Read Online Irish Gilt by Ralph McInerny - Free Book Online Page B

drink.”
    â€œNot me,” Rebecca cried. “I saw Uncle X on his way here and have been trying to catch up to him.” She turned to Eggs. “Dad is coming on a visit.”
    â€œYour mother, too?”
    â€œJust Dad.” She leaned toward Eggs and kissed him. “Call me.” Off she went.
    As Kittock and Boris headed for the bar, Bernice came in from the patio. “Oh,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.” She tipped back her head so she could look up at Boris.
    â€œSo who have we here?” Boris chortled.
    â€œBernice. Bernice Esperanza.” She thrust a hand at Boris, and he enclosed it in both of his. He looked at Eggs, waiting for him to do the honors.
    â€œThis is my classmate, Boris Henry.”
    â€œHenry! That’s my son’s name.”
    â€œReason enough to buy you a drink. Will you join us?” Boris asked.
    That not all prayers are answered was proved once more to Kittock when she accepted with a giggle. She went into the bar on Boris’s arm, and Eggs followed.
    There are stretches of time so unwelcome that every moment of their duration is burnt into memory. When they were settled at a table—a glass of white wine in front of the bedazzled Bernice, Boris with a scotch and water, and Eggs settling for a Miller Lite as if to punish his classmate with his moderation—Eggs felt both spectator at and participant in a farce. Boris was enjoying this too much, quizzing Bernice, feigning fascination with her answers.
    â€œYou’re employed at Notre Dame?”
    â€œXavier can tell you all about it.”
    â€œBut will he?” Boris asked, his brows actually dancing.
    â€œThere is nothing to hide.”
    â€œEggs always was the brazen sort.”
    â€œEggs?”
    â€œThat’s what we call him. Eggs for X.”
    â€œOh, that’s funny.”
    Incredibly, Boris elicited from her her hopes of becoming a writer. “It’s what Eggs and I have in common,” she said.
    â€œOf course.” Boris glanced at Eggs, who got his glass to his mouth. “Who are your favorite authors?”
    â€œOh, you wouldn’t have heard of them.”
    â€œTry me.”
    â€œBoris is in the book business,” Eggs said.
    â€œA publisher!”
    â€œNo, no. Merely a dealer. Rare books mainly.”
    â€œOh, that’s fascinating.”
    â€œBut tell me how you two met.”
    â€œYou tell him,” Bernice urged, but Eggs waved his hand, giving her the floor. “We have lunch in the same place on campus,” she said.
    Dante was wrong in the punishments he selected for the souls in Purgatory. What could be more punitive than the situation Kittock found himself in? Bernice made their meeting at the eatery in Grace seem like an assignation.
    â€œOf course, it’s all quite innocent.” She widened her eyes. “No matter what my husband thinks.”
    â€œYour husband?”
    â€œActually we’re divorced, but try to get him to realize that. He threatened Eggs.”
    â€œPhysically?”
    â€œYou’d have to know Ricardo to understand. He’s an Argentine. Very macho.”
    â€œAnd jealous, it would seem.”
    â€œIsn’t that silly?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know.”
    By the slow movement of the setting sun she could not have remained with them for twenty minutes, but for Eggs the torture seemed prolonged for eons.
    Suddenly, in a flurry, she pushed back her chair. “What time is it?”
    Boris told her.
    She gave a little squeaking cry and scrambled to her feet. “Henry,” she explained. She stood for a moment, unsuccessfully seeking the right words, and then, with a little bow at each of them, turned and headed for the door. A man was waiting for her. Dear God, it was her husband.
    â€œIt seems she had a double date,” Boris said.
    Silhouetted in the doorway, one hand gripping Bernice’s arm, Ricardo peered into the