Roman Ivory by Robert Bruegmann

Author:Robert Bruegmann [Bruegmann, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Victorian Romance Murder Mystery with BDSM, Victorian, England, Renaisance, Art, Classical, Murder, Bondage
Publisher: Beautiful Dreamer Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20:

Return to Florence

A few weeks later I was relieved to receive a note from Waterfield saying that he had somewhat recovered and that I would be welcome to call. Several days after the arrival of the letter I found myself once again sitting on the patio opposite him. I was finally able to ask him about my father.

“I had been in Rome for a year when your father came to that ancient city on the Tiber. I met him at the salon of the Contessa P. Have you heard of her?”

“Yes, I have heard something from Mr. Bury. Do you …”

“That bloody Bury again! But never mind. As I said, I believe that I met your father at the salon of the Contessa. She was a great friend of many artists, architects and musicians. I believe we met at a small soirée at her apartment to hear the famous castrato Giovanni Battista Velluti. He had created a sensation in Venice the year before in the role of Armando in Meyerbeer’s Il Crociato in Egitto.”

With that, Waterfield stopped and mopped his forehead with a pale green silk handkerchief. “He was the last of his kind. Expired a few years later. A tragedy, in my opinion. The era of the sublime castrati, if I can put it so, killed off in the name of humanity and so-called progress. Our nineteenth-century progress can go to the devil as far as I am concerned. But I am digressing. You were here to learn what you could about your father, and I was speaking of the Contessa.”

I nodded and waited. “The Contessa was the brightest star in the firmament of ladies who were the ornaments of Roman society in that era and the ones who hosted the most artistic of the salons. Her drawing room was notorious for attracting both the most eminent and the most notorious of the day, often, of course, one and the same. I have heard that she had something of a scandalous past, including at least one husband, a wealthy Polish count, and many lovers of various ages, genders and nationalities. She must have had extraordinary powers of seduction, because it was clear to me that a high percentage of the men were by nature more interested in other men than in women, if you catch my meaning. She would be quite old by now, but I believe that she is still alive. You should try to speak with her.”

“I will certainly try to do that,” but, now really anxious to manoeuvre the conversation back to the main reason for my journey, “What can you tell me about my father?”

“Ginger—we called him Ginger. I remember him as a quiet, serious young man. Well-spoken and popular with all the foreigners in the city. He was not what I would call handsome but attractive enough, particularly when he smiled, and invariably very well dressed. Unlike most of us, he always seemed to have money which he spent freely. Some of my friends resented him for that, but he was also quite generous.

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