Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,434

with a single glance. “Your wedding was a triumph. I haven’t had that much fun in years.”

“I’m so glad you could join us.” Julia gripped her glass a little too tightly, the whiteness of her knuckles telegraphing her nervousness.

“Are you anxious about your lecture?”

“Somewhat.” Julia sipped her ale, wondering why Katherine had insisted on speaking to her alone.

“It’s understandable to be apprehensive, but you’ll do fine. No doubt you’re still a bit shaken after encountering that dreadful woman.”

Julia’s stomach flipped, and she nodded.

Katherine noted that the other patrons were engaged in their own conversations before continuing.

“Did Gabriel ever explain how I came to be in his debt?”

“He mentioned something about doing you a favor, but he wasn’t specific.”

Katherine tapped her pint thoughtfully with a single unpainted fingernail.

“I would have thought he’d have told you. But it’s like him to keep another person’s confidence.”

She removed her glasses, placing them on the table.

“Six years ago, I was in phased retirement in Toronto. Jeremy Martin hired Gabriel to replace me, but I was still supervising graduate students and teaching a seminar.

“At the beginning of the fall semester, I received an email from an old friend here in Oxford. He told me that our former professor, John Hutton, was in hospice dying of cancer.”

“I know Professor Hutton’s work. He was one of the sources for my paper.”

“Old Hut probably forgot more information about Dante than I ever knew.” Katherine’s expression grew almost wistful. “When I received news that he was dying, I’d already begun teaching my seminar. And I’d agreed to deliver a series of lectures on Dante and the seven deadly sins for the CBC. I approached Jeremy and asked if it would be possible to take a week off so I could come here.”

Katherine’s sharp gaze missed very little, and she certainly didn’t miss seeing Julia start at the mention of Professor Martin’s name.

“Jeremy was an ally to both of you last year. He tried very hard to help Gabriel, but in the end, there was only so much he could do.”

Julia shifted in her seat. “I always wondered why he helped Christa transfer to his alma mater. There were rumors they were involved.”

“Rumors hurt people. Sometimes, they hurt innocent people. I expect better from you, Mrs. Emerson, than to be listening to gossip about Professor Martin.”

Julia grew flustered.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”

“I’ve known Jeremy and his wife for years. Believe me, Christa Peterson couldn’t catch his eye if she were naked, holding the original manuscript of The Decameron and a case of beer.”

Julia stifled a laugh at Professor Picton’s imaginative description, such as it was.

“Two days after I explained my situation, Jeremy approached Gabriel. In short order, he volunteered to take over my seminar and any other responsibilities while I was away.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Katherine tipped her head to one side. “But it shouldn’t surprise you. Gabriel likes to do his good deeds in secret, I think, but that he does them is unremarkable. When he volunteered to help he was a first-year assistant professor, just out of graduate school. It was an extraordinary kindness on his part for someone he knew only in passing. As it happened, I was away until after Christmas, burdening him with everything for four long months. And then afterward, when I came home, he was a very good friend to me. So as you can appreciate, I owe him a debt.”

“I’m sure he was happy to help, Professor. After everything you’ve done for us, the debt is more than forgotten.”

Katherine paused, peering at their surroundings thoughtfully. “Gabriel tells me you’re an admirer of the Inklings.”

“I am. Did you know them?”

“I met Tolkien once, when I was a little girl. My father was a Beowulf specialist at Leeds and he and Tolkien used to correspond with one another. I came down on the train with my father to visit him.”

“What was he like?”

Katherine sat back in her chair and regarded the ceiling.

“I liked him. At the time, I simply thought of him as old, like my father. But I can recall that he coaxed me into telling him a story I’d made up about a family of badgers that lived behind our house. He seemed quite taken by it.” She gestured to the corner in which they sat. “This was the exact spot where the Inklings used to meet.”

Julia slowly examined the space. As a child, hiding in her room with a stack of Narnia books, she would never have imagined that one day she