The Book of Air and Shadows

the ciphers, so she’ll want to sell them. Amalie said you knew a big-time Shakespeare scholar…”
    “I do. Mickey Haas-what about him?”
    “Well, maybe you could ask him to handle the sale-in exchange for first look and all that.”
    “I’d be glad to. And if you want to return with me, we’ll be leaving late on Thursday, day after tomorrow, from Biggin Hill. And, Crosetti? Forget about what I said about Amalie and about leaving the house. I’m a little nuts nowadays.”
    Why didn’t I tell him at that moment that it was a fraud? I can’t recall, but it must have been the fear that if I short-circuited the denouement of the scam I would not get to see Miranda again. Perhaps more than a little nuts.

    I went to my meetings, had my flirt, as I’ve said, and a charming dinner with Miss Whoever-Someone, but I put her in a cab with a mere handshake, unmauled. The next day I met Paul for breakfast in the Dorchester and handed him the printouts of the e-mail Crosetti had sent. He sat and read them while I sipped coffee. When he was done I asked him what he thought.
    “Brilliant,” he said, “I almost wish it were real.”
    After that we talked about Mickey and the dead Bulstrode and the scholarly life, and about Mary, Queen of Scots, and how no one was able to actually pin down what she’d actually done. Had she really conspired to kill her husband, Lord Darnley? What had possessed her to marry a maniac like Bothwell? Did she write the incriminating letters that plotted the assassination of Elizabeth? Why did she never, in the entire course of her life, stop to think?
    I said I didn’t know-it was all
Masterpiece Theatre
to me. It wouldn’t be the first time, however, that the fate of nations swung on someone wanting a piece of ass to which they were not strictly entitled.
    “Yes, but what would
Shakespeare
have made of her? I mean he had absolutely nothing to work with on Cleopatra and Lady Macbeth and the women in the history plays and here he had loads of material, and it was all about something that happened in his grandparents’ time. He must have heard people talking about it when he was a kid, especially in a Catholic part of the country like Warwickshire.”
    “Well, we’ll never know, will we? Speaking of conspirators, have you heard from the Russians?”
    “Not a peep. I can’t believe you’re not interested in this. You’re supposed to be the romantic one in the family.”
    “Me? I’m the prosaic one. Intellectual property law? You’re the war hero. And priest.”
    “The most antiromantic profession.”
    “Please! There’s nothing more romantic than a priest. The unobtainable is the
essence
of romance. That’s half of what brings the suckers in, the fascination with celibacy. Plus you guys get to dress up as women without looking ridiculous.”
    “Or not very ridiculous,” said Paul, grinning. “Although as I recall,
you
were the one who used to dress up in Mutti’s clothes.”
    “Oh, now you’re definitely trying to drive me crazy. I never dressed up in-”
    “Yeah, you did, you and Miriam were always going through her bureau. Ask her if you don’t believe me. She sends her love, by the way.”
    “Where is she?”
    “In transit. She called last night. She wanted to know what we were up to, but didn’t want to
seem
prying-you know how she tries to weasel stuff out of you when you’d be perfectly willing to tell her if she’d just ask up front?”
    “Yeah, and getting anything out of her is like picking crabmeat. Does ‘in transit’ mean she’s in Europe?”
    “So I gathered,” said Paul vaguely. “My impression was that she’s on her way to see Dad.”
    “How about you? Going to join them?”
    “I might, as long as I’m here,” he said, with his annoying smile.
    “All forgiven, is he?”
    “It comes with the job.”
    “And he’s all apologetic for what he did?”
    “Not in the least. He’s never said a word to me or Miri about that time, or about Mother. He thinks I’m a jerk and a clown and treats Miri like a servant. As far as I can see he hasn’t changed one bit since Brooklyn, except he’s older, richer, more corrupt, and boinking successively younger women. Oh, and of course, politically he’s a total fascist, way to the right of Kach. Death to the Arabs, Sharon a sellout, the usual.”
    “Charming. Paul, why the
hell
do you waste your time with him?”
    His turn to shrug. “Filial duty. Or so Miri doesn’t have to carry the whole load