Read 3 - Cruel Music for Free Online Page A

projected into the fuzzy twilight. Somewhere close by, a fountain gurgled in noisy hiccups. As I rubbed my eyes, the towering doors parted noiselessly and a pair of footmen in sky blue livery shot down a short flight of marble stairs and bent to unfold the coach steps. With a sinking feeling, I realized that I had reached my destination.

Chapter Four
    Benito and the prize ham were conveyed around to the back of the villa. Lenci and I were escorted through the bronze doors into an immense hall. Marble columns rose to the vaulted ceiling and beautifully stitched tapestries decorated the walls. Instead of the religious themes I might have expected, the needlework drew its subjects from ancient myth. On the largest, a lifelike Diana gazed across the hall with raised chin and parted lips, as if she expected worshipers to file in and lay tribute at her feet at any moment. I was admiring the workmanship of the tiny stitches when a fleeting movement caught my eye.
    It could have been a denizen of the tapestries come to life, a nymph flitting from column to column, white robe and scarves trailing behind her, silver hair unpinned, streaming wildly. Then I saw the truth: not a nymph, merely a weak-minded old woman wandering in her nightdress. A pretty, apple-cheeked girl in the drab gown and linen cap of a servant pursued her.
    Lenci ignored the elderly nymph, but brightened as the dark-haired girl drew near. He extended his hand to greet her, calling “Gemma” as she barreled past. But Gemma was too intent on her prey to spare a word for the young abate. In an uncharacteristically unguarded moment, his cherub face made his disappointment obvious.
    My curiosity was forestalled by the arrival of a lean man in a jacket and waistcoat of unrelieved black. He advanced in mincing steps, putting one foot precisely in front of the other as if he walked a springy tightrope instead of a solid, mosaicked floor. Abate Lenci presented me to Cardinal Fabiani’s private secretary and general factotum, Abate Pio Rossobelli.
    “Ah, Signor Amato, how delightful. Our much-awaited songbird has arrived just in time.” Rossobelli spoke in oily tones, surprising me with a courtly bow that was a few rungs above the station of a hired musician, even a relatively famous one. “The cardinal wished to welcome you himself, but alas, he has been called to the Quirinal on pressing business. I’m afraid that you will have to content yourself with my humble services.”
    Returning his bow, I voiced the usual pleasantries.
    Dismissing the abate who had guided me to Rome, Rossobelli hooked his long fingers under my elbow and ushered me toward the grand staircase. I was almost sorry to see Lenci go. A Montorio he might be, but I reckoned him a more pleasant companion than the one who imprisoned my arm in a strangle hold.
    As we mounted the cascade of marble steps, I took the opportunity to observe this Abate Rossobelli at close quarters. The first part of his name fit him well. The stray hairs escaping from under his short clerical wig were a dull brick red and the blood flowing under his pale skin seemed to pool in ruddy blotches at the crest of his sharp cheekbones. As to belli …I thought not. A less handsome man would be hard to find.
    Fabiani’s secretary observed me with the same level of scrutiny. His lank jaws maintained a perfectly proper smile, but his bulging, pink-rimmed eyes glowed with curiosity. Not, I thought, with the curiosity of a whole man observing a castrato at close range—I am well used to that look—but with a much more cunning appraisal.
    Once on the second level, Rossobelli covered the maze of corridors hung with portraits and tapestries in long strides, chattering about the history of the villa and the wealthy Genoese banker who had built it. At the rear of the house, he opened the door to a luxurious suite. The first chamber was furnished with comfortable sofas and had its own balcony that overlooked an orchard garden lit with