On her way outside, she stopped to look at the assortment on the bookshelves in the Rossis’ lounge and found a copy of Elizabeth David’s Italian Food, much to her delight.
Olivia was doing laps, and Faith decided to read for a while. The pool was more than large enough for both of them, but she didn’t want to disturb the young woman, who was churning up the water with a very authentic Australian crawl. She was wearing goggles and a black tank suit. Lean, not thin, Faith was surprised to see how toned Olivia was. Muscles that could only come from many hours at the gym.
She turned to Elizabeth David’s section on carni—meat—reading her description of Florentine beefsteak, Bistecca alla Fiorentina, which praised it as the best in Italy, “similar to an American T-bone steak.” A woman with extremely firm opinions, and one of Faith’s culinary idols, David went on to say that since the cut is so big there is “no room, nor any necessity” for vegetables on the plate. Faith wondered what Francesca was planning. Her fellow Americans would expect side dishes, if not on the plate, on the table. The Italian way of eating in small stages throughout a meal was indeed foreign to them.
Soon she was completely engrossed in the book, and the sound of the chaise next to her being moved made her drop it.
“Sorry, I hope I didn’t make you lose your place. I just wanted to get into more sun,” Olivia said.
“Not at all, and with this book”—Faith picked it up, displaying the cover—“the point is to lose one’s place and wander through it.” Much, she thought with a pang, like Freddy’s travel advice.
“I love her books. She’s one of those people I’ve wished were still alive, so I could meet them in person, not that I would bother her by actually doing it,” Olivia said. “Growing up, everything we ate was frozen or from tins. The notion that one should only eat what was in season never occurred to me until I read Elizabeth David. She was also a rebel, and I was drawn to that part of her, too, especially when I was younger.”
It was an opening. Olivia had rebuffed any inquiries about her personal life, but this shared admiration for the food writer, who was indeed a rebel in her day, might provide an opening. Faith started slowly.
“Thackeray said somewhere that next to eating a good dinner, the best thing was reading about one, and I’ve always liked to read cookbooks and food essays, like M. F. K. Fisher’s, too. Another woman who marched to her own drummer.”
“I’ll have to track the Thackeray quote down. Anyway yes, How to Cook a Wolf and the rest of Fisher’s are favorites, even though I’ve never cooked a thing from them.”
“The point is that we don’t have to cook from these books. I think of them as novels with a whole lot of food.”
Olivia laughed. It changed her face, free of any makeup after the swim, markedly. She was very pretty, and very young, despite her remark about looking back at her youth, Faith decided.
“You definitely know your way around a kitchen,” Faith said. “From all this reading? Or have you worked in them?”
Olivia reached for her shades, literally and figuratively, putting on dark glasses and leaning far back in the lounge chair.
“Oh, I’ve been here and there,” she said. “This sun is so delicious. My sunblock is waterproof, so I think I’ll doze.”
Well, it was a start.
Tom was in seventh heaven. He’d never made it to the pool, but after waking up from a nap in the room, went to ask Gianni if he needed help with preparing tonight’s cookout and became the sous chef, or Italian barbecue equivalent. Mario was also on hand. When Faith had changed and came down to see what she could do, she followed the noise. She found her husband behind the house by the large brick-and-cement grill that Gianni had built when they’d remodeled for just this kind of occasion, starting to prepare the coals. He was both grimy and ecstatic. This was the man, she reminded herself, who had never gotten the hang of a toaster oven. Now he was a grill master. She clearly wasn’t needed and went inside. Francesca was in the kitchen alone.
“Where is everyone and what can I do?” Faith asked. She’d expected that some of the class would be there.
“Those naughty boys Sandro and Maurizio have arrived and brought big