Two Little Lies Read Online Free PDF Page B

I am feeling a little guilty for having asked so much of you and Signor Alessandri.”
    “You must know, Chesley, that I cannot bear to let Papà from my sight,” said Viviana. “And in truth, the notion of collaborating on this opera has rejuvenated him. I think he was not so happy in his retirement.”
    Chesley looked down at the sheaf of paper strewn across the tea table. “Well, what do you think, my dear, of young Digleby’s libretto? Will it challenge your father?”
    Viviana lifted one shoulder, an almost Gallic gesture. “Si, I believe so,” she said. “Just enough. But already, I have a concern.”
    “What is it, my dear?” said the earl. “I value your opinion.”
    “Well, this piece— Nel Pomeriggio— I like it,” she said slowly. “The title is suggestive. In the Afternoon. It makes one wonder what the characters will get up to, does it not?”
    “Yes, yes, go on.”
    Viviana was nodding slowly to herself. “And admittedly, it has elements which are delightfully witty,” she went on. “So I believe we would be better served by opening something like this in Paris, at the Opéra-Comique, perhaps? But not La Scala, which Lord Digleby seems to have set his heart on.”
    “He wishes far more to open as a success,” said Chesley dryly. “Your point is well made, my dear. I will explain to him how the world of bel canto opera works. He also wishes the character of Maria to have five arias. Is it too much, do you think?”
    Viviana shook her head. “ Papà will make it work,” she said confidently. “But you will need a strong soprano for the role.”
    Lord Chesley tweaked her on the chin as if she were a mere child. “Yes, I know that, dear Vivie,” he admitted. “You did not think you were invited simply for your looks, did you?”
    Viviana felt a moment of panic. “Oh, no, I cannot!” she said, sitting back down again. “Oh, Chesley, I cannot do this for you. Nicolo is yet too young, and—I—I—”
    “Nicolo is four years old now,” Chesley interjected. “And you have sung with only two productions in all that time.”
    “Yes, but at home in Venice,” she retorted. “Not Paris, nor even Milan.”
    “And nothing at all in the last two years.”
    Viviana looked away, her eyes staring into the depths of the room. She had not the heart to tell Chesley the truth—or her fears. “I had to mourn my husband,” she said quietly. “I owed him that much, did I not?”
    The earl shook his head. “Don’t let your pipes rust, my girl,” he warned. “Besides, this production is months away.”
    Viviana tossed a longing look at the untidy libretto. “Well, we shall see what Papà comes up with,” she said. “But I daresay it will be something very clever and very irresistible, and I shall wish very desperately to neglect my children, and forget poor Gaspard altogether.”
    “If you ask me, Gaspard’s fate is already sealed,” said Chesley dryly. “But you, neglecting your children? Not in a thousand years.”
    Just then, a terrible clamor arose in the direction of the entrance hall. The children came thundering down the steps, their high-pitched shrieks echoing in the stairwell. Two little girls burst into the parlor in a gale of pastel and ruffles, followed by Signor Alessandri, who carried a small boy perched upon his stooped shoulders.
    “Papà!” Viviana started from her chair. “Essere attento!”
    “Oh, he is fine, Viviana,” said the old man.
    “I am quite sure he is!” she returned. “What of you?”
    “Go! Go!” cried the boy, spurring his grandfather with his heels. “Go, Nonno!”
    Go was his newest English word. Viviana tried to scowl, but failed. “Vieni qui, Nicolo!” she said, lifting the boy down.
    The girls were giggling at one another. “Mamma, Lord Chesley has a big swine!” said the smaller of the two.
    “A pig, Felise,” corrected her sister. “A big, hairy one—but it is…it is deceased.”
    “Ah, dead pig, is it?” Viviana set Nicolo