Thomas Greanias - Atlantis 03 by The Atlantis Revelation

Author:The Atlantis Revelation [Revelation, The Atlantis]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Requiem eternam dona ei Dfmine; et lux perpetua lfaceat ei. Requiescat in pace. Amen.

What Serena was saying was: “Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.” She could tell that the dignitaries in the front pew didn’t understand, although they pretended they did. But several mourners in the fashion row nodded enthusiastically.

Father Letteron, wearing white and violet vestments, conducted the funeral Mass. There were flowers and candles all around. When it was over, Serena watched the shroud-draped coffin float out of the church before the hundreds of onlookers and cameras. Following behind was Father Letteron, who sang the antiphon “In Paradisum,” a prayer that the holy angels would bear the immortal soul of Mercedes Le Roche to paradise.

If that meant television ratings, then perhaps Mercedes had indeed finally found her heaven.

The show inside over, Carla Bruni and Nicolas Sarkozy once again gave their condolences to Mercedes’s father and then wordlessly marched outside to the waiting world. Midas took Papa Le Roche’s arm and guided him out of the church. The rest of the mourners exited wherever they’d be sure to be photographed by the media.

Serena stood alone in the first pew, the hypocrisy of the world around her—and her place in it—feeling like a punch to her gut. She took a deep breath and stepped into the aisle only to be blocked by a young French aide. He looked red-faced with shame.

“I beg your forgiveness, Sister Serghetti,” he said in French.

“Is there a problem?”

He hemmed and hawed. “I don’t know how to say this.”

Serena’s patience had worn thin over the course of the funeral. “Spit it out.”

“The first lady requests that you mourn a little longer in private,” the Frenchman said, barely able to form the words. “She fears there might be, eh, speculation in the press that you have, eh, upstaged her in some way with your youth and beauty.”

Holy Mother of God, she thought. But then she quickly confessed her angry, inner burst to God and forced an understanding smile to the aide. She could only imagine how many times each day this poor messenger got shot while bearing his little tidings of great vanity. And this was the church where Napoleon had mowed down royalist insurgents on the front steps.

“Quite all right,” she said. “I’ll just exit discreetly from the side.”

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