The Quest: A Novel

to go.” He stood. “Tell Henry I said good-bye. And tell him I’ll see him next time I’m in Rome.”
    She stood, too, and they looked at each other.
    He thought she was going to suggest that he walk with her along the path, toward Henry’s office. But she didn’t.
    He said to her, “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
    “I wish you God’s peace and God’s love.”
    “You, too.”
    “We have a bond that can never be broken.”
    “We do.”
    There wasn’t much else to say, and he didn’t want it to be awkward or emotional, so he said, “Take care,” turned, and walked away.
    This was the first time his sense of loss was not made easier by a sense of relief. In fact, he felt as though he were walking away from life.
    Purcell knew never to look back, but this time something made him look back. She was standing near the bench, watching him.
    He took a few more paces, then turned and looked at her again, and she was still looking at him.
    He walked back to where she was standing, and she came to meet him.
    They stopped a few feet from one another and he saw she had tears in her eyes.
    He asked her, “Where’s Henry?”
    “I told him not to come.”
    He nodded.
    She reminded him, “You said you’d take me back.”
    He’d thought it was a moot question, but apparently it was not.
    She smiled. “Are you taken?”
    “No.”
    “You are now.”
    He didn’t know what to say, so he asked, “Would you like to take a walk?”
    She put her arm through his and they walked through the Vatican park.
    She reminded him, “You said we’d return to the Capitoline Hill.”
    “Right.” He asked her, “Are your things in my room at the Forum?”
    “I’m not that presumptuous.” She let him know, “They’re in the lobby.” She also let him know, “We have been chosen for each other. Believe it.”
    “I believe it.”

Acknowledgments
    I’d like to first thank Rolf Zettersten, publisher of Center Street, for taking an early and earnest interest in my idea, pitched in a bar, of me rewriting and he republishing
The Quest
. It’s not often that good decisions are made during cocktails, and less often does that idea survive the sober light of day. I am grateful for Rolf’s enthusiasm and long friendship.
    Rolf assigned a longtime friend of mine, Kate Hartson, as my editor. Kate read the original version of
The Quest
and immediately saw what needed to be done—more sex. Or, more romance. She helped guide my fictitious characters through their relationships and emotional turmoils while nudging the author toward a happy ending. Much gratitude to Kate for all her help and patience as I missed every deadline but the last.
    Many thanks to my assistant Patricia Chichester, who loved this book even while we were both bleary-eyed from late nights spent writing, typing, rewriting, and retyping. Patricia’s careful and quick work on all aspects of the manuscript, including research and working closely with Kate Hartson, made this book possible.
    Thanks, too, to my assistant Dianne Francis, who also burned the midnight oil to keep the office running, and who became Nelson DeMille while I was locked in my writing cell. Thank you, Dianne, for keeping the world at bay.
    Another good decision, made over vino at a long lunch, was my joining up with Jennifer Joel and Sloan Harris, literary agents extraordinaire, at International Creative Management Partners. Jenn and I go back many years, and Sloan had not had the pleasure of my company until we met at that fateful lunch. We all clicked, and I’m happy and proud to be represented by true professionals.
    No writer should try to read a publishing or movie contract, ortry to deal with the U.S. Copyright Office. I have been fortunate to have as a friend and attorney David Westermann, who won’t let me sign my name to anything he hasn’t read and revised—including his checks. Thanks, Dave, for your good counsel.
    When I first wrote
The Quest
in 1975, my childhood friend Thomas Block, who was a young pilot for Allegheny Airlines, helped with the flying scenes. Thirty-eight years later, I asked the still young US Airways retired Captain Block to take another look at the flying scenes in the book, which he did. He assured me that he had gotten it right the first time, and that the principles of flight had not changed all that much in the past thirty-eight years. I thanked Tom in 1975 for his time and advice, so I don’t need to do it again—but I will. Thanks,