Read Online Italian Fever by Valerie Martin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Valerie Martin
Ads: Link
of beauty, such an abundance of silver, gold, precious stones, intricately worked, elaborate tapestries, silks, satins, such colors, textures, and dazzling contrasts of light and dark that she had come away unable to describe any single object, though she was certain the experience had been divine. Massimo, who was not in the least overawed, brushed past her, his hand extended in greeting, which provoked Antonio tobestir himself and advance with studied diffidence upon his guests. Lucy looked back over her shoulder into the entrance-way, a long, cool, high-ceilinged area, entirely bare but for two life-size statues of naked, though modestly posed, young women flanking an enormous baroquely framed design of the Cini family tree, where Stanton Cutler ambled toward her in his easy, affable way. He made a wry grimace of alarm at the overbearing genealogy. Signora Panatella, who had greeted them at the door with much obsequious bowing and muttering, shuffled along behind him, her eyes inspecting the marble floor minutely and critically, as if she expected to find evidence of unusual wear.
Massimo and Antonio had begun a conversation, which, as Stanton and Lucy joined them, modulated into English. They had been speaking of the farmhouse and of the agriturismo , a subject, Lucy observed, that agitated her Roman friend. Like the Cinis, he explained, his own family had sold portions of their holdings to former tenants and retainers, thereby upsetting relationships of long standing that had been beneficial to all concerned. His cousin, Deodato Tacchino, in Sansepolcro, for example, in order to pay taxes as well as the enormous expense of maintaining the ancient villa, had sold off five hundred olive trees and an outbuilding formerly used only to shelter lemon trees in the winter. The buyer, a farmer who was now also a partner in an unsightly supermarket, had claimed that he wanted to renovate the building for his parents. This couple resided in a miserable hovel on a busy road near the supermarket. But once the repairs were done (and they were extensive, expensive, and of the highest quality), the parents persuaded their son that it would be better to rent out the house to the hordes of German tourists that swarmed over the hills almost year-round now, seeking refuge from their ownuncongenial political, social, and physical climates. This plan was an immediate success; the little house was brimming with foreigners throughout the year. There was even a waiting list, and the deutsche marks flowed in without pause. The aging parents looked after the property, which was really nothing more than a hotel now, supplying fresh linens, cooking occasionally, and attending to the various problems of the invaders, who were notoriously difficult to please. The old woman was too frugal to buy a new washing machine, so now, in her retirement, she did laundry from dawn until dark, cooked and cleaned for two households. She worked harder than she ever had in her life. Her family was made miserable, but, of course, this was progress. Why would it be expected to improve the lives of those foolish enough to pursue it?
Lucy listened to this story with interest, though her attention was divided between Massimo, who spun out the details artfully, and Antonio, who received it all with a blank, wondering expression, as if he were listening to a description of life on a distant planet. At the conclusion, she laughed politely, as did Stanton Cutler—it was, after all, a story with strong ironic elements—but Antonio Cini only looked at them all bemusedly. He didn’t get the point, his expression suggested, but he didn’t care. The laughter dissipated quickly and a nervous silence fell over the group. It is going to be a long evening, Lucy thought. She hoped she could be seated next to her fellow American. During the conversation, Signora Panatella had shuffled past them into the kitchen, leaving the door open. The sound of pots and crockery being rattled
Massimo and Antonio had begun a conversation, which, as Stanton and Lucy joined them, modulated into English. They had been speaking of the farmhouse and of the agriturismo , a subject, Lucy observed, that agitated her Roman friend. Like the Cinis, he explained, his own family had sold portions of their holdings to former tenants and retainers, thereby upsetting relationships of long standing that had been beneficial to all concerned. His cousin, Deodato Tacchino, in Sansepolcro, for example, in order to pay taxes as well as the enormous expense of maintaining the ancient villa, had sold off five hundred olive trees and an outbuilding formerly used only to shelter lemon trees in the winter. The buyer, a farmer who was now also a partner in an unsightly supermarket, had claimed that he wanted to renovate the building for his parents. This couple resided in a miserable hovel on a busy road near the supermarket. But once the repairs were done (and they were extensive, expensive, and of the highest quality), the parents persuaded their son that it would be better to rent out the house to the hordes of German tourists that swarmed over the hills almost year-round now, seeking refuge from their ownuncongenial political, social, and physical climates. This plan was an immediate success; the little house was brimming with foreigners throughout the year. There was even a waiting list, and the deutsche marks flowed in without pause. The aging parents looked after the property, which was really nothing more than a hotel now, supplying fresh linens, cooking occasionally, and attending to the various problems of the invaders, who were notoriously difficult to please. The old woman was too frugal to buy a new washing machine, so now, in her retirement, she did laundry from dawn until dark, cooked and cleaned for two households. She worked harder than she ever had in her life. Her family was made miserable, but, of course, this was progress. Why would it be expected to improve the lives of those foolish enough to pursue it?
Lucy listened to this story with interest, though her attention was divided between Massimo, who spun out the details artfully, and Antonio, who received it all with a blank, wondering expression, as if he were listening to a description of life on a distant planet. At the conclusion, she laughed politely, as did Stanton Cutler—it was, after all, a story with strong ironic elements—but Antonio Cini only looked at them all bemusedly. He didn’t get the point, his expression suggested, but he didn’t care. The laughter dissipated quickly and a nervous silence fell over the group. It is going to be a long evening, Lucy thought. She hoped she could be seated next to her fellow American. During the conversation, Signora Panatella had shuffled past them into the kitchen, leaving the door open. The sound of pots and crockery being rattled
Similar Books
