“New love,” came Søren’s voice from behind her.

“No wonder Kingsley works from home. I’d need twenty-four-hour access to a bed, too, if I was surrounded by sights like that all the time.”

“Kingsley takes near-constant advantage of his twenty-four-hour access to beds.”

“I don’t blame him.” Grace turned away from the scene at the end of the hall. “I don’t blame any of you.”

“Not even me?”

Grace sat down on the top step and put her back to the stair railing.

“Not even you, Father Stearns.” She smiled as he sat down next to her on the step. “My grandfather was a minister in the Presbyterian church. He had a wife, children. Zachary’s brother Aaron is a rabbi and has a wife and children, too. I’ve never understood the Catholic church’s insistence on celibate priests.”

“Celibacy wasn’t always mandatory for the priesthood. New Testament church leaders were reported to have had wives. It wasn’t until the eleventh century that it was spelled out as obligatory in the First Council of the Lateran. The Second Council of the Lateran banned jousting.”

“Jousting?”

“Yes. They were apparently of equal theological weight.”

“You don’t joust, do you?”

“Only with Eleanor.”

“I remember my European history. I don’t think many of the popes even adhered to the vow of celibacy. Rather unfair to enforce it among the priests.”

“It hasn’t been enforced. Not consistently. Most African priests do get married and the bishops turn a blind eye. Eastern Rite priests are allowed to marry. Only the breaches that reach the public are punished.”

“So what’s the purpose of the vow? Psychological torture?”

“There are varying theories. When the church became rich, it had a vested interest in keeping itself rich. Married priests meant sons. Sons inherited money and land. The church wanted to keep that money and land in its own hands. Thus was born the vow of celibacy. Now, of course, most bishops knew the priests would still have lovers and mistresses. But if they weren’t allowed to marry, their children would all be illegitimate and couldn’t inherit.”

“That’s the reason?”

“One of several. I would say it’s the real reason, which is why it’s difficult for those of us who know church history to take the vow as something God intended. The church’s official position is that priests are to be celibate because Christ was celibate. It’s also why women can’t become priests.”

“Christ was also Jewish and circumcised. Do they require all priests to be of Jewish descent and circumcised, as well? If that were true, then my husband would make a better priest than you. And I promise, he wouldn’t. It’s ludicrous to draw the line so fine.”

“I won’t argue with you. The Jesuits have always been more liberal on these issues. A married Catholic woman on birth control is considered unchaste even if she’s faithful to her husband. We tend to overlook those types of glaring absurdities.”

“And overlook the occasional lover?”

Søren started to smile at her question before composing his face once more.

“I know a few Jesuits who also have lovers. Other men, mostly.”

“Do they know about you and Nora?”

“The only Jesuit who knows is the priest who hears my confessions.”

“And what does he say?”

Søren smiled and something in that smile made her toes curl up inside her trainers.

“He says to send her his way when I’m done with her.”

Grace only looked at him before bursting into laughter.

“I’m not joking, I promise.”

“I believe you.”

“He’s in his seventies, my confessor. I’ve warned him a night with Eleanor would mean the end of him. He said he was quite content to go out with a bang and meet Saint Peter with a smile on his face.”

“I like him already.”

“I asked him thirty years ago before I went to Rome if God would let someone like me be a priest.”

“You told him what you were?”

“I did. It might have been one of the more awkward conversations of my life. But he listened, asked a few questions, asked if my needs could be met without intercourse, which they can. I never intended to break the vows of chastity and celibacy.”

“So why did you?”

“Let’s simply say that a young Eleanor Schreiber drove a hard bargain. Fifteen years old and she was already trying to get me into bed. I should have taken her up on it, not made her wait for four years for me. All that time we could have been together...and now time is running out.”

His words, so simple, so sorrowful, hit her like a fist in her stomach.

“We can’t think like that.” Grace shook her head. “You can’t think like that. We know where she is, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do.” He pulled Laila’s necklace from his pocket and opened it. Grace leaned in close to look at the pictures inside.

“Your mother was beautiful.” No one could doubt the young mother in the pictures had given birth to the man sitting next to her. They had the same intelligent eyes, the same complexion, the same coloring, the same Nordic beauty. He’d even inherited his mother’s mouth...the lips sculpted and inviting.

“She was. Laila looks very much like her. My God, I can’t believe Marie-Laure stooped so low to make my niece a pawn in this.”