He looked down at the empty vessel, betrayed by it.
“Now, I hate to be a gossip,” Liesl said. “But what’s this top-secret new research project I’m hearing about?”
Liesl stole a peek at Percy. He was frowning. A rich man doesn’t appreciate being the last to know. Garber frowned because Percy was frowning. Rhonda smiled even wider.
“Not a secret anymore,” Rhonda said. “The grant funding just came through, so I can uncross my fingers.”
Liesl knew about the grant funding. During the changeover, her email address hadn’t been removed from the funder’s notification system. One of a thousand little changes that had to be made, little mistakes that would be found over time. There had been a lot of zeroes on the grant notification.
“The press office has been in touch with me,” Garber said. “For a grant this size they’d like to put out a release.”
“We’re going to be using MRI technology to look at the internal construction of books,” Rhonda explained to the group.
“So that you can diagnose their herniated discs?” Percy said.
He waited for the appreciative rumble of laugher. There was none.
“A CT scan would do that more effectively,” Rhonda said.
“Well, for what then?”
“We’re looking at book construction technology in East Asia and Europe over a period of about five hundred years.”
“Your thesis,” Liesl said, “if I recall correctly, is that the development of European books was heavily influenced by East Asian technology. Isn’t that right?”
The event coordinator walked over and whispered something in Rhonda’s ear. She glanced at her watch and nodded. A moment later, the lights dimmed slightly.
“I need another drink,” said Percy.
“There’s some Scotch at the bar if we ask nicely,” Rhonda said. “Shall I walk you over?”
“I asked earlier, and they said it was just wine.”
“Well, I know the secret password.”
Rhonda led Percy to the bar, leaving Liesl alone with President Garber. In the past she might have used a drink for armor, but now she was glad her hands were free. Across the room, Rhonda walked to the podium and tapped the microphone.
“A nice event,” Liesl said. “You must be pleased.”
“They’re all nice events,” said Garber.
“Interesting research attracts interesting people,” she gestured to the full room. “Some of those people will be the moneyed sort. You must be happy about that.”
“Six months in and donations are already down,” Garber said. He looked at the same full room. Saw something different.
“She just won a million-dollar grant. Surely that offsets things.”
“You can’t form a warm and lasting relationship with a granting agency.”
“So your concern is that she’s not building relationships?”
“It’s part of the job, Liesl,” Garber said, whispering over Rhonda’s speech.
Liesl tilted her head, questioning, and then turned to look at Rhonda, holding the room at attention as if she were a snake charmer.
“Many of the people in this room are here because of their relationships with Rhonda or her work.”
“The wrong kinds of people,” Garber said.
“The wrong kinds?”
“You know what I mean,” Garber said, pursing his lips in frustration. “This has nothing to do with that, obviously. But we need people who will donate.”
Liesl looked around the crowded room. Younger and with fewer charcoal suits than a year earlier. “And ‘these people’ won’t?”
“They’ll donate to community programs. Build basketball courts all day long. But donate to the university? I don’t know. But I know that Percy’s kind will.”
“As long as he’s served the right type of Scotch.”
“And this business with the MRIs.” Garber waved his hand to get a server’s attention, mimed a bottle of water.
“You’re objecting to research now?”
“I’m objecting to her planned takedown of European history.”
“You mean her contribution to our understanding of book history?”
They both paused to turn and look again in Rhonda’s direction as the assembled group applauded lightly. The two joined in, congratulating her or the university or someone for some accomplishment or other before they turned back to their conversation.
“Is this what you wanted?” Garber asked. “When you insisted upon her? The ruin of this place?”
“The rebuilding,” Liesl said.
“To rebuild we’d have to knock it down first. Is that what you want to do?”
“That’s what was already done.” A server approached, handing Garber a small Perrier. Liesl smiled in thanks when Garber didn’t.
“That’s not my reading of what happened here,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter, though, does it?” Liesl asked, arms crossed. “What your reading is?”
“I’m confident you’ll come around to my way of thinking, Liesl.”
“You should get something stronger than water, Lawrence.”
The bar was at the other end of the room, and the speeches were underway, and President Garber didn’t think that they were done with their discussion.
“I just hope it’s not too late when you realize how wrong you are,” Garber said. He was up above a whisper, and the man closest to them turned to look.
“In two years,” Liesl said, “or in ten years, or in thirty years, I’ll be dead, Lawrence, and this library’s secrets will be dead with me.”
“But you’re to keep threatening me until then?”
“I’m to keep our bargain until then.”
At the conclusion to Rhonda’s speech, the applause was vigorous. Old friends and colleagues clustered around Liesl, welcoming her back. She had a little Riesling that night. But not too much. Well before the last glass was poured, Liesl went home.
“How was the evening?” John asked. “Was the place just as you remember?”
“I’ve only been gone a few months!”
“Even still.”
He handed her a glass of iced tea from the refrigerator.
“They finally got rid of the typewriters from the workroom,” she said.
“Gosh,” he said. “I’m surprised we didn’t read about the riots in the paper.”
“I’ll bet most folks didn’t even notice.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “There might have been one or two who were waiting for them to come back into fashion. Fancy a sit in the garden?”
“If I’m not taking you away from anything,” Liesl said.
“You are,” he said. “But I’ve accomplished enough today to have earned a break.”
“Rhonda’s doing well.”
“You always knew she would,” he said.
“In a sense. I knew she could manage to juggle both roles.”
“Shall I get some lemon for the teas?” he said. He had a bowl of them presliced and squeezed half a lemon into his own glass. He licked the juice off his fingers.
“Cheers,” she said. She raised her glass of cold tea and tapped it against his. He followed her out to the garden.
“Her work is so interesting,” Liesl said. “She’s pulling in research partners from all over the university.”
“Does it make you a bit jealous?”
“Jealous?” Liesl said. “I couldn’t have dreamed up any of what she’s done.”
“Not of what she’s doing,” he said. “Of the others who are still there, doing the work with her?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I don’t think so.”
“Want me to strengthen that?” he said. “There’s an open bottle of whiskey somewhere in there.”
“Maybe later,” Liesl said. “Seems a pity to get up now that we’re so comfortable.”
“Quite right.”
The kitchen light left on behind them was enough to illuminate the small terrace. Liesl and John reclined in wooden chairs. Above their heads, Hannah had hung strings of bare bulbs that she promised were fashionable. Neither moved to turn them on. The extra light was nice when they had company around, but near-darkness suited the comfortable quiet between them. John pulled his chair closer to Liesl’s. She rested her glass on the ground, on a patio stone, and leaned toward him. The humidity of high summer was gone, and the heat was comfortable. The moon slipped behind a cloud, and for a moment it was even darker.