| chair. His reply was delivered in a quiet monotone. To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Winthrop, that solution has been exaggerated far out of proportion to its practice. Again, I’ll be completely honest with you. In fifteen years I’ve heard of it being exercised only twice, and in both… incidents… the agents out of sanction were beyond salvage. They had sold out to the Soviets; they were delivering names. Is Scofield ‘beyond salvage? That’s the correct phrase, isn’t it? If you mean do I think he’s sold out, of course not. It’s the last thing he’d do. I really came here to learn more about him, I’m sincere about that. How is he going to react when I tell him he’s terminated? Winthrop paused, his relief conveyed, then frowned again. I don’t know because I don’t know the current Scofield. It’s drastic; what’s he going to do? Isn’t there a halfway measure? If I thought there was one acceptable to us both, I’d leap at it. If I were you I’d try to find one. It can’t be on the premises,“ said Congdon firmly. I’m convinced of that. Then may I suggest somethingT’ “Please do.” “Send him as far away as you can. Someplace where he’ll find a peaceful oblivion. Suggest it yourself; he’ll understand.” “He will?” “Yes. Bray doesn’t fool himself, at least he never did. It was one of his finer gifts. He’ll understand because I think I do. I think you’ve described a dying man.” “There’s |
floodlights had been turned on and the banks of fountains illuminated-thousands of cascading streams caught in the light as they arced in serrated ranks down the steep inclines. In the centers of the vast pools, the geysers surged up into the night, umbrella sprays sprinkling in the floodlights like diadems. And at each formation of rock constructed into a waterfall, screens of rushing silver fell in front of ancient statuary; saints and centaurs were drenched in splendor. The gardens were officially closed to the public; only Rome’s most beautiful people were invited to the Festa Villa d’Este. The purpose was ostensibly to raise funds for its maintenance, augmenting the dwindling govemment subsidies, but Scofield had the distinct impression that there was a secondary, no less desirable motive: to provide an evening where Villa dEste could be enjoyed by its true inheritors, unencumbered by the tourist world. Crispi was right. Everyone in Rome was there. Not his Rome, thought Bray, feeling the velvet lapels of his tuxedo. Their Rome. The huge rooms of the villa itself had been transformed into palace courtyards, complete with banquet tables and gilded chairs lining the walls-resting spots for the courtiers and courtesans at play. Russian sable and mink, chinchilla and golden fox draped shoulders dressed by Givenchy and Pucci; webs of diamonds and strings of pearls fell from elongated throats, and all too often from too many chins. Slender cavalierl, dashing in their scarlet cummerbunds and graying temples, coexisted with squat, bald men who held |
