all he wrote to make his point. Finished, he rang the table bell. Guglielmo appeared at the door within the minute.
“Sir?”
Giuseppe dried the ink with the blotter and folded the sheet of paper. He slid it into an envelope, closed the envelope with the family wax seal, and said, “Have this letter hand-delivered at once to the Chief of Police. With discretion.”
Guglielmo took the letter from his master’s hands. “I’ll take care of it myself, sir.” He added, “Madame would like to know if you intend to have lunch with her today.”
“Yes, I’ll have lunch today,” Giuseppe said.
Guglielmo bowed. “Lunch will be served in fifteen minutes.” Outside, in front of the palazzina, Eugenia breathed the sweet perfumes of the breeze. She looked up and noticed that the sun was high. It must be close to noon, she thought, and Matilda hadn’t asked her to lunch. What else could one expect from that snob? Not that she looked forward to spending time with her sister-in-law. She had spent plenty of time with Matilda after the wedding, none of which had been a pleasure. With a shake of the head, she crossed the street and walked to the belvedere, a tree-lined lookout area from where one could enjoy wide-open views of the city. As she had done many times before, in her youth and in more recent years, she sat on a bench and watched the scenery in brooding silence: the horizon, the calm waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea, the port with its ships and docks. Behind the port, the city began, clawing the hill slopes in an irregular, multilevel topography of steep roads and unpredictable architectural arrangements. Then Eugenia turned to the hillside, and her eyes scanned the silhouettes of the villas, the shady gardens, the occasional palm and olive trees. North of the gardens, in a protective semicircle, the sharp hillcrests towered over people, houses, and sea as they had for centuries, since the time of Noah.
Nostalgia caught Eugenia by surprise as a warm longing gripped her heart. She longed for her childhood, her youth, and all the years prior to Matilda’s marrying Giuseppe and moving into the palazzina. It was heavenly back then, with her parents still alive. Her father, Filiberto Berilli, had been a tall, strong man with a raven handlebar mustache and a powerful look in his eyes. He had always stood out in a crowd. In contrast, his wife, Giulia, had been short and thin, with no noticeable features. What drew people to her was her remarkable musical talent. Eugenia’s nostalgia grew stronger as she recalled how her mother would spend hours fingering the melodies of Mozart and Beethoven on the piano, which she had learned to play as a child. And Eugenia and Giuseppe, close in age, only three years apart, were best friends growing up and were affectionate and supportive of each other. There was harmony in the family, and the home brimmed with happiness and peace. Then, on a freezing December morning, Matilda had joined the Berillis, and from one day to the next turmoil had swept the palazzina and its residents.
That year, 1868, the Pellettieris, an old aristocratic family from Turin, had decided to spend the winter in Genoa. They arrived in pomp and circumstance, with a butler, four maids, two cooks, and a caravan of three carriages drawn by champion horses. In the first carriage rode young Matilda, her mother, and two maids; in the last was Matilda’s father, the Marquis Telonio Pellettieri, accompanied by the butler; and in the middle carriage, cramped with the luggage, rode the rest of the servants. They took possession of an estate in the east hills comprised of a patrician house, a stable, a carriage home, and five acres of land. The Genoese took notice of their arrival. One week later, through a common acquaintance, the Pellettieris met the Berillis at the Carlo Felice Theater, during the opera-season premiere. The marriage between Giuseppe and Matilda was arranged by the two families shortly afterwards. Giuseppe was twenty-seven, Matilda twenty. Eugenia, thirty, was unattached. The wedding announcement stunned the town:
“The daughter of a Marquis marrying someone with no blue blood?”
“That’s unheard of. The aristocrats never marry outside their circles.”
“Especially the Piedmontese. They don’t even talk to those who don’t belong to their caste.”
“Why would the Pellettieris wed their beautiful daughter to someone without a title?”
“I have no idea. Those Berillis know their way up, that’s for sure.”
“They were full of themselves before. Can you imagine how they