Beatrice nodded. “It’s…fairly recent. Her doctor suggested a few months in the desert. It’s just lucky she has that cousin in New Mexico.”
In reality, it was her grandfather who had cousins in New Mexico, but since Beatrice had to figure out some reason to explain her grandmother’s disappearance, dry air seemed like a good one.
That excuse, along with a phone call from her grandmother, had been enough to assuage Isadora’s friends from storming over to her currently empty house to investigate when she didn’t show up for Tuesday dinner.
“It’s such a shame she won’t be here to see you graduate, you know? But, you always hear how bad the air quality is in Houston, especially in the summer, so I guess her doctor made the right call.”
“It’s not a big deal. The college graduations are a madhouse. She’s not missing anything. I’ll make sure she flies out for my master’s, you know? The air in California has got to be better than here.”
Charlotte giggled and winked at Beatrice. “And the scenery. You better date a surfer, at least once. I want pictures.”
Soon the two women were laughing at all of Beatrice’s imaginary romantic prospects in sunny Southern California. It felt good to joke around with Charlotte and listen to her tease about boys and suntans and rollerblading. It felt good to feel just a little bit normal after the overwhelming tension of the previous month.
Beatrice had done little beside school work, classes, and finals since moving to Giovanni’s. The house was enormous and they both took care of their own cleaning and cooking, so other than the occasional meeting in the kitchen or the laundry room, she didn’t even see him. She spent more time with Carl, her friendly neighborhood security guard, who always had a friendly smile and plenty of firepower.
Other than the research time they continued in the library, Beatrice didn’t see her new roommate all that much, but she was definitely learning more about his habits by proximity.
Giovanni swam almost every night. She had woken once at three in the morning to hear a splash in the pool outside her window. She peeked outside and watched him swim laps for over an hour without taking a breath. She didn’t stare the whole time, but his focus was impressive…as was his naked body. He really was the most perfect man she had ever seen. He looked like a Greek sculpture molded from a single block of pale marble.
He played several different instruments, but the piano and the cello seemed to be his favorites, and he often played through the night. It was always something quiet that soothed her and seemed to help her sleep through the nightmares that had begun to plague her sleep.
Other than whiskey, he did eat a little, rich foods like olives and avocados and cheese; ironically, she had never seen him eat any kind of meat. He liked sweet smells and spent a lot of time in the garden. He was fond of the gazebo where honeysuckle grew up and over, almost enclosing the small structure in vines. She had found him there a number of times, reading a book in the dark.
He also loved water, even the sound of it seemed to relax him, and if he was irritated or stressed, Giovanni would immediately go and jump in the pool. She remembered the way that the humid air Lorenzo manipulated had doused the flames that ran along his skin when he was angry, and she wondered if he was drawn to water for the same reason.
She was interrupted from her tangled thoughts by Dr. Christiansen’s voice as he entered the reading room.
“Hello, ladies, I have another Pico letter.”
“What? Really?” Beatrice was shocked. She had imagined, for some reason, that since Lorenzo was in town-even though he seemed to be laying low after their first meeting and her grandmother’s attack-they wouldn’t see any more of the fascinating letters. She had jotted down several other names in her notebook after filtering through what she remembered Lorenzo saying at the library.
Nic. Niccolo. He had called Giovanni “Niccolo’s perfect boy” when he was taunting him. She needed to look at one of the early letters again. She was almost sure that one of them mentioned a Niccolo, but she couldn’t remember which or what the context was.
“Yes, one more from the University of Ferrara. Apparently this one took a bit longer than the others for some reason. It’s been delayed.”
“Oh, so we were supposed to get it last month or something?”
Dr. Christiansen smiled. “No need to worry, B. We have it now, and there’s plenty of time for you to look at it before you leave us next month. Would you like to make a few copies of the notes so we could put them out for the descending hordes?”
“Sure, I’d be happy to.”
She walked over and grabbed the notes while the Dr. Christiansen and Charlotte chatted about the seventh letter. Beatrice walked down the hall to the copy and imaging room and quickly found a chair so she could sit down and read. Flipping through the notes to the translation, she immediately got out her notebook and started jotting down details.
Skimming over the mentions of Savaranola’s return to Florence and other news of his friends, her eyes stopped with she heard mention of the mysterious woman named G.
I received a letter from G. She seems greatly dismayed that you have cut off correspondence and mentioned your request to send the copies of your sonnets. I beg of you, Giovanni, whatever your intentions are toward the lady, do not take steps to destroy your work.
He was going to destroy his poems? For some reason, even the thought of it made her want to cry. Just then, she caught a name that sparked her memory.
I spoke with Signore Andros when he returned from his visit with you in Fiesole.
Signore Andros…she searched her memory and flipped through her notes until she spotted it. Signore Niccolo Andros, who had the fascinating library in Perugia where Giovanni had recovered with the young boy after his time in jail.
Could that be the connection to Giovanni’s books? Were they really the property of this Niccolo Andros? Did Giovanni steal them? And what did all this have to do with her father? She flipped through her notes again to see what kind of books Signore Andros had and frowned. Why would her father be researching books about Eastern mysticism?
Beatrice took notes on the seventh letter, convinced that there was some piece of the puzzle that was just out of her grasp. She needed to study them together, but she could not waste any more time at work. She quickly made the copies, and walked back out to the reading room to see Dr. Scalia already poring over the newest letter with Dr. Christiansen.
“-and the progression of Savaranola’s extreme ideas coinciding with Pico’s apparent depression seems to be one of the most fascinating aspects. Along with the mention of his poetry. I believe the sonnets mentioned would be those Pico wrote to the wife of one of the Medici cousins. It was quite a scandal at the time, and caused his first imprisonment, but these letters certainly indicated they continued their relationship, at least through correspondence.”
“What’s so special about the sonnets?” she heard Charlotte ask.
“We knew Pico had written poetry, but we thought it was destroyed by Savaranola in the bonfires, or that Pico had destroyed it of his own volition as an act of penance. This seems to indicate that Poliziano-who was a poet himself-was trying to get them for safekeeping. It’s all quite fascinating.”
“What about the rest of Pico’s library?”
All eyes swung to Beatrice as she entered the room and spoke.
Dr. Scalia frowned. “What library?”
“Well, the letters mention books and stuff, right? Didn’t he have all sorts of mystical texts, too? Along with his own papers? All these nobles and philosophers had personal libraries, right? What happened to Pico’s? Maybe the sonnets are there.”
Dr. Scalia nodded. “Yes, from all reports, Giovanni Pico did have a very extensive library, though we don’t know what happened to it. He had no heirs, you see. And when he died-”