The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,16

room. The buffet that extended the length of the room on one wall boded well.

“I don’t think I’ve made myself clear,” said a voice to their right. It belonged to a woman, and although she spoke with an English accent, it sounded like the kind Freddy had been imitating, not using. “I can see that you have an egg thingy out, so that means you must have eggs in the kitchen. Why then is it apparently impossible for one to order two of them poached?”

Dressed in a starched white jacket, the young man who had brought the Prosecco up to the terrace the night before bent down toward her and answered. His voice was too soft for Faith to catch much apart from many uses of the word “signora.”

The signora flushed and stood up, speaking even more loudly to the man next to her. “I will be making sure that none of our friends come here, Roderick, and filing an immediate complaint to the management, although I sorely doubt that will do anything in this sort of place.”

Faith almost started to giggle. The woman made it sound like a bordello. “I suppose I’ll have to make do with some of their dry toast,” she said. “The fruit looks spoiled.”

She was tall and had an extremely long oval face some might unkindly associate with winners of the Derby. Her chin and nose completed the picture. All that was missing was a feed bag. Faith assumed Roderick was the woman’s husband, but they looked enough alike to be mistaken for fraternal twins. They were cut from the same cloth—and the cloth was tweed. His took the form of a jacket, and hers a skirt, both bagging—the elbows and the seat, in her case. Good tweed lasted forever, and judging from the rings on her fingers and her earrings, at some point money had not been spared on any of their attire. But tweed! In Rome in the spring! Faith made her way to a small table for two in the corner where she could continue her observations as other guests arrived. At the moment it was just the four of them, unless the English lady had a Corgi tucked under her chair.

“Yum,” Tom said, clutching his plate. “Did you see what’s on the buffet? Cake and cookies for breakfast! What a sensible idea.”

There were two kinds of cake. One looked like a lemon sponge and the other was layered with custard and topped with chocolate. In between, cookies were arrayed in tempting rows on a large tray. The egg “thingy” referred to a kind of frittata with small, whole sausages—kind of Italian mini-franks, Faith thought—baked into the puffy omelet. Then there were plates of cured meats and cheeses, including fresh mozzarella. Plus slices of luscious-looking tomatoes, mounds of fresh fruit that was not in the least spoiled, yogurts, muesli, a huge jar of Nutella—Tom’s preferred spread—several kinds of juice, crackers, breads, and warm cornetti, the Italian equivalent of a croissant. Jams of all kinds, more pastries. A large bowl of creamy ricotta stood next to jars of three kinds of honey for drizzling. In short, it was the breakfast that Faith had dreamed about with a hotel so near a market like the one at the Camp de’ Fiori. It was not, however, in the least like a typical Italian breakfast, most often eaten standing up or on the run and consisting of a sweet roll dunked in cappuccino or a caffè latte.

Now, what should she have?

But coffee first.

By the time the Fairchilds finished, each table was occupied. The picky Englishwoman was still tucking in with a large slice of cake and, despite her voiced objection, enough fruit for a family of four on her plate. The only other traveler who had attracted Faith’s attention was a young woman sitting alone who looked as if she’d be more at home in a hostel. Her visible piercings were on her earlobes and nose. She was dressed all in black, and her spiked hair was cut short. Beneath the violet and chartreuse streaks, it looked blond. But hard to tell. She’d gone straight for the coffee and quickly drunk three cups before turning to the buffet.

“Happy?” Tom asked. They had stopped for a moment in the Piazza Farnese, which was as empty as it had been the night before.

It was very late Saturday, or rather early Sunday. They had lingered over dinner well past midnight. Faith felt as if she were looking through some