The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,15

I imagine. Italians usually are when they leave for any length of time. His bad luck that the embers were still smoldering. Rather literally.”

“Who put the statue up? Surely not the church,” Faith said.

Freddy shook his head. “It was erected at the time of Italy’s unification, late 1800s, by the Freemasons, primarily. It’s still a symbol for all stripes of independent thinkers, or those who imagine they are. They have a kind of fair every year, but you’d have more fun at the Befana Toy Fair in the Navona, especially at its end during Epiphany in January. La Befana would never bring coal to you good children,” Freddy said. “And even if she did, it’s made of chocolate nowadays.”

They walked into the Piazza Farnese, which was completely empty, in contrast to the somewhat rowdy crowd that had spilled out from the many restaurants and bars lining the Campo de’ Fiori market. The change was so abrupt that Faith found it unsettling. Not so much as the shadow of one of Rome’s numerous cats flitted across the cobblestones.

“These must have been baths originally, yes?” Tom asked. “Only a modern contemporary artist would design fountains with tubs like these.”

“Indubitably. And not just any fountains, but ones from Caracalla. Aaah, the thought. I would not have liked to live in that time—pestilence and no single-malt Scotch—but I would like to have indulged in the baths. Just look at those tubs.” Freddy flung out his arm toward the one near the street to the hotel. “Solid granite, excellent for holding the heat and lovely nubiles pouring ewers of scented water for me to splash about in. In point of fact, they were not baths, but fountains from the start, extremely decorative conversation pieces in the Baths’ vast gardens, but I imagine them otherwise, functional objets d’art. I’m glad they didn’t end up as landfill. The Farneses moved quite a number of bits out of the Baths luckily. So much of Rome has been someplace else at one time or another. And speaking of time, I must bid you good night and farewell. I will be leaving early in the morning. Do ask Paolo to show you my room, by the way. I always have the same one. Such an old fuddy-duddy, but it is the hotel’s largest and has what was once a tiny chapel at one end, perfect for me to contemplate more venal things. There are lovely frescos on the ceiling above it and also the bed.” He put out his hand toward Tom’s, shaking it firmly.

“You’re not going back now?” Faith said. She wasn’t ready for the night to end. She’d pictured them sitting on the rooftop terrace together for a while.

“I must, my pet.” He kissed her on both cheeks. He smelled ever so faintly of lime. “But we will keep in touch. Maybe I will come to that Aleford place of yours and eat some Indian pudding. I see you are shuddering. I forgot, not a native New Englander. And here am I such a lover of all things Transcendental. We’ll have lobster instead. Surely you will allow that. My card.” He drew one from inside his jacket pocket.

Faith took it. The address was a post office box in London and there was no phone number. “Frederick L. Ives,” she read aloud. It sounded like “Frederick Lives” and she smiled. “Surely you know us well enough now to divulge your middle name.”

Freddy bowed. “I must confess it to be ‘Lancelot.’ Mater was an ardent Tennyson fan. She did not consider the effect of the consonant before the vowel.”

And he was gone.

Faith was hungry. It was long past breakfast time in Aleford. Much to her husband’s surprise, she was up and dressed well before 7 A.M., the time the hotel started serving their colazione. The fact that Tom was not just a morning person, but an extremely early morning person, had been one of the few major differences between them. That and the entire Fairchild family’s penchant for games of all sorts—active outdoor ones and the indoor type involving boards, game pieces, and cards. Faith knew at an early age that someone else was going to have to play Candy Land with any kids she would have. What she didn’t know was that someone else was going to have to play its grown-up equivalent with her spouse. Scrabble, Boggle, Othello, even Clue—she resisted them all.

“Something smells heavenly and I need coffee,” Faith said as they walked into the pleasant breakfast