiring him as a commentator for the next conclave, an insider who could provide a counter to the usual conservative opinions traditionally heard at papal election time. All in all, their relationship had been mutually beneficial. But that was before the Vatican secretary of state approached her.
“What about Valendrea? What do you think of his offer?” she asked.
“He’s a pompous ass who could well be the next pope.”
She’d heard the same prediction from others, which made Valendrea’s offer all the more interesting. “He’s interested in whatever it is Colin is doing.”
Kealy rolled over and faced her. “I must admit I am, too. What could possibly concern the papal secretary in Romania?”
“As if nothing of interest lay there?”
“Touchy, aren’t we?”
Though she never really considered herself a patriot, she was nonetheless Romanian and proud of the fact. Her parents had fled the country when she was a teenager, but later she had returned to help overthrow the despot Ceau¸sescu. She was in Bucharest when the dictator made his final speech in front of the central committee building. It was supposed to be a staged event, one to demonstrate workers’ support for the communist government, but it turned into a riot. She could still hear the screams when pandemonium broke out and the police moved in with guns, as prerecorded applause and cheers boomed from