The Ruby Ring by Diane Haeger

Author:Diane Haeger [Haeger, Diane]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780307237798
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2005-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

17

RAPHAEL SAT WAITING FOR ELENA IN HIS OWN GRAND kitchen on the Via dei Coronari until she finally appeared, her arms laden with food to prepare for the evening meal. The market had been hot and crowded, and now she was late, and weary.

Elena wore a white linen cap, a white collar, and an apron over her gray wool underdress. There was a leather belt and pouch at her waist in which she kept the market money. But no jewelry adorned her hands now. That had long ago been sold to see to her family’s survival. Hanging over her arm, once draped by rich damask, were a bag of potatoes and a large silvery fish. She looked up and saw Raphael settled into a wooden chair beside the newly lit kitchen fire with a goblet of wine in his hand.

It was clear to her, by his troubled expression, he was waiting for her. Only once had Elena seen the mastro here in this vast room, cluttered with stained copper pots hanging from a heavy, open-beamed ceiling, bowls, plates, and kettles. She was unnerved by his presence now. It had been many months since they had been alone together. And that one time had changed her life forever.

“It is not your custom to return home so early, signore,” she nodded and quickly turned away, busying herself with laying out the onions, fish, and cheese she had just bought. “Forgive me, but your supper is going to be a bit late this evening.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, his smooth voice changed by a slight tremor.

She was relieved he was not angry with her, but she feared what his being here again could mean. “Then have you come to request something special for your meal?” she asked thinly, praying silently that her hunch was wrong. “The market was particularly busy today, but there was some lovely—”

“It is nothing to do with food,” Raphael replied, interrupting her as he shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

Her heart began to race, and she felt ill. The kitchen suddenly became hot and close—this place held a memory she did not wish to revive. Elena felt her face flush. How could she tell the mastro that what had occurred only once—that foolish evening after her youngest sister had died so suddenly—had been the worst mistake of her life? Tell him that and she was certain to lose the employment that entirely sustained the rest of her family. Yet here he was in her kitchen, wanting things to be as they were, drinking his wine in great gulps . . . waiting for her.

Elena’s face must have been positively etched with panic because the moment she turned toward him, Raphael shot to his feet, the silver wine goblet tumbling from his hand and clattering onto the worn stone floor.

“No! Oh, no! I’ve not come about—” he declared loudly at first, then stopping himself in midsentence so that he would not need to speak the words. She saw his face pale, and an awkward moment of silence fell heavily between them.

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