doctrinal enforcer, their ultimate authority on heresy. Taking the candle from the dressing table, he held it up to examine
Lucy’s paintings.
She watched him closely. For the last
few minutes, she’d been silent, trying to absorb his news. No TVs,
radios, newspapers or computers were permitted to the patients in
the convent and none of the nurses or nuns had chosen to pass on
word of the outside world. From what the cardinal said, hell itself
had materialised out there in the last few days. Her own life was a
wasteland, and now it seemed the rest of the world was joining her. Sinclair claimed that seven so-called supervolcanoes were on the
verge of eruption. America, with three, including one in
Yellowstone National Park, was particularly vulnerable. If, as now
seemed likely, they all erupted in the next day or two,
civilisation, if not all life on earth, would vanish.
‘ Why would you come
here?’ Lucy asked. ‘I mean, at a time like this you must have so
many more important things to do.’
The cardinal didn’t take his eyes off
the walls of her room. ‘These paintings,’ he said. ‘What I haven’t
told you is that I’ve seen one of them before.’
Lucy stared at him. He had never been
to the convent before, so how could he possibly have seen one of
her paintings? Was he playing a game? She looked towards her
medicine cabinet. Got to calm down. She reached towards the cabinet
where she kept her tranquillisers, but the man took her hand and
held it firmly.
‘ You’re not having
delusions, Lucy. I read your latest medical report. It says you’re
getting much better. They were about to put you on day release into
the community. Dr Levis is delighted with your
progress.’
Getting better? Lucy wanted so much to
be well again, but every time she imagined it, it ended with her
falling over.
‘ How can you say you’ve
seen my paintings? It’s impossible.’
‘ I scarcely believed it
myself until now.’
Lucy was startled when
the cardinal sat down beside her. Her father used to sit beside her
in that exact same way. Not
dead . Still here, still able to comfort
her. She’d give anything for that to be true.
The cardinal pointed at the painting in
the middle of the wall behind the headboard of Lucy’s bed. It was
the first she ever worked on, the template for the others.
‘ I don’t know how,’
Sinclair said, ‘but that painting right there is also in Rome. It’s
part of a huge mural found in a secret vault in the tomb of Pope
Julius II. The artist who painted it died the day after its
completion. The mural was his final, greatest
masterpiece.’
Lucy closed her eyes. A
name leapt into her mind. It was as though thousands of locked
doors were opening in her mind and light was bursting through,
banishing the darkness that had gripped her for so long. All manner
of weird facts were pouring into her, things she couldn’t possibly
know. She started to tremble. My God,
what’s happening to me ? ‘Raphael,’ she said
hesitantly, hoping Sinclair would tell her she was wrong. The
expression on his face proved there was no mistake.
‘ Only three living
people have seen Raphael’s mural,’ Sinclair said slowly.
‘ Raphael died almost
five hundred years ago.’ Lucy was mystified. Ideas were flashing in
her mind, things she didn’t have time to process, almost
overwhelming her.
‘ Raphael died in 1520
at just thirty-seven years of age,’ Sinclair replied. ‘He painted
your picture five hundred years before you did.’
Lucy clutched her knees, shaking her
head from side to side.
‘ Come with me.’ Sinclair got up and walked towards the door. ‘You can see for
yourself.’
10
V ernon peered at
the TV screen, searching Sergeant Morson’s face for clues. How
could Lucy be so important? While Harrington had a whispered
conversation with Gresnick, he again flicked through her DIA file. It said she spent most of her time working on a series of
depressing paintings, covering every
Lucy’s paintings.
She watched him closely. For the last
few minutes, she’d been silent, trying to absorb his news. No TVs,
radios, newspapers or computers were permitted to the patients in
the convent and none of the nurses or nuns had chosen to pass on
word of the outside world. From what the cardinal said, hell itself
had materialised out there in the last few days. Her own life was a
wasteland, and now it seemed the rest of the world was joining her. Sinclair claimed that seven so-called supervolcanoes were on the
verge of eruption. America, with three, including one in
Yellowstone National Park, was particularly vulnerable. If, as now
seemed likely, they all erupted in the next day or two,
civilisation, if not all life on earth, would vanish.
‘ Why would you come
here?’ Lucy asked. ‘I mean, at a time like this you must have so
many more important things to do.’
The cardinal didn’t take his eyes off
the walls of her room. ‘These paintings,’ he said. ‘What I haven’t
told you is that I’ve seen one of them before.’
Lucy stared at him. He had never been
to the convent before, so how could he possibly have seen one of
her paintings? Was he playing a game? She looked towards her
medicine cabinet. Got to calm down. She reached towards the cabinet
where she kept her tranquillisers, but the man took her hand and
held it firmly.
‘ You’re not having
delusions, Lucy. I read your latest medical report. It says you’re
getting much better. They were about to put you on day release into
the community. Dr Levis is delighted with your
progress.’
Getting better? Lucy wanted so much to
be well again, but every time she imagined it, it ended with her
falling over.
‘ How can you say you’ve
seen my paintings? It’s impossible.’
‘ I scarcely believed it
myself until now.’
Lucy was startled when
the cardinal sat down beside her. Her father used to sit beside her
in that exact same way. Not
dead . Still here, still able to comfort
her. She’d give anything for that to be true.
The cardinal pointed at the painting in
the middle of the wall behind the headboard of Lucy’s bed. It was
the first she ever worked on, the template for the others.
‘ I don’t know how,’
Sinclair said, ‘but that painting right there is also in Rome. It’s
part of a huge mural found in a secret vault in the tomb of Pope
Julius II. The artist who painted it died the day after its
completion. The mural was his final, greatest
masterpiece.’
Lucy closed her eyes. A
name leapt into her mind. It was as though thousands of locked
doors were opening in her mind and light was bursting through,
banishing the darkness that had gripped her for so long. All manner
of weird facts were pouring into her, things she couldn’t possibly
know. She started to tremble. My God,
what’s happening to me ? ‘Raphael,’ she said
hesitantly, hoping Sinclair would tell her she was wrong. The
expression on his face proved there was no mistake.
‘ Only three living
people have seen Raphael’s mural,’ Sinclair said slowly.
‘ Raphael died almost
five hundred years ago.’ Lucy was mystified. Ideas were flashing in
her mind, things she didn’t have time to process, almost
overwhelming her.
‘ Raphael died in 1520
at just thirty-seven years of age,’ Sinclair replied. ‘He painted
your picture five hundred years before you did.’
Lucy clutched her knees, shaking her
head from side to side.
‘ Come with me.’ Sinclair got up and walked towards the door. ‘You can see for
yourself.’
10
V ernon peered at
the TV screen, searching Sergeant Morson’s face for clues. How
could Lucy be so important? While Harrington had a whispered
conversation with Gresnick, he again flicked through her DIA file. It said she spent most of her time working on a series of
depressing paintings, covering every
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