Broken Chord Read Free Page A

pleasure. Fiona’s charity concert would no doubt be very good but already Ursula was planning her own which would be even better. She finally sat down, smoothing the dress underneath her, with a delicious feeling of anticipation.
    ***
    In the kitchen at the villa, Marta, the housekeeper, watched as the woman finished loading the dishwasher, started it off and then washed and dried her hands before taking her apron off and hanging it up.
    “That’s it. I’ve finished. See you tomorrow, goodnight, Signora.” Franca, the kitchen help, took her leave, using the formal you, ‘lei’. Her bicycle was waiting outside and she would cycle off into the warm evening, home to her husband and daughter. She lived in the village and Ursula had inherited her along with the house.
    Marta and her husband Piero both smiled and said goodnight, but they used the more casual you ‘tu’ as they did with all servants. Piero waited until the door had closed before pouring himself a generous measure of Madam’s finest whisky. As always, he was dressed immaculately, in a sober fashion. His shirt was pale blue and the cuffs were held together by gold cuff links. He was tall and spare, his greying hair was cut very short. His face was austere, his eyes grey and shrewd. He looked what he was, a man of authority within his circumscribed sphere.
    “So she’s going to marry him,” said Marta flatly. She’d been holding on to this piece of news, longing to bring it up and explore the ramifications, ever since Ursula had shown them the ring that afternoon with a strange kind of exultation.
    “She’s a fool if she does. All he wants is her money. I’d have thought she’d have realised that by now.”
    “Oh I don’t know. She needs a man. You know she can’t live without one. Anyway she’ll make sure he can’t get his hands on too much of the money. At least he’s better than the last one.”
    “He’ll take as much as he can get from her, but you’re right, anything would be better than Carletto.” He remembered the scenes, the broken vases hurled across the floor, the childish tantrums and then of course the disgusting, the obscene truths shouted for all to hear and Marianna cringing in the kitchen looking at them with frightened eyes and feeling responsible for everything.
    “That abortion nearly did for her,” remarked Piero, following his own train of thought.
    “She’s upstairs with that boy now.” Her tone was one of disapproval. Marta was the epitome of respectability. Very thin, she was wearing a dark linen dress with long sleeves. A broach was pinned to one side and simple golden earrings glinted against her carefully dyed brown hair, which she wore in a chignon. The lightest of make-up over naturally olive skin, and dark red lipstick, gave her the look of a gypsy, or so Piero thought, knowing full well that it was a description that would have made her feel uneasy. He looked at her but said nothing.
    Marta looked round the enormous kitchen. It was spotless. Stainless steel gleamed everywhere. The rest of the villa might be eighteenth century but the kitchen, apart from the massive stone fireplace, was definitely ultra-modern.
    “This is the best place so far,” said Marta with satisfaction. “I hated the villa near Florence. It was way out in the wilds and the kitchens were half a mile from the dining room.”
    “Well, they are here, too.”
    “No, it’s quite different. But what I really like is that there’s a village here and Lucca is only seven kilometres away.”
    “Shame about the Rossi family.”
    “Oh God! What a nightmare. She’ll never get rid of them, you know.”
    “Something will have to be done.” He took another reflective sip of the whisky, swilling it gently round in his mouth.
    Marta looked sharply at him.
    “She’s made them a decent offer and they should go,” Piero said slowly. “Things can’t carry on like this.”
    “No, I suppose not. Maybe she should get another lawyer for this.