The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,29
she did, following Francesca down the hall and through the dining room, noting the sizable wooden table, long and wide, easily seating the entire class and then some. The kitchen was conveniently located off the room.
The Rossis must have gutted whatever was here, Faith thought. She had expected the cucina to match the rest of the house, but instead it was a sleek modern restaurant kitchen with slip-resistant rubber foot-friendly flooring, stainless appliances, and enough workstations to accommodate up to sixteen students. Under each table, she glimpsed everything that would be needed—bowls, measuring cups, pots, pans, strainers, etc. Knives and other utensils would be close at hand in the drawers, she was sure. Yet this would never be mistaken for a teaching kitchen in the United States. A window had been pushed out to provide a wide sill with space to grow fresh herbs, the glazes on the pots a splash of color. Braids of garlic and dried peppers hung on either side. Several containers of oils sat next to rows of earthenware jars no doubt filled with all sorts of olives, dried mushrooms, and fruits and vegetables preserved in a variety of ways. Francesca had been the one to teach Faith how to make the best glazed fruit, eggplant caponata, and an Italian version of olive tapenade. There were serving pieces of the same pottery on display in the living room piled on one counter. Faith felt her whole mood change.
“It’s gorgeous! I can’t wait to start cooking,” Faith said. “You and Gianni have done an amazing job, I hope you have some ‘before’ pictures. How do you say ‘dream kitchen’ in Italian?”
She was suddenly very much aware that her enthusiasm was having no effect on her friend. In fact, the woman looked close to tears.
“I have a big problem and I’m very worried.”
Faith thought she knew and was instantly sympathetic.
“Constance?”
Francesca shook her head. “I can handle her. She is just like my mother’s friend Lucia; something always has to be wrong to make them happy. No, none of the students. It’s our assistant. Alberto. He has disappeared.”
Excerpt from Faith Fairchild’s travel journal:
So much for the pool. Tom is sound asleep on top of what looks like an extremely comfortable bed. Cucina della Rossi is going to be a big success. They have done everything right. The house is beautiful, and if the other rooms are anything like this one, they’ll be turning people away. It could be in one of those Tuscan-style coffee table books—the bed has a sheer muslin canopy, very romantic—and the walls are the color of goldenrod. They must have scoured the countryside for the antique furniture, a beautiful armoire and chest of drawers. There’s even a tiny balcony just big enough for a table and two chairs, perfect for morning espresso or an evening digestif. Anyway, we’re here and I am determined to have a good time. I can be sad, impossible not to be, but I’m with my beloved (although not much company at the moment) and that’s what’s important.
I’ll write about my fellow students later. Have to wake Tom soon and get down to the kitchen. We’re making antipasti for tonight’s meal. Wonder what it will be. But want to make note of these people at some point. A mixed bag. At least we all share a love of good food. I think. But poor Francesca. Not even open twenty-four hours before a major problem. I wanted to tell her this was going to happen a lot, but she doesn’t need to know that yet. What she needs now is a solution. Apparently months ago she found the perfect sous chef, Alberto. Someone from another village (maybe this was a mistake?), and they have been working side by side to get everything ready. Last night they all said buona notte and trundled off to bed. The Rossis and staff are sleeping in what used to be the Italian equivalent of a granary, which they remodeled for their use and any overflow guests. When Alberto didn’t show up for his morning cappuccino Gianni went to his room and discovered that he was gone. Also all his things. The bed hadn’t been slept in. This without a word to them or any other indication that he was planning to jump villa. They’ve put the word out to get a replacement and I offered, but Gianni’s sister is filling in for now. Not a good solution, tho. Besides working in the kitchen, Alberto was acting