The Dark Heart of Florence Tasha Alexander (novels for beginners .TXT) 📖

“I didn’t realize what a pressing need I have for a new bag until I saw your exquisite stock,” Cécile said. “It’s unlike anything else I’ve ever seen.” She picked up a buttery tan chatelaine bag, its strap decorated with marbling the colors of sunset.

“Your compliments are most appreciated,” he said. “If you prefer something made to your specific needs, I can design it for you, using whatever style and colors you like.”

“I am overwhelmed, monsieur,” she said, “and suspect we are going to require a long, long meeting to discuss what I want. I’m going to keep you busily at work for months.”

He smiled. “I am at your service, signora.”

“I’m afraid before we can start, however, my friend needs to speak to you about something else,” Cécile said, nodding toward me.

“I’m looking for your daughter, Lena.”

His eyes narrowed. “What has she done?”

“Nothing so far as I know,” I said. “I was acquainted with her fiancé and met her yesterday at the Spichios’ apartment. Do you know where I might find her?”

His countenance darkened, turning somber. “She is upstairs in our own apartment, but she is most distraught, signora. Losing Marzo is a blow from which I fear she may not recover. I wish her mother were still alive to comfort her, but we lost her when Lena was only three.”

“I am more sorry than I can say. Would it be possible to see her?” I asked. “She expressed a desire that we keep in touch.”

“Of course,” he said.

“You go without me, Kallista,” Cécile said. “I should like to speak with Monsieur Bastieri about ordering a number of pieces.”

I followed him into his workshop. In contrast to the beautifully spare displays in the front, the backroom was a jumble, full of stacks of soft leather and gleaming paint. We ducked into a narrow stairway, climbing until we reached a door that, when opened, led directly into a large, bright, sitting room. The furniture was modest but well-built and in good condition. Most interesting to me was a bookshelf full of leather-bound volumes.

“They’re beautiful,” I said, pulling down a copy of Dante. “Did you make the covers?”

“I am no bookbinder. A friend from my guild does them for me,” Signore Bastieri said.

Lena emerged from what I assumed was the kitchen, her face smudged with flour. “Don’t start him talking about the guild. He won’t stop.”

“You should be proud that I’m a consul.” There was no censure in his voice, either because he was used to her needling or because he indulged her. “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

“It’s quite an honor to hold an office in a guild,” I said after he was gone.

“The consuls are chosen at random, their names pulled from an urn,” Lena said. “They only serve a few months. It’s nothing to cause excitement.”

“The Furriers and Skinners are a powerful guild, are they not?”

“The last in precedence of Le Arti Maggiori,” she said.

“Which are the Greater Guilds of Florence, the most influential in the city.”

She rolled her eyes. “I ought not be so critical, but I find guild business immensely boring. My father is a respected member, likely to someday be provveditore or even consigliere, but I doubt you came here to discuss guilds. Would you like coffee?”

“No, thank you, don’t go to any trouble. I’ve come to see how you’re doing.”

“If you wanted to see me, you should have left a message at Dante’s monument to arrange a meeting,” Lena said. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t so difficult,” I said. “I prefer face-to-face conversation over notes left on monuments whenever possible.”

She raised one delicate eyebrow. “Why are you here? I don’t mean to call into question your sincerity, but it seems strange that you would hunt down someone you hardly know on the pretense of caring about my well-being.”

“Ridolfo Spichio told me some rather confusing things,” I said. “Things that contradicted your account of the relationship the two of you shared.”

“Ridolfo is a liar,” she said. “I would not have guessed you would fall for his ludicrous inventions.”

“I didn’t say I believed him. Were the two of you engaged to marry?”

She blew out a long breath, frustration on her face. “Of course he would dredge that up. You must understand, Lady Emily, that I was very young when I first knew Ridolfo. He may not look it now, but he has the potential to be extremely attractive. He is tall and has good hair. His eyes are dark and intriguing. Before he let himself go in that tannery, he was a man worthy of consideration.”

“How old were you when you met?” I asked.

“Eighteen.”

Not young enough to excuse her behavior. “How old are you now?”

“A lady should never ask that question.”

“You’re not so old that it’s necessary to blanche when it’s asked.”

She sighed. “I’m twenty.”

“How did you meet?”

“I was in the Mercato Centrale, shopping. He and a group of friends were there, loitering. They started to follow me, singing songs they made up as they went, praising my beauty. It was flattering. I enjoyed the attention. The next evening, he serenaded me, standing in front of the shop until I opened the window and begged him to stop.”

“Why did you want him to stop? You just said the attention was flattering.”

“I didn’t really want him to stop, but everyone knows there’s no more effective way to keep a boy interested than to pretend you don’t want him. That was my plan. It worked.”

“You drew him in enough to get him to propose.”

“Yes. I didn’t love him, but I adored the game of making him want me. It was exciting. When he proposed, I didn’t think he meant it, not really. I still don’t. It was just that he’d tried everything else to win me. By then, I was so enchanted by the prospect of starting my own life that I said yes before I gave any real thought to what I was doing. It didn’t take long for me to