Darby eyed Parker with a thoughtful smile. “Technically, we’re not all philosophers, if you mean that in the critical sense. You know, Socrates was put to death for chiding his fellow Athenians. He accused them of ignoring what was best for the self, and for caring nothing about honor and virtue. His favorite ‘jibe’ was: ‘the unexamined life is unworthy of a person.’ Most of us are content to bump along. But you did say, ‘ethical’?”
“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Parker replied. “I live off commissions. That means I have to hustle and spin bonds and stocks in my favor. It doesn’t needle most consciences.”
“That’s why I’m into marketing and public relations,” Celeste said as she nudged off a piece of roast with her fork. Her lips hung partially open as she studied Darby. “Besides, why can’t you just enjoy life as it is? Why have to examine everything, or keep looking for meanings that aren’t there? Like honor and virtue? Why not enjoy life as it comes along, day-by-day? I find all this nonsense about a ‘purpose-driven life’ obnoxious. Don’t you?”
Before Darby could answer, Tunstan stopped eating and placed his fork along the edge of his plate. He glanced about, clicked his neck from side to side, and loosened his tie. “If we’re into confessions, I might as well share mine. That’s why I’m here! I botched a major project as an art sleuth. I was confident the piece was a forgery. It didn’t look anything like the canvas I had seen in Vienna, though there were telltale brush strokes and light touches that looked familiar. The Vienna Museum of Fine Arts listed it as missing. There it was in front of me! But I was cocksure it was a fake. A masterpiece, yes, but a fake! So I announced my findings, the house holding it put it up for auction, and it sold for under $2,000. Then the buyer took it to Sotheby’s. Their people pored over every detail. And, you guessed it! They judged it to be authentic. Worth $13 million! I was shocked. Vienna demanded it back. To save the auction house embarrassment, I resigned. I’ve been in flight ever since. And that was eighteen months ago. So what do I do now? I couldn’t get a job as a curator of the least significant museum in America.” He grasped his wine glass in both hands before taking another sip. “Oh, well! So much for aesthetics. It’s back to the rag shop, for certain.”
Darby stared at the man. “History records that during the fall of Rome, Aristotle’s dialogues were consumed in the flames. We don’t know the name of the curator in charge of their safety. Or whether he escaped the sword, or fled to Africa as so many did. But if he fled, who’d have the right to condemn him? Why not reintroduce yourself by letter to the houses you represented, or to new ones that possibly aren’t so famous?”
“Sure! Just like that!” Hughes arched his eyebrows. “No wonder your types are accused of dwelling up in the clouds; no offense.”
Darby dropped his voice. He could see his students before him. How they twisted their pens and counted his steps as he paced back and forth. “I hate to think of how many students I let down until I learned what real teaching requires. It took time to learn that teaching ideas is one thing, but teaching kids, another. I had to stare into their faces and eyes. I had to coax them to ask questions, goad them in the very midst of my lectures. That’s the truth, Mr. Hughes!”
Everyone sat silently, even Tunstan. “Perhaps we can talk some. What I do is incredibly technical, as intuitive as it is scientific.”
After dessert and coffee, Nelson signaled for Darby to accompany him to the office. “You will excuse us,” Nelson said. “The professor and I have a few things to cover before I depart in the morning. I’ll be heading first to Atlanta, then to Oklahoma, and hopefully back here by the Holidays. It’s been my pleasure to dine with you tonight. Perhaps, we shall see one another again, and soon at that,” he surmised. Once more he suppressed a cough, before turning with a slight bow.
Both Hughes and Martin stood. If they knew the reason of Nelson’s departure, neither voiced it.
“We shall miss you,” Hughes uttered. “I’ll be leaving myself after the weekend. It’s been very pleasant. I’m glad the professor came at your summons. I’m looking forward to a few days of chat with him,” he glanced toward Darby, then back at Nelson.
Nelson nodded and bowed again, this time toward Celeste and Stephanie. “I’m honored that you chose Montesereno. Santé to each of you! I’ll be gone before breakfast. Good night, ladies! Enjoy the living room and fireplace. Again, good night!”
“Good night, to you, too,” Parker shook his hand. “We love coming here and look forward to returning.”
Darby noticed Celeste’s eyes as she looked up at him. Her glance was quite transparent. Darby lowered his face and followed Nelson into the hallway, past its winding staircase, and into Garnett’s study. Portraits of Garnett’s parents and grandfather hung in large gilded frames suspended on wires from the ceiling’s high molding. Bookcases, lamps, a leather sofa, and three black-lacquered captain’s chairs encircled Garnett’s mahogany desk.
“Let’s crash here,” Nelson said as they approached the sofa. “You’ll be staying in your favorite quarters, the petit cottage. The rooms are ready—all two of them. Plus wood by the fireplace. Everything you need.”
“I can’t thank you enough. Montesereno’s just what I need,” Darby replied, repressing his uneasiness with a smile.
“By the way, I know this is personal, but whatever happened between you and Julia Laine? You two seemed so perfect. I know I should stay out.”
“No, no! Not at all! I’ve hidden a lot of it, even from myself.” He stared thoughtfully at Garnett. “She wanted children but couldn’t conceive. I was buried in my work, up to my neck in lectures and writing. She too was busy but needed more. She needed me home, wanted me home, and wanted to travel.” Darby looked away from his host, then back. “She was needy in a way I couldn’t fulfill. She got the house, then sold it and slipped off with a millionaire sportsman. I was angry, bitter at first, but it was for the best. No point in fighting the inevitable. They live in New Mexico, near Taos. I’ve been there. It’s beautiful. Yes, it took time to get over it,” he glanced down, then back at Nelson. “And I did love her! I truly did! Still, I welcome your invitation to be here. I was prepared to teach longer and may go back, but Montesereno is what I need; at least just now.”
“Well, enjoy it. I know our clients and guests will enjoy you. Plus, you don’t have to worry about a thing. Linda and Jon Paul manage the Inn. They’re responsible for registering the guests, providing whatever they need, plus keeping a list of drugs or prescriptions they bring. The law requires that. We rarely take alcoholics anymore, but a few show up. We’re not equipped to be a detoxification center, either, but some come just the same. Leave them to Jon Paul. We’ve a cabinet stocked with bourbon and scotch and plenty of club soda. When my father ran the Villa, he hired a physician to dispense anti-depressants. But we’ve dropped that service. Now we focus on providing rest and a change of venue. For alcoholics, we do offer cold showers and wet towels,” Garnett coughed, paused and wiped his face with a handkerchief. He placed it back in his jacket’s pocket and stared at Darby.
“Most of our clients today,” he continued, “are upscale, mainly suffering from depression. Which leads me to warn you about Stephanie.” He retrieved his handkerchief and wiped his lips. “Her grandmother brought her. She’s been here two weeks. The child’s suicidal, her grandmother claims, though I’ve not seen it. She stays mainly to herself. Her father and mother used to come here, years ago. But that’s another story,” he said with a cheerless glance and sadness in his voice. “The girl’s on Xanax, which Linda makes sure she takes. You do know that Linda used to be a Licensed Practical Nurse. As for the girl, she’s scheduled to go home Sunday but wants to stay longer. I wish I knew how to help her. Maybe you’ll figure something out. She likes you. I saw it in her eyes the moment you walked in. As for Hughes, he’s just in a state of self-pity. He takes long walks and likes to sit in the Garden. He’ll be a pest I fear. As for the couple, they’re a mystery. They’re not on anything. They’ve been here a week. Real distanced