taste of blood in her mouth. He looked ferociously at her, as if he wanted to kill her, to silence her, to get rid of her questions. Marcia leapt to her feet and ran diagonally across the grass toward the bus stop. She did not even pause when she got to the road but went on to the parking lot, oblivious of the horns that blared at her. She did not care if she was run over. She didn’t care about anything. Her liphad begun to swell as if she had been given novocaine, and the taste of blood persisted.
When she unlocked the front door she had little memory of how she had gotten there. She was sobbing and her face felt misshapen. Inside, she bolted the door and fell weeping on the living room couch, not even bothering to take off her coat. What Scott had told her meant nothing now. Orion had struck her, in public, had hustled her out of the library as if she were an intruder, and then had hit her there when anyone might have seen. She shriveled under the remembered humiliation. She made herself as small as possible and tried to think of nothing at all.
How much later the pounding on the front door began she could not have said. She sat up immediately, terrified. If he would hit her in public, what would he do to her here? She was on her feet, thinking of escaping out the back way. As she crept past the front door, she heard a voice. She stopped. Scott? She rushed to the door and opened it, then fell back. Orion came in and looked at her strangely. “What’s wrong with you?”
She moved away from him, cowering. Something almost like tenderness came into his face. He took her trembling and half hysterical in his arms.
“You hit me!”
He held her close, nodding his head. After a time, when she was calm, he eased her away and looked at her face. Slowly he lowered his lips to her swollen mouth.
21
TORSION, FROM THE NOTRE Dame Foundation, the department of the administration responsible for amassing the giant endowment that had put the university far out in front of other Catholic institutions and among the top handful of all universities, was not a man inclined to rest on his laurels. Or at the moment on his backside. He paced the waiting room outside the chancellor’s office as if to emphasize the importance of this unscheduled appointment. The call he had received from Tulsa allowed for no delay. And then the chancellor was standing in the door of his office, breathing through his mouth, looking warily at Torsion.
“What is it, Xavier?”
Torsion lifted a finger to his lips to stop the chancellor from saying anything and together they went into his office. Torsion pulled the door shut.
“I have just received a call from Schippers. Tulsa,” he added quickly, lest the chancellor not remember. “Oil. Schippers Hall. A half-million-dollar pledge in the current drive to be doubled as our goal is neared to a maximum of five million dollars.”
“Of course I know who Schippers is.”
“He wishes to see you this afternoon.”
“But you said he called from Tulsa.”
“On the way to the airport to board his jet. He has business in Chicago and then will come on here.”
The chancellor remembered Schippers’s remark that the university really should have its own Lear jet. If only he had acted on that before the Hong Kong trip. A glint came into the chancellor’s eye. He would mention a university Lear when the kidnapping came up, as it surely must.
“I hope you assured him I was unharmed.”
Torsion looked at the nominal chief officer of the university in all its many divisions and departments and far-flung enterprises, its property in all the foreign cities where Notre Dame students spent a year abroad, its television and filming activities, the ever-growing marketing of apparel with the university’s logo. Notre Dame was a big business as well as a university, and the chancellor was in charge of it all. Up to a point. What CEO can know every detail of his organization? True, true, but Torsion considered the
When she unlocked the front door she had little memory of how she had gotten there. She was sobbing and her face felt misshapen. Inside, she bolted the door and fell weeping on the living room couch, not even bothering to take off her coat. What Scott had told her meant nothing now. Orion had struck her, in public, had hustled her out of the library as if she were an intruder, and then had hit her there when anyone might have seen. She shriveled under the remembered humiliation. She made herself as small as possible and tried to think of nothing at all.
How much later the pounding on the front door began she could not have said. She sat up immediately, terrified. If he would hit her in public, what would he do to her here? She was on her feet, thinking of escaping out the back way. As she crept past the front door, she heard a voice. She stopped. Scott? She rushed to the door and opened it, then fell back. Orion came in and looked at her strangely. “What’s wrong with you?”
She moved away from him, cowering. Something almost like tenderness came into his face. He took her trembling and half hysterical in his arms.
“You hit me!”
He held her close, nodding his head. After a time, when she was calm, he eased her away and looked at her face. Slowly he lowered his lips to her swollen mouth.
21
TORSION, FROM THE NOTRE Dame Foundation, the department of the administration responsible for amassing the giant endowment that had put the university far out in front of other Catholic institutions and among the top handful of all universities, was not a man inclined to rest on his laurels. Or at the moment on his backside. He paced the waiting room outside the chancellor’s office as if to emphasize the importance of this unscheduled appointment. The call he had received from Tulsa allowed for no delay. And then the chancellor was standing in the door of his office, breathing through his mouth, looking warily at Torsion.
“What is it, Xavier?”
Torsion lifted a finger to his lips to stop the chancellor from saying anything and together they went into his office. Torsion pulled the door shut.
“I have just received a call from Schippers. Tulsa,” he added quickly, lest the chancellor not remember. “Oil. Schippers Hall. A half-million-dollar pledge in the current drive to be doubled as our goal is neared to a maximum of five million dollars.”
“Of course I know who Schippers is.”
“He wishes to see you this afternoon.”
“But you said he called from Tulsa.”
“On the way to the airport to board his jet. He has business in Chicago and then will come on here.”
The chancellor remembered Schippers’s remark that the university really should have its own Lear jet. If only he had acted on that before the Hong Kong trip. A glint came into the chancellor’s eye. He would mention a university Lear when the kidnapping came up, as it surely must.
“I hope you assured him I was unharmed.”
Torsion looked at the nominal chief officer of the university in all its many divisions and departments and far-flung enterprises, its property in all the foreign cities where Notre Dame students spent a year abroad, its television and filming activities, the ever-growing marketing of apparel with the university’s logo. Notre Dame was a big business as well as a university, and the chancellor was in charge of it all. Up to a point. What CEO can know every detail of his organization? True, true, but Torsion considered the
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