William Kienzle - The Greatest Evil

But this seemed safe enough. Strictly business.

He agreed; he would pick up Chinese takeout on the way over. She gave him the address and directions.

Bundled up against the cold, he arrived at her door a couple of minutes before seven. As she took his coat, hat, and scarf to hang up, she was mildly surprised to see that he wore not clericals, but a flannel shirt, chinos, and a sweater.

He noted her puzzlement. “Anyone sees me come or go, they won’t think I’m a priest.”

“Just a date.” She was sorry the moment the words left her mouth. This was to be business; there should be no hint, no overtone of anything else.

She had set out a series of papers on the coffee table. They sat together on the couch and ate as she explained the cryptic symbols-her shorthand transcribing the reactions of His Excellency to each message.

Along the way, they discovered that they both knew how to use chopsticks.

From time to time, her nearness distracted him. She really was a most attractive young woman. Her dress was so “Marylike” he could only guess at her figure. Though she was slender, he presumed she was curvy.

There was a delicate scent of just the right perfume. Her dark hair fell well below her shoulders. The corners of her extremely expressive eyes crinkled with humor.

Occasionally, she brushed against him as she reached for food or to turn a page. He found that somewhat stimulating.

Jan had long been aware of Vincent Delvecchio.

His name, of course, had become well known when he’d suffered the breakdown, recovered, and then been sent to Rome. What to do with this talented yet perhaps flawed young man had been a periodic topic in the chancery for sometime. As a secretary in the archbishop’s office, Jan was privy to much of the gossip.

Eventually, he had arrived at the chancery, his appointment after ordination.

While he did not seem to notice her, she was acutely aware of him: He was tall, dark, and handsome. She fantasized about him.

And now, here he was. In her apartment. Alone. Without making it seem intentional, she brushed up against him. She was aroused. But she did not let on.

They finished the Chinese dinner. She made coffee, chattering on about the symbols she’d devised to capture the thoughts and disposition of the archbishop.

They drank a lot of coffee while Delvecchio committed her hieroglyphics … or at least most of them … to memory.

By the time Delvecchio glanced at his watch, it was almost eleven. “Holy cow! Look at the time! And I’ve got early Mass tomorrow morning.” He stood. “I’d better get going.”

She handed him his scarf and stood holding his coat. “You’re a quick study,” she observed. After all she’d heard about him, she’d expected him to be sharp; still, his acumen surprised her.

“But not quite quick enough. There’s still a lot for me to absorb before I can be confident that I’m really filling in for Shanahan. Would you do what you did this morning? I mean, bring in the messages and record the archbishop’s reaction to them? Then I’ll go over them with you and see if I’ve got this all down. One more day will probably do it-that is, as long as we can put in another evening on this crash course.”

“Sure. I think I can swing that.” She helped him on with his coat. “Just remember that lots of people want to see the archbishop. But only a few will make it. The thing is that most of this business can be handled by lower-echelon personnel. We-well, you- have to steer these people to an auxiliary, or a monsignor, or a priest-or even someone like me. Mostly you’ll be a filter protecting the archbishop from having to deal with problems and questions that others can take care of.

“That sounds simple enough,” he said as she handed him his hat.

“Maybe because I’m oversimplifying it.”

“Maybe.” Ready to face November’s cold, he reached for the doorknob.

“Oh-”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to bring dinner. I’ll make it. Tomorrow’s Friday. You want to eat meat?”

Earlier in the month, the Vatican had announced that there would no longer be a law obliging Catholics to abstain from meat on Fridays. The announcement had triggered some simplistic humor. Such as, What is God going to do with all those people who are in hell because they ate meat on Friday?

It also caused a furor among traditional Catholics who looked on as yet another ancient tradition went down the drain.

Delvecchio glanced at her sharply. “Certainly not! Besides, the decree doesn’t become effective until December second.”

She tried to cover a blush. “Just kidding.”

“Okay. Well, see you at the office tomorrow, and here tomorrow evening.”

There was little traffic; it took him only half an hour to drive home.

She cleaned up in record time. They had spooned out portions from the cardboard cartons, so there were only the coffee cups to be washed. And since they had used chopsticks, aside of the serving pieces, there was no flatware to be washed.

Neither got much sleep that night.

He felt much like a teenager after his first awkward date. By contemporary standards it was extremely odd that this was his first date. He found his reaction curious.

He lay in bed thinking of her. He imagined he could still smell her delicate perfume. He figured her to be roughly his age, perhaps a little older. He found her beautiful and intelligent. He remembered his reaction each time she’d touched him … inadvertently, of course, but touch him she had. And he had reacted … involuntarily, of course, but react he had.

He wondered about her.

That he’d had no sexual experience was one thing. What with parochial school, the seminary, summer camp, his priesthood, sexual expression had been a forbidden fruit from early childhood on. Not many men in their early thirties were virginly intact.

But what about her?

She was an attractive, available young woman. She must be experienced in sex. The way he’d acted and reacted to her tonight must have seemed foolish and adolescent-if she was aware of it.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to behave when he was alone with a beautiful woman?

Well, he knew the answer to that!

The Church demanded that he never marry. And morality demanded that any sexual expression whatsoever be confined within marriage. Chaste! That’s how he was supposed to behave when alone with a beautiful woman-any woman.

He expected tomorrow evening would present the most difficult temptation he had ever faced.

She lay in bed thinking of him. He was so talented, so brilliant, so interesting-and handsome, to boot. She had heard the expression made regarding certain priests, though she herself had never had occasion to use it. Now was that occasion. She thought of his celibate life and said to herself: What a waste!

Then she felt guilty.

She could sense that he had been aroused when she brushed against him.

The first time it was accidental. Thereafter, she certainly had not gone out of her way to avoid touching him.

Was there chemistry between them? She had been interested in this young man when she first heard of him. When he began work in the chancery, she would see him from time to time. For instance, in the elevator. She would smile at him, at least in the beginning. He rarely returned the smile-or even acknowledged her presence.

But that remote, standoffish man was not the same as the overwhelmed priest who needed help with a new job. He was not the same as the young man who had reacted to her innocent touches this evening.

He would be at the office tomorrow, still needing her help. They would work together-at least as much as she was able and time allowed.

Then … he would be back here tomorrow evening.