Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics Read Free Page A

brought it. She knew enough to leave her expensive jewelry safely at home, and that watch was the only expensive piece of jewelry she owned. Then just before leaving the bridge she purchased a pair of earrings she thought would make a wonderful birthday gift for her friend, Lucy Springer.
    “Well, now you must feel like you’re on vacation, Claire. You’ve spent your first wad.” Ruth’s droll comment made Claire laugh.
    But it was true. She had napped and showered, so she felt good. She had bought herself a trinket. And she was in Florence.
    The evening was warm and beautiful. They strolled down a street parallel to the River, glancing in the windows at beautiful paintings, works of art and artful displays of shoes, purses and other leather goods.
    “There it is. See, where those people are turning in.” They picked up their pace, the thought of food drawing them.
    “Wow, our timing was right,” Claire exclaimed a few moments after they had been seated at one of the last available tables in the dimly lit restaurant. They noticed the people who had arrived after them were already crowded into the bar, glancing enviously at the diners, hoping some would be finishing soon. But they forgot about the people waiting as they turned their attention to a mellow red wine from the generous carafe placed on their table while they nibbled nuts and olives and considered the menu choices.
    “Millie, can I see that phrase book?” Ruth held out her hand, explaining, “I thought I ordered rabbit the other night, but when it came I just couldn’t figure out what it was.”
    Millie laughed. “Maybe it was rabbit tripe. Fortunately my dinner was large enough for us both,” she explained to Claire.
    Ruth studied the menu carefully consulting the little book of Italian translations that Millie carried.
    “This doesn’t look like the menus from one of our Italian restaurants, does it?” Claire had been thinking of having Petrale Sole Meuniere with mashed potatoes and wilted greens, one of her favorites served in the many Italian restaurants in San Francisco, but she couldn’t find anything like that on the menu.
    “No, we’re in Tuscany, dear, not San Francisco. I’m sure we can find you something good in the local dishes.” Her mother was in her element, but of course, food was her passion. “We found a first course and an entree is plenty, unless you’re really hungry. If you’re starved you might want to order a pasta course too?”
    Claire shook her head. “I’m going to order a salad and fish, because I’m intending to have some luscious pastry for desert.”
    “Why don’t you try the Triglie Alla Livornese? See it?” Ruth suggested helpfully.
    “It would probably help if I had a clue as to what it was.”
    “It’s a local fish I had the other night. It was very good,” her mother encouraged.
    “Sounds perfect, and a salad; do you have a suggestion?”
    Her mother nodded and gave the waiter their selections. Then Ruth, with a serious face, ordered Piccioni Sul Crostone.
    “Stuffed Pigeons? Ruth, are you sure?” Millie looked up from the book she had retrieved from Ruth.
    Claire choked on her swallow of wine. Her mother patted her on the back while she gasped and wheezed, finally getting her breath back after a sip of water.
    Ruth’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “Revenge comes in many ways. And I feel obligated to do my part in controlling the numbers of pigeons Italy has to cope with. I’m sure the dish will be superb.”
    And the meal was wonderful. Claire’s fillet of fish was very tasty and served with wilted greens with pine nuts and tiny steamed potatoes. Her mother’s heaping plate of pasta was fragrant and she claimed, tasted wonderful. And while the plate set before Ruth holding four tiny birds seemed a little obscene to Claire, Ruth ripped into them with gusto. Finally, finishing their wine they waited for their desert and coffee.
    “Oh, look Ruth, there’s that couple we met at the