Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno 3)

(Conference sex was a peculiar compunction of certain academics. It should be avoided at all costs.)

The next lecture was as torturous as the first. Julia feigned interest while her thoughts fixated on one point. If Gabriel had listened to her, Christa would have been forced to spin her web of slander without a large, focused audience. Now Julia would have to mingle with the other attendees knowing they’d witnessed the embarrassing display. She was shy to begin with. Christa had magnified her unease a hundredfold.

Despite their falling out, Julia would have preferred to spend the day at his side, especially during lunch and the frequent tea and coffee breaks. But they’d agreed the night before to circulate among the conferencegoers, giving Julia the opportunity to network.

She forced herself to make small talk, allowing Professors Marinelli and Picton to introduce her to their old friends, while Gabriel mingled on the other side of the room. He was obviously on a charm offensive—trying to speak to as many conferencegoers as possible. From the glances Julia received, it was clear he was speaking about her.

Women flocked to him. No matter where he was, there were always one or two women standing near him. To his credit, he suffered their attentions patiently without encouraging them.

Julia focused on her own interactions, but she couldn’t help but keep apprised of where he was situated and with whom. She also marked Christa’s position, but she was never far from Professor Pacciani.

Julia found the fact curious.

Pacciani’s eyes seemed to follow her and on one occasion, she was certain he winked. But he made no attempt to approach or speak with her. He seemed content to remain at Christa’s side, despite her occasionally flirtatious behavior with other men.

Julia sipped her tea as she listened to professor after professor regale her with tales of their latest research projects, longing for the end of the day.

During the final lecture, Gabriel noticed Julia squirming in her seat. She’d been doing so for an hour, as if she were in desperate need of the ladies’ room.

Gabriel had been nursing his irritation with Christa for hours, fanning the embers with myriad justifications for his words and actions. He was in the middle of composing a self-righteous speech that he intended to deliver to Julia when they were back at Magdalen, when she stunned him by passing a note.

I don’t want to fight.

I’m sorry.

Thank you for defending me.

I’m sorry she mentioned Professor Pain.

Gabriel reread the note twice.

The sight of Julia’s contrition in black and white made his heart constrict. She’d said that she was sorry, even though she’d done almost nothing.

He would have appreciated more support from her. He coveted her compassion—compassion for a plight brought about because of his strong desire to protect her. But he hadn’t expected an apology.

Their eyes met and she gave him a tentative smile. The smile, perhaps even more than the note, undid him.

His irritation cooled, under the frigid waters of remorse.

Without delay, he turned her note over and wrote,

Emerson was an ass.

But he hopes you’ll forgive him.

It took an instant for her to read it. And when she did, she restrained a laugh, resulting in a strangled snort.

The sound echoed around the room and the lecturer looked up from his notes, wondering how a wild pig had managed to wander into St. Anne’s College in order to attend his paper.

Blushing furiously, Julia feigned a coughing fit, while Gabriel patted her back. When the lecture eventually continued, he added to his missive,

I’m sorry I embarrassed you.

I promise I’ll do better.

You are not a speed bump.

You’re my Beatrice.

Julia’s delicate features lightened, and he watched as her shoulders relaxed.

Hesitantly, she reached out her baby finger and linked it with his own. This was her way of holding his hand without others seeing.

He curved his pinky around hers, looking at her from out of the corner of his eye.

Yes, Professor Emerson could be an ass, on occasion. But at least he was sorry.

After the conference ended for the day, Katherine spirited Julia away to The Eagle and Child pub for a drink. The pub was referred to locally as “The Bird and Baby,” or “The Fowl and Foetus.” It was, perhaps, the most famous pub in Oxford. Julia was eager to see it because it had been one of the meeting places of the Inklings, the literary group that included C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Charles Williams.

Inside, Katherine purchased two pints of Caledonian ale and piloted her former student to a back corner. Once they were comfortable, she clinked their glasses together and took a long pull from her pint.

“It’s good to see you, Julianne. You’re looking well.” Katherine took in her former student’s appearance 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.”