Read Online Black Bridge by Edward Sklepowich - Free Book Online Page B

to selling their gifts, but a gift no longer belongs to the giver once it’s out of her hands.”
    Urbino held his tongue as he led Flint into the parlor. At first it was the baroque stucco ceiling that caught Flint’s attention. Then he scrutinized the Bronzino portrait of a pearl-and-brocaded Florentine lady over the sofa.
    â€œA generous woman, isn’t she?” Flint said, at first confusing Urbino, who found the Bronzino woman more angular than ample. “Oriana has a big heart, too, but not as big a pocketbook. If I didn’t know that you inherited this place, I would have thought that Barbara had turned it over to you because she didn’t know what else to do with it.”
    â€œLet me make something clear. Barbara and I are only friends.”
    â€œOne can always hope for more—but perhaps not now with the Barone in the picture.”
    Flint took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his nose, which had started to drip during the past few minutes. A network of broken capillaries marred its perfection.
    â€œThis place is small, though. When people hear you live in a palazzo, they must expect something like Barbara’s place.”
    â€œIt’s big enough for me.” Urbino hoped they could leave the Contessa out of the conversation. “I’ve turned the top floor over to my housekeeper and her husband. I live on only this floor.”
    â€œWhat about the ground floor? Damp and flooded?”
    â€œNot at all. I’m using it for an art restoration workshop. I’m just an amateur, though. I restored the portrait of the Cremonese lady you saw in the library.”
    â€œAnother gift from Barbara, I’m sure. By the way, Oriana wasn’t clear about how you inherited the building.”
    â€œFrom my mother’s side of the family,” Urbino said, trying to keep his patience. “She never saw it, unfortunately. She was born in New Orleans, always intended to go to Italy, but never did. It’s been a bit of a struggle to keep it up, with the restoration and the repairs and everything else. I do what I can but I have to let a lot of things go. If you look closely you’ll see what I mean. The chandelier has a lot of pieces missing, and those portraits on the other wall need to be cleaned.”
    â€œYou’re breaking my heart! Less than perfect Murano chandeliers and dirty portraits!”
    â€œThey’re all by minor Venetian painters.”
    â€œYes, but the frames alone are works of art. They could bring in a pretty penny. But I’ve already taken up enough of your time, Urbino. Don’t forget now. If you ever change your mind about those books, I could put enough money in your hands so that you could make more than a few repairs around here! I feel so sorry for you having to live amid such squalor!”
    15
    On the closing night of Pomegranate some of the fog invading the city seemed to have crept into Bobo’s performance, which was vague and distracted.
    â€œI have some things to see to, Barbara,” Bobo said afterward. “I’ll join you and Urbino in an hour.”
    During the trip up the Grand Canal, where the fog was swirling in thick patches, the Contessa made only perfunctory remarks and eventually the two friends fell silent. But when the door of the salotto blu was closed behind them, the Contessa said in a flat, dead voice: “Something’s wrong. I saw it in Bobo’s eyes. He was planning to come right back. Maybe it’s another threat! You must have noticed that his performance was off.”
    She kept glancing at the mantel clock. Usually she nursed her wine but this evening she drank it quickly and refilled her glass. She moved restlessly about the room, but expended little of her energy in conversation. Urbino paged through magazines, content just to be her silent, understanding companion, but as the time dragged he began to feel as if he were keeping vigil with her.
    Bobo didn’t