Read The Body in the Piazza for Free Online Page A

pounds—they were told would save them from deportation. In my mind’s eye, I see them still gathering, weighing, trusting. Only fifteen returned, all adults. None of the two hundred children made it. The irony—such an inadequate word almost always—is that Il Duce didn’t have a problem with Jews. The old some-of-my-best-friends-are thing, but in his case, it was a fact. A number of the original founders of the fasci di combattimento were Jewish. But Mein Führer wasn’t having any of it.”
    The narrow cobbled street was filled with echoes and visions. Faith had to close her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, their plates had been removed.
    Freddy filled their glasses and raised his, spilling a few drops on the table and his notebook. “ Memento mori . Now we must switch to cin-cin as a toast and talk of other things.”
    By the time the next course arrived, they had covered the recent elections in the States, the solution to Italy’s economic woes—“The entire country is covered in masses of white canvas umbrellas much of the year like a giant Christo wrapping, surely these manufacturers, these tentmakers, can step up to the plate,” Freddy suggested. They moved on to the notion—and the obscenity—of colonizing the moon. “Would serve them right if it is made of green cheese and not the good kind, but some horrible dyed concoction,” Faith offered.
    As the main course was arriving, Claudio himself brought a side dish of emerald green asparagi, simply prepared with olive oil and lemon. After the meal, he promised, he and his family would give the Fairchilds a tour of the restaurant.
    Il Secondo turned out to consist of three wonderful dishes: the fish soup Freddy had mentioned; plus filetto di cernia, grouper, the fish in a fragrant white wine and mushroom sauce; plus spring lamb— abbacchio — alla scottaditto, which Freddy obligingly translated as “finger blistering,” an act Tom cheerfully undertook, grabbing one of the crispy, seared chops from his plate and passing it to the others. Faith was happy to see that Freddy was not one of those “If you wanted it, why didn’t you order it” types and was obviously willing to share, calling for additional bowls for the large serving of soup that had been placed in front of him. Many an unhappy marriage could have been prevented if the bride or groom had been firm on this essential act or walked away when refused. This thought led Faith to another. She’d noticed right away on the terrace that Freddy wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Some men didn’t wear rings, though. She felt herself relax even further into the mood of the evening; it was time to move from the political to the personal.
    â€œDid you grow up near London?” It was an opener and usually people proceeded from childhood to their entire life stories.
    â€œClever minx, but I’m on to you. I have no desire to kill the cat in this case, though. No, I did not grow up near London. My family is from the north of England, not far from York. Part of the Roman wall went through our backyard. Such engineers. Such big thinkers. Like all little boys of my type I was sent away to school, where I was educated by sadistic masters and learned quite a bit in the process despite the beatings or perhaps because of them. I will never know, will I? And then to university and now here.” He grinned. Faith knew he knew it wasn’t what she’d wanted at all.
    â€œAlways been a writer, then?” Tom came to the rescue.
    â€œNo,” Freddy answered, and unlike most people, who go on to fill an ensuing silence after a while, he appeared content to sit and watch them quietly for the rest of the night.
    â€œDo you get back to England to see your family often?” Faith wasn’t quitting, and going on the assumption that he must travel a great deal for his work, she thought the question was