The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,52
lure than baking. Both Culvers had been involved in the entire process, clicking away at the biscotti with the camera and taking copious notes. Constance drifted in and announced that Roderick and she were going to get the paper but would be back in plenty of time for lunch. Francesca told them the nearest place for the International Herald Tribune, which is what she assumed they wanted, was in only one spot in the village, but more in Chiusi. Sky and Jack showed up just before breakfast ended and disappeared immediately after, saying something vague about going to look at the olive groves. Faith wondered what the Italian equivalent for a “roll in the hay” was, thinking the idea of one in the fields of poppies and wheat not an unattractive one. Olivia had reverted to her Goth Girl look, which Faith was now beginning to regard as a disguise, just as the freshly scrubbed Cover Girl look was one, too. The woman with a thousand disguises, or was that faces? She had deftly shaped the dough into the long thin loaves, leading Faith to think once more that Olivia was no stranger to cooking techniques. Terry Russo was, however, but eager to learn. Len was conspicuously absent, sleeping in, his wife said. Sleeping it off, more likely, Faith thought.
Up in her room, she quickly changed into a light pair of crop pants and white tee and tied a brightly striped cotton Missoni scarf by way of Target around her neck. The maid had closed the windows, and Faith decided to open them, even though they weren’t screened. They dealt with mosquitoes and blackflies in Maine. So far she hadn’t seen any similar pests, and the room would be sweltering when they returned if she left them shut. The Rossis had installed central air, but knowing what electricity cost in Italy, Faith hadn’t wanted to turn it on.
She stood at the window facing the pool and rear of the house. There was a small garden house, like a gazebo, farther down the slope where Faith assumed they kept extra chairs and other outdoor equipment. They’d trained wisteria over it, which was in full bloom, sending cascades of blossoms over the doorway. As she stood there, Faith saw the door open, and a head popped out. It was Sky and she seemed to be looking about, looking for someone? It was definitely a furtive gesture. She stepped out, and Faith thought it was a shame there weren’t people around, especially males, to see how gorgeous the woman was. A white bikini set off her light tan, and her hair almost seemed to have been sprayed with gold leaf. She let the door close behind her and rapidly headed toward the house. Faith started to turn away to pick up her bag, but stopped when she saw the door open again. Jack?
It wasn’t Jack. It was Tom. The Reverend Thomas Preston Fairchild, her husband.
Luke’s house was everything Francesca had intimated and more.
The villa, much larger than the Rossis’, also looked more formal from the outside. The circular drive cut through an extensive, well-tended garden with boxwood hedges and statuary. Their host was waiting for them at the door and came forward, hands outstretched in welcome.
“Benvenuto! First we eat, then the guided tour,” he announced, ushering them down the wide center hall, which offered tantalizing glimpses of rooms to either side, before he led them through one of a series of double glass doors to the outside. Beyond was what amounted to an open-air dining room, a lovely loggia. There was a fireplace set into the wall at the far end, and Faith had a sudden desire to give a late-night party here. The table was set with an eclectic mix of antique silver and bright linens Faith recognized from a shopwindow in the nearby village, resolving to pick some up for herself. The long table easily accommodated everyone, and with a flick of a switch Luke activated an awning to provide shade.
Tom had not come up to the room before they left and when Faith joined the group, he was already talking to Len, who seemed to have recovered after his “beauty” sleep. Although they sat next to each other in the van, Faith had resisted saying what was uppermost in her mind, namely, “What exactly were you and Sky, aka Bo Derek, Miss Ten, maybe even Miss Twenty, Miss California, Miss any number of titles, doing in the shed just now?”