The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,53

was afraid she’d shout instead of whisper and she was even more afraid of what he might say—something like “What are you talking about?” “Nothing” “She had a thorn in her paw,” all unsatisfactory answers. So, she kept quiet. With difficulty.

Now he was at the other end of the table, laughing at something Hattie was saying and—maybe she might be reading into it, maybe not—ignoring Faith’s eye.

In her heart she knew Tom would never cheat on her, no nookie—or gnocchi—having occurred, she was sure, but it was still a shock. And, she’d immediately thought, what if someone else had been looking out at them? The suspicion of a rendezvous was as dangerous as the reality of one in some ways. Dame Rumor.

Luke, or his housekeeper, had prepared a perfect summer meal. They started with an Italian version of gazpacho—a cold tomato soup with chunks of the ripe vegetable and zucchini instead of cucumber, with fresh parsley, a hint of garlic, all of it thickened slightly with bread crumbs. Instead of a first and second course, they’d been combined: cold rice salad with roasted red peppers, diced red onions, blood orange segments, parsley, toasted pignoli, a simple olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing topped with shaved pecorino; alongside slices of cold chicken dressed the same with a hint of rosemary on a bed of field greens.

“While some of you have dessert—some pears poached in one of the red wines you will be tasting today—I’ll take one group around and then we will switch,” Luke said. He had entertained them throughout the meal with humorous tales of all the crises he had weathered before the house was finished. Tales that were probably, no definitely, not at all funny at the time. Faith jumped up to go with the first group and motioned to Tom to join her, but he seemed intent on continuing his conversation with Hattie, mouthing that he’d go with the next group.

Short of dragging him from his chair there was nothing Faith could do but shoot him a look that she hoped would convey her mood. It did and he seemed genuinely surprised.

“It’s a pretty big place for just one person,” Terry whispered to Faith as they trailed after their host down the hall, painted a warm cantaloupe color. Framed antique prints of Florence and Rome lined the walls. “Do you think he has a lady friend?”

Was that a note of hope in Terry’s voice? Hope that he didn’t and hope the job might be available for her? The rooms displayed the same combination of old and new, formal and informal, as the tableware. Both the living and dining room furniture could have come straight from this year’s Milan Furniture Fair—contemporary designs in glass, metal and plastics—but the walls and ceiling were decorated with trompe l’oeil frescoes that would have been at home in an ancient Pompeian villa. The one on the dining room ceiling pictured an orange grove with a mix of doves, swallows, and other birds.

“And this is my favorite room,” Luke said, opening a door at the far end of the first floor. They’d already oohed and aahed over the kitchen, twice the size of the Rossis’ and outfitted with not only state-of-the art appliances but also antique tile backsplashes and marble countertops from Carrara, Michelangelo’s preferred quarry, Constance noted for them, beaming at her host as if she had selected them for him herself. Faith had been amused to see the way the woman fawned on the admittedly attractive Frenchman, sticking so close to him that she’d stepped on his heel twice when he’d stopped to tell them something. She’d reddened only slightly and gave what some would call a girlish laugh, but what Faith regarded as being closer to a member of the animal kingdom, say a hyena?

The room was indeed lovely. And not at all what Faith would have expected to find in the heart of Tuscany. It was a wood-paneled library that would have been at home in an English country house—bookshelves to the ceiling lined with gleaming gold-embossed leather-bound volumes. A spiral library ladder made from the same rich mahogany provided access to the tomes out of reach. The floor was tiled, as was the rest of the downstairs, but was almost entirely covered by a plush, deep blue Oriental rug with red and gold medallions. The furniture, however, reverted to the same clean, modernistic design as elsewhere on the ground floor: the sofa and chairs were slip covered in white