The Courtesan's Lover by Gabrielle Kimm

Author:Gabrielle Kimm
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2012-02-23T22:00:00+00:00

Twenty-five

Smoke was starting to wisp out around the carved larchwood jut of the fireplace hood. Luca looked across at Luigi and drew in a long breath. The old man’s forehead was deeply furrowed as he bent over a copper pot that was hanging above glowing embers. Luca saw that the hand holding the long iron spoon was shaking, and little splashes of gravy were falling and staining the brick floor.

Luca closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again and said, “Luigi, you must be tired. Why don’t you rest now? I am quite happy to finish off the meal. You’ve worked so hard over the preparation—it’s just a matter of waiting an hour or so now…I’m really very grateful for all your help.”

For a moment, Luigi appeared not to have heard, but then he turned and gave one curt nod. “If you are happy, then, Signore, I will go. I am a little tired, you are quite right.” He frowned at the long spoon in his hand as though not quite sure why he was holding it, then put it back into the pot. Nodding at Luca once again, he shuffled across the kitchen in ill-fitting shoes and, fumbling for the handle, left by the side door. Luca turned his face up to the ceiling and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his fingers in his hair. “Oh God!” he groaned. “Heaven knows what this hideous potful will taste like—she will probably never speak to me again!” He picked up the spoon, raised it to his mouth, and blew gently across the steaming contents. Tasted it. Pushed his bottom lip out in surprise and relaxed a little. He added salt, however, and pushed a large, rather twiggy bunch of rosemary down into the bubbling sauce; he then put a lid on the pot.

Luca spent the next few moments moving between kitchen and sala, laying the table for his meal with Francesca. He opened the credenza and took out one of three white linen cloths, which he flapped out and smoothed over the table. On this he placed a basket of cut bread and a big, white, tin-glazed fruit bowl. This was filled with peaches, grapes, apricots, and a handful of cherries—a couple of which Luca now picked out and ate, spitting the stones into his palm and then throwing them into the fireplace. He laid two places: knife, small two-pronged fork, and glass for each person. Then three candles in brass holders in a line along the center of the table. Standing back, he examined the effect, leaned back in toward the table and straightened a fork.

Two places.

No sign of either of the boys. Luca hoped Francesca would not think poorly of him for not letting her know in advance that they would be dining alone.

It was cool enough this evening for a fire. Luca ran down to the back door and collected an awkward armful of logs; after carrying them back up to the sala, he busied himself for a moment laying and lighting a fire.

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