The Monster of Florence Read Online Free PDF Page B

twice.”
    “Twice?”
    “He said ring him back. He wants you to go and see him tomorrow. That man never knows when it’s Sunday, does he? Imean, he’s very nice but you can tell he hasn’t a family—Salva, don’t stand there, you’re in my way. And aren’t you going to take your coat off?”
    There were two things Teresa, in all the years of their marriage, refused to adapt to: one was her husband’s incurable habit of homing straight in on her in the kitchen and planting his great uniformed bulk right in the middle of the room so that she had to push round him with her pans. The other was the army’s incurable habit of expecting him to work on Sundays and sometimes even at night. She didn’t actually complain about this or create problems for him. She was just surprised by it.
    He went to take his coat off, calling, “I wouldn’t mind a shower. I’ve been too hot.”
    “Be quick then. I’ll switch the oven off.”
    Dressing after his shower, he could hear the two boys in the living room squabbling over which channel to watch. He slipped a pair of old leather slippers on and went back into the kitchen. The good smell from the oven brought on a sharp pang of appetite along with a comfortable sense of its imminent satisfaction. That huge chilly studio … no warm kitchen there. But there’d been a cooker, he was sure he hadn’t been mistaken about that. A cooker amongst all the paints and tools; funny people artists were and you couldn’t judge them by normal standards.
    “Ah … that looks good.” He reached for his napkin and the flask of red wine.
    “Did you ring the Captain back?”
    “Damn! Well, if it’s only to fix a time for tomorrow it can wait till I’ve eaten this.”
    Now that was a point. Captain Maestrangelo was an educated man. It might be a good idea to have a word with him about this business of Marco’s, see what he thought. It was a point, but it was one the Marshal forgot along with Benozzetti and Titian and all the rest when he heard what Captain Maestrangelo had to say.

Two
    On Sunday morning the city was still blanketed in warm, foggy dampness. The olive-green river slid smoothly between the high, ochre buildings and the soaked terra-cotta roofs seemed luminous.
    When the Marshal crossed the river on his way to Headquarters he could see no farther than the next bridge down with a few grey and ghostly trees beyond. Upriver to his right the Ponte Vecchio stood isolated, its usual backcloth of hills screened off by a curtain of fog. Because of this, and perhaps because it was Sunday and the lights in the jewellers’ shops were off, the bridge looked like a deserted stage set seen in the dull light of morning. It was so quiet, too. Most of the brown and green shutters of the tall buildings along the embankment were still closed and the roads were empty of traffic.
    It was the ideal time to walk about and look at the city and the Marshal and his wife were always saying they should make the effort to do it. They had got themselves organized two or three times and, armed with a guidebook, had taken the two boys with them. Somehow or other, though, it hadn’t lasted. The boys were really a bit young to enjoy that sort of thing and once they had climbed to the top of Giotto’s bell tower and seen the knights on armoured horses at the Stibbert Museum they got fed up and started to protest. Since they were also rather young to be left to their own devices all morning, the whole business had been dropped. A pity, though, really. They ought to have another try at it.
    In the meantime, the Marshal savoured his walk, short though itwas, and even stopped for a coffee in the bar almost opposite the barracks. He took his time with that too, looking at the long glass counter filled with decorated cakes and tarts which would soon be cleared by young families on their way to Sunday lunch at the grandparents’.
    Inspired by this cheery colourful contrast to the dull day outside, he decided