Early spring in southwestern France still carried a damp chill. On the vast grasslands along the left bank of the Dordogne, tender new shoots were bent beneath the weight of dew.
In air like this, expensive suit fabric would bead with moisture in less than half an hour. For once, Schiller had not put on his suit jacket as soon as he got out of bed. He wore only a white shirt and dark brown vest, with no tie, lest the costly formalwear become damp and lose its crispness before the banquet.
This was a vacation villa nestled between a private winery and vineyards, lent to Schiller as a temporary residence by a wine collector he had met briefly at a banquet in Montreal.
Though Schiller felt he could have stayed at a townhouse in the city, it would not do to meet his old friends from France and Italy empty-handed. The nearby wineries were convenient places to buy red wine as gifts.
The original Schiller had many friends in Europe because of the era he had lived in and the nature of his work, scattered across every profession. Beyond academic exchanges, he had maintained good relationships with Old World aristocrats, celebrities, wealthy families, and other members of high society.
In their eyes, Schiller's absence from social circles over the past few years had been spent burying himself in academic research in Gotham. The criminal psychology papers he had published in recent years supported that impression. Thus, his standing in academia had not declined; on the contrary, it had risen somewhat—or rather, his image had changed.
The original Schiller's social approach had leaned toward being broadly accommodating. He maintained good relationships with everyone he knew, and people considered him steady, reliable, and worth knowing.
Then this steady, reliable scholar, too