Daphne Clair – The Brunellesci Baby (страница 8)

When she went down the three of them were already seated in a glass-walled conservatory off the dining room, reached by a shallow flight of steps. Plants hung on the walls, and the round marble table was ringed by four white-painted cane chairs with padded fabric seats. Another two chairs had been put aside in a corner. A tea trolley held cereal, bread, salami and cheese, a pot of jam and one of honey.

‘I’m sorry if I’m late,’ she said. Zandro rose from his chair and pulled one out for her, offered coffee from a pot on the trolley. As she took the chair, Domenico lowered the newspaper he was reading, nodded his patrician head and raised the paper again.

His wife looked apologetic. ‘Buon giorno, Lia.’

Zandro poured her coffee. ‘Did you sleep well?’ His voice was coolly courteous. Making conversation but not as if he really cared. He sat down again and passed the sugar bowl over as she murmured, ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘If you would like toast or a cooked breakfast—’

‘I’m not very hungry first thing in the morning.’ She reached for the corn flakes on the trolley, shook some into the bowl before her and picked up the white china jug to pour milk on them. Her hand, she noted, pleased with her composure, was steady.

His eyes inspected her, taking a leisurely but dispassionate inventory of her upper body. ‘You were very thin…before.’

Mrs Brunellesci said unexpectedly, ‘Too skinny. Domenico!’ She turned to her husband and he lowered his paper again. ‘Lia looks good now, you think? More healthy. A woman should look like a woman, is what you say, hey?’

He directed an icy, reluctant stare across the table. ‘Better,’ he agreed, before folding the paper noisily and laying it aside to take up a cup of coffee.

Zandro’s mouth twitched, a muscle moving near his jawbone. He was trying not to laugh.

That the man had a sense of humour at all was a revelation. And the fact that he could find his father amusing was a kind of comfort, making Domenico seem less formidable.

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