The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,44
be needed for the next lesson, Faith imagined she’d gone to see her children. It was hard to wear so many hats at once—parent, teacher, host, even tour guide; but so far her friend seemed to be managing well.
The Nashes were off on their own. Again Faith wondered why they had signed up for Cucina della Rossi. If they were indeed such die-hard food lovers, why not take some day classes? There were plenty of them in Florence. If what they had primarily wanted was to tour the countryside, it would have made more sense to stay in the city and use it as a base. Oh, she’d almost forgotten. They already “know” Florence. Well, they could have chosen someplace else to know—Siena or Pisa. Except, she realized, there was a kind of reverse snobbery at work here. Sign up for a course like this and then not participate. They would regale their Surrey neighbors with tales of the “too dreadful” week with “such common” people and a teacher who didn’t know beans—favas or cannellinis.
Her speculation had so occupied Faith’s mind that she hadn’t noticed they’d turned off the main road. The Rossis’ home was in sight.
After they stepped out of the van, every atom in her body wanted to hurry Tom up to their room, but common courtesy demanded first thanking Gianni and Francesca, who came from the kitchen to greet them, for the market tour and great Florentine suggestions. The others, milling about in the hall, echoed the sentiment, and Faith started for the stairs. At last! But then Francesca started speaking.
“We will start with drinks on the terrace at five, and then cook after that. Until then enjoy the pool or do whatever you like. For those of you still with some energy, there are some nice walks. Just ask us—and remember if you are hungry, or thirsty, there are always things set out on the sideboard in the dining room.”
The group went its separate ways. Faith noticed Len Russo head for the pool and fervently hoped if he was going to swim that he had trunks on under his clothing. Olivia apparently was one of those with energy and disappeared out the French doors to the rear, where Faith saw her start to climb the path the Fairchilds had taken that morning. Everyone else went upstairs.
Faith shut their door firmly behind her. It was solid oak, no question of eavesdropping, but she locked it and left the key in the keyhole for good measure. The only living creatures that could listen in on their conversation through the open windows were the doves from the dovecote on what had previously been the barn. Yet, in tacit agreement, the Fairchilds moved to the middle of the room and sat down on the bed, well away. When Tom spoke, his voice was hushed—and intense.
“It was definitely the same man.”
“Why are you so sure?”
Even if the killer had been wearing the same outfit, that wasn’t the kind of thing her husband would remember, or notice in the first place. There had to have been something else about him.
“I saw his face more clearly and longer than you did. Aside from the funny sort of eyebrows he had, like a straight line across his forehead, his mouth drooped at one side, almost as if he’d had a stroke at some time. Odd because he’s young, but there could be other reasons. Drugs maybe. Anyway, it was the same man, Faith. I’m positive. And besides, if it wasn’t, why did he take off like that as soon as he saw my face? I know he recognized me, too.”
That clinched it so far as Faith was concerned. “But Olivia? How does she figure in all this?”
Tom rubbed his hand through his hair, causing it to stand up on end. It was a familiar gesture and meant he was upset. “I don’t know. There she was . . .”
“Wait, start at the beginning and tell me everything you saw.”
“Okay.” He leaned back on one elbow. “After you left, I went to the Baptistery—and, Faith, you have to go see the doors, even if we don’t go inside any of the other buildings in the piazza. They’re extraordinary. I could preach any number of sermons on the way I felt looking at them—”
“Tom! Later!”
“Yes, yes, I guess I’m still a little rattled. I’ll try to stick to the point.”
She moved closer to his side and put her hand on his.